Greek and Roman Colonization

Greek
and
Roman
Colonization
Origins, Ideologies
and Interactions
Editors
Guy Bradley
and
John-Paul Wilson

Contributors
Edward Bispham, Guy Bradley, Michael Crawford,
David Gill, John R. Patterson, John-Paul Wilson

The Classical Press of Wales

First published in 2006 by
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 CONTENTS

Page

Preface vii

Abbreviations ix

Introduction Guy Bradley xi

1. Early colonization at Euesperides: origins and interactions 1

David Gill (University of Wales Swansea)

2. ‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization 25

John-Paul Wilson (University of Wales Lampeter)

3. From Poseidonia to Paestum via the Lucanians 59

Michael Crawford (University College London)

4. Coloniam deducere: how Roman was Roman colonization

during the Middle Republic? 73
Edward Bispham (Brasenose College, Oxford)

5. Colonization and identity in Republican Italy 161

Guy Bradley (Cardiff University)

6. Colonization and historiography: the Roman Republic 189

John R. Patterson (Magdalene College, Cambridge)

Index 219


 Preface

The origins of this project lie in a conference organized by the two editors
in the Institute of Classical Studies, University of London (12–13th July
1998). The conference was supported by the British Academy, the Institute
of Classical Studies, the Graduate School of University College London,
and the University of Wales Institute of Classics and Ancient History
(UWICAH). We would like to extend our thanks to those institutions for
enabling the conference to take place.
Although the conference was lively and well received, most of the papers
delivered could not, for various reasons, be published in their original form.*
The contributions to this volume are thus mostly new pieces of work, written
to respond to the themes stated in our conference prospectus and to themes
that emerged over the two days of the conference. The benefits of this long
gestation are, we hope, evident in the way that papers explicitly address the
themes of the project.
The editors would like to thank Anton Powell, the Director of UWICAH,
for his support and guidance in bringing this project to publication, and
Ernest Buckley for skilful handling of the production of this book.

* The original line-up included, besides the contributors to this volume, Emmanuele
Curti, Giovanna Ceserani, John Graham, Irad Malkin and Massimo Osanna.

vii
 Abbreviations

AJA American Journal of Archaeology

AIONArch Annali dell’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli. Archeo-
logia e storia antica
AIIN Annali dell’Istituto Italiano di Numismatica
ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt
Arch. Class. Archaeologia Classica
ASNP Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Classe di Lettere
e Filosofia
BCH Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique
BEFAR Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome
BICS Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies
BMI The Collection of Ancient Greek Inscriptions in the British
Museum
BSA Annual of the British School at Athens
CAH The Cambridge Ancient History
CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum
CQ Classical Quarterly
CP Classical Philology
CR Classical Review
CRAI Comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-lettres
DdA Dialoghi di Archeologia
HSCP Harvard Studies in Classical Philology
ILLRP A. Degrassi (ed.) Inscriptiones Latinae Liberae Rei Publicae,
Florence, 1957–65
ILS H. Dessau (ed.) Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae, Berlin, 1892–
1916
JDAI Jahrbuch des deutschen archäologischen Instituts
JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies
JRA Journal of Roman Archaeology
JRS Journal of Roman Studies
MAAR Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome
MEFRA Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire de l’Ecole Française de Rome
MonAL Monumenti Antichi pubblicati per cura della Reale Accademia
dei Lincei

ix
Abbreviations

NSA Notizie degli scavi di antichità

PBSR Papers of the British School at Rome
PdP La parola del passato
RA Revue archéologique
RFIC Rivista di filologia e di istruzione classica
RIL Rendiconti dell’Istituto Lombardo di scienze e lettere
RSA Rivista storica dell’antichità
SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum
SIG W. Dittenberger, Sylloge Inscriptionum Graecarum, 3rd edn.,
Leipzig, 1915–24
SNG ANS Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum. American Numismatic Society


 Introduction

Background and aims of the project

The original idea for this project developed from a course taught by John-
Paul Wilson at University College London, which analysed colonization
across the Greek and Roman worlds. Both editors shared an interest in the
processes of colonization and in the contribution of archaeological evidence
to its study. This interest was in part stimulated by work on archaic Greek
history by Snodgrass, Morris, Whitley and others. Appreciation of the
complexity of state formation in early Greece has opened up questions about
the nature of colonization: what sort of colonies, for instance, were being
established by communities themselves undergoing revolutionary change
(on Snodgrass’s model) in the eighth century? A key element in the vitality of
archaic Greek history is the increased availability of archaeological evidence,
which has been a means of analysing the nature of colonial settlements, and
of comparing them to the cities of the Greek mainland. Many of the same
questions have considerable relevance to Roman history, where archaeology
is providing a much more rounded picture of Roman colonies within Italy,
and where there is vibrant debate over the nature of early Rome. Yet histo-
rians of Greek colonization have made greater progress in illuminating the
development of colonial activities over time, the great differences between
earlier and later colonies, and the divergence of the imagined picture in
ancient texts from the evidence of archaeology.
Whilst methodologies from the study of archaic Greece would seem to
have much to offer in analysing Roman colonization, it is striking that direct
comparisons have rarely been attempted.1 There is good reason for this,
given the obvious differences between Greek and Roman colonial practices.
For example, one set of colonizations is undertaken by an ethnic/regional
group of disputed boundaries (Greece), the other by a city (Rome). A closer
comparison might be between Greece and Italy as a whole, encompassing
Etruscan and Italic as well as Roman colonization; that might provide
something more akin to the diversity of agents involved in Greek coloniza-
tion. Also, maritime travel is a critical feature of the Greek experience of colo-
nization but is largely absent from Roman Republican colonization.2 This
means that Greek colonies tend to be open to greater individual mobility,
and that there is more difficulty in imposing state control over comings and

xi
Guy Bradley

goings. Again, there is an explicit link between colonization and conquest

in Roman history, made plain by Roman sources such as Livy and Velleius.
This connection is much more controversial and problematic for Greek
colonization, particularly in its earliest phases.
The most productive way to compare the two worlds of colonization has
seemed to us to involve comparing ancient views of colonization, and using
modern methodological approaches to the available evidence, archaeological
as well as literary. Our starting point was that the ancient sources represented
colonization in the archaic past in similar ways. What we might call ‘ideolo-
gies’ of colonization developed in both Greece and Rome. Many charac-
teristic features of these ideologies are shared: the emphasis on a particular
foundation date and individual founders (whether Roman king/triumvir or
Greek oikist); the dichotomy between colonists and natives; and the role of
the mother state.
It is not our intention to sweep away the entire literary tradition as
‘invented’.3 But it seems to us that all of these elements of the colonizing
process should be put up for discussion. It is clear that both Greek and
Roman colonization were less tightly regulated in their earlier phases than
was the case later. We might talk of ‘pre-’ or ‘protocolonial’ phases for
both worlds, although this begs the question of when and how such phases
should be distinguished from ‘true’ colonization.4 State control was much
more gradually asserted over such enterprises than our literary sources often
suggest.5 Episodes more characteristic of early colonization still show through
in later periods, such as the abortive attempt of the Spartan Dorieus to found
a colony ‘privately’ in Libya (Herodotus 5.42, discussed by Wilson in this
volume) or the (attempted) seizure of cities such as Capua and Rhegion by
their garrisons in the mid-Republic (discussed by Bradley).6 In fact, much
of the modern emphasis on standard colonial procedures derives from over-
dependence on ancient ideologies of colonization, and from too restrictive
a definition of colonization. This inevitably becomes a standardized process
if it is defined to exclude alternative forms such as gentilitial colonization in
early Rome, or mercantile foundations (emporia) in the Greek world.
One other impetus to our project is the influence of modern ‘post-colonial’
historiography, and the increasing scrutiny of imperialistic assumptions which
this encouraged. It was evident to us that the discussion of colonialism had
some relevance, particularly given the baggage attached to the word ‘coloni-
zation’. In an influential article Osborne highlighted the term’s overtones of
‘political and cultural control’ (1998, 252). He drew attention to the origins
of the term ‘colony’ in the Latin colonia, with its imperial associations: Roman
coloniae could be portrayed by Cicero as ‘bulwarks of empire’ (discussed by
Bispham and Bradley below). Osborne’s point was that this term brings too

xii
 Introduction

many ‘statist’ associations to the Greek process of colonization, extraneous

baggage that is both ancient and modern. But whilst the idea of coloniae as
a fundamental element of empire predates modern colonialist enterprises,
and is evident in Roman sources, the distorting effect of modern overtones
is also apparent in the consideration of Roman colonization. Awareness of
such tendencies frees us to question how far later Romans understood, and
correctly represented, the nature of colonization in earlier periods.
The ultimate aim of this volume is to open up discussion, provoke
questions, and suggest new avenues of approach. This does involve prob-
lematizing earlier views, and the reader’s patience is required if we do not
necessarily prescribe answers. Much will be controversial, and the volume is
certainly not intended to be a complete reference work on the topic.

Themes of the volume

The first theme, addressed in the majority of papers, is the pervasive influence
of ancient historiography on the study of ancient colonization. Coloniza-
tion processes are inevitably of great interest to ancient authors. Coloniza-
tion and migration might be said to be fundamental to the Graeco-Roman
vision of the origins of ancient peoples, and therefore the key to explaining
their identities. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, for instance, states that most
peoples of Italy had an ultimate origin outside the peninsular, whether they
arrived from abroad or broke off from a group that did.7 The autochthony
of the Etruscans was unusual – and disputed. Many of the studies in this
volume show the distorting influence of ancient writers’ own milieux on their
record of earlier colonial enterprises, though (as Patterson notes) this does
not necessarily lead to an ahistorical picture. Several of the studies (Bradley,
Bispham, Wilson) argue that the vision of past colonizations presented in
the ancient sources is ‘tidied up’, particularly by the over-emphasis placed on
the role of the ‘mother’ state in early foundations, whether Greek polis or
the city of Rome.
The second theme is the impact of archaeological evidence. Several
studies emphasize the usefulness of archaeological evidence as a corrective
to the literary history of colonies. It is often critical to interpret the literary
evidence in the light of the archaeological situation, and not the other way
round. This point is illustrated in practical fashion by the two case-studies
in this volume, Gill’s analysis of the evidence for the origins of Euesperides,
and Crawford’s reassessment of Poseidonia/Paestum. Wilson and Bispham
discuss the application of this principle to Greek and Roman colonization
respectively.
Closely linked to these two themes is the idea that we should pay particular
attention to the diversity of colonies, even when founded by the same city

xiii
Guy Bradley

(such as the Roman colonies of the mid Republic examined by Bispham).

Bradley’s chapter emphasizes the variety of colonization mechanisms in
Rome and Latium in the sixth and fifth centuries bc. The variation in the
religious topographies of Latin colonies is examined in Bispham’s chapter.
Crawford and Bradley examine the varied treatments of local populations in
different Latin colonies. Crawford’s analysis of cultural change in Paestum
illustrates the influence of the pre-existing Greek inhabitants. It thus seems
important to study colonies in their local contexts and not only as products
of their place of origin (see Wilson). Most papers have stressed scepticism
about over-standardized pictures of ancient colonies based around colonial
‘blueprints’.
Another important theme is the origins and role of colonies. A key idea
for early colonization (especially Greek) is individual and group mobility.8
Horden’s and Purcell’s recent study of Mediterranean history (2000) shows
how a pervasive mobility is promoted by the environment of the Mediter-
ranean. As Wilson demonstrates in this volume, migration and mobility are
also characteristic of classical Greek ways of looking at their archaic past. He
argues that we should be thinking not in terms of an age, or ages, of Greek
colonization, but rather of colonization as being a constant feature of Medi-
terranean history. This observation might equally be applied to Italy. Bradley’s
chapter looks at inter-community mobility in the archaic period. Later, in the
middle and late Republic, there were massive state-organized transfers of
populations and significant levels of private individual migration.9
Wilson poses the question in his chapter of why particular eras of Greek
colonization have been identified. Modernizing perspectives tend to privilege
the treatment of later periods of colonization, when states are thought to have
been fully formed. The problematization of different eras of colonization is
also pertinent to Roman history. Although Roman colonization is commonly
seen in terms of a transition from a more military to a more socio-economic
function, Patterson’s study in this volume emphasizes the complexity of
motives behind colonial foundations in Italy. Both functions were evident in
Roman colonial foundations from their early origins. Wilson’s point about
the arbitrary application of more statist agendas to Greek colonies after the
late eighth century bc (‘colonization’ as opposed to ‘migration’) is echoed
by Bispham’s exploration of the limits of the application of statist agendas to
Latin colonies in the mid-Republic.
Several of the papers take a similar approach to the role of myth in
colonization. Greek historians often ask whether myths of colonization
are aetiological or historical. But as Wilson shows, the creation of such
hierarchies of types of myth is problematic, given that all were treated alike
by the ancients. Mythical elements might appear less significant in Roman

xiv
 Introduction

colonization, which is usually accorded a much more prosaic treatment,

and whose utilitarian purposes are usually emphasized above all.10 Notices
of colonization under the kings and other ‘non-standard’ types of coloniza-
tion in early Roman history (for which see Bradley’s chapter) are frequently
excluded because they are regarded as lacking historical authenticity. Yet the
distinction between mythical and historical colonization is often as difficult
to justify for Rome as it is for Greece.
Several papers also deal with the role of founders. Wilson argues that
the cult of the founders does not extend back into the earliest periods of
Greek colonization. Tyrants, particularly in the late seventh century, may be
significant as ‘pattern-setters’, providing a model for conceptions of earlier
founders. Kings and the leaders of warrior bands instigate colonial enter-
prises in early Roman history. Their role is taken over by triumviri in the
early Republic. The historicity of the named triumviri we have for the early
Republic is disputed.11 Nevertheless it is interesting that the role of these
Republican officials seems to have evolved from earlier practice: the leader of
the triumvirate, usually the primary conqueror of the territory to be distrib-
uted, remained a powerful figure. He had the right to reward his soldiers in
the same way as kings and the leaders of warrior bands, with a plot of land.
A later echo might be found in the way late Republican dynasts directly
rewarded their own soldiers with plots carved out of land confiscated from
their defeated enemies.
Overall, we hope this volume shows colonization to be a vital and
important field of classical study.12 The term subsumes diverse processes
of settlement, and this variety helps lend the subject much of its interest.
Approaches to colonization in different areas and periods of the ancient
world must benefit if they continue to learn from each other, a trend to which
we hope to have given impetus.

Notes
1
Cf. Hurst 2005, 1. It is notable that there is little direct comparison in Horden and
Purcell 2000, even though their work draws on a huge range of cross-cultural Mediterra-
nean parallels, and colonization is a significant topic in their discussion. However, Torelli
(1999, 18–19) has drawn stimulating parallels between archaic Roman colonization and
the Etruscan colonies of the Po valley and Campania.
2
Note, however, the reputed Roman attempts to found colonies on Sardinia and
Corsica (Diodoros 15.27.4; Theophrastus HP 5.8.2) discussed by Bispham in this
volume.
3
For the dangers of such an approach, see Malkin 2003.
4
For a discussion of the terms (preferring ‘protocolonial’), see Malkin 1998, 10–14.
Cf. Osborne 1998, 258.

xv
Guy Bradley
5
This was questioned at the original conference by Malkin, who argued that coloniza-
tion is a sign of statehood.
6
On Dorieus, see also Osborne 1998, 251, 255.
7
Cf. Wilson on Greek traditions.
8
Cf. Osborne 1998, 258–9 on the implications of the growth of Pithekoussai in the
8th century; Malkin 2003, 161.
9
On this see Patterson, this volume; Broadhead 2002; Scheidel 2004.
10
See, for example, Salmon 1969. Torelli 1999 is the most notable exception.
11
See Bradley for discussion of the reputed triumvirate at Antium in 467.
12
Cf. Hurst and Owen 2005, which appeared during the writing of this introduction.

Bibliography
Broadhead, W.
2002 Internal Migration and the Transformation of Republican Italy, Ph.D thesis,
London.
Horden, P. and Purcell, N.
2000 The Corrupting Sea. A study of Mediterranean history, Oxford.
Hurst, H.
2005 ‘Introduction’, in Hurst and Owen (eds.) Ancient Colonizations.
Hurst, H. and Owen, S. (eds.)
2005 Ancient Colonizations: Analogy, similarity and difference, London.
Malkin, I.
1998 The Returns of Odysseus: Colonization and ethnicity, Berkeley.
2003 ‘ “Tradition” in Herodotus: the foundation of Cyrene’, in P. Derow and
R. Parker (eds.) Herodotus and his World. Essays from a Conference in memory
of George Forrest, Oxford, 153–70.
Osborne R.
1998 ‘Early Greek colonization? The nature of Greek settlements in the West’, in
N. Fisher and H. van Wees (eds.) Archaic Greece. New approaches and new
evidence, London and Swansea, 251–70.
Salmon, E.T.
1969 Roman Colonization under the Republic, London.
Scheidel, W.
2004 ‘Human mobility in Roman Italy, 1: the free population’, JRS 94, 1–26.
Torelli, M.
1999 ‘Religious aspects of early Roman colonization’, in Tota Italia, Oxford,
14–42.

xvi
 1

Early colonization at Euesperides:

origins and interactions

David Gill

I. Introduction
The cemeteries of Euesperides in Cyrenaica had been explored and widely
looted in the nineteenth century by a number of early travellers including
George Dennis,1 although it was not until the early twentieth century, during
the Italian survey of the area, that the site of the settlement was recognized.2
Pottery collection was made on the site in 1947, and in 1950 and 1951
a surface survey was conducted which confirmed occupation in the fifth and
fourth centuries bc, though there was no evidence for anything earlier than
the 470s.3
The Greek colony lies on the northern, that is to say seaward, side of the
Sebka Es-Selmani, a lagoon lying to the east of modern Benghazi which was
also the site of the relocated ancient city which was renamed Berenice.4 The
original Greek settlement stood on a low hill, the Sidi Abeid, which was
subsequently covered by a muslim cemetery.5 The city extended southwards
towards the lagoon, which was clearly drying out during the fifth century bc;
indeed the fourth century bc extension to the city was built over the now dry
salt marsh. One of the most evocative descriptions of the site of Benghazi was
written by George Dennis in 1867:
The traveller will be struck with the dreary position of the town on a narrow
strip of sand between the sea and a salt lagoon, its crumbling castle, a solitary
minaret, and a grove of date-palms, being the only distinguishing features that
rise above the monotonous line of low red walls which compose the town ...
Nor is the country around Benghazi more attractive than the town. For some
20 miles inland it is an undulating, arid waste, for the greater part of the year
unrefreshed by leaf or blade, shrub or wild flower. It is hard to believe that this
dreary, sandy, barren shore can ever have possessed such attractions as to deserve
the reputation of a Paradise.6
One of the aims of the excavation of the colony in the early 1950s, sponsored
by the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, was to establish the date of the


David Gill

Fig. 1. Aerial view of Euesperides. The Sidi Abeid is in the foreground, and Benghazi in
the distance. Photograph by courtesy of the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.

Fig. 2. East Greek Hemispherical Bowl Fig. 3. Attic black-figured skyphos

fragment from the archaic levels of fragment from the archaic levels of
the southern scarp on the Sidi Abeid, the southern scarp on the Sidi Abeid,
Eusperides (BUS152, 7), © Ashmolean Eusperides (BUS152, 7), © Ashmolean
Museum, Oxford. Museum, Oxford.


 Early colonization at Euesperides: origins and interactions

foundation.7 Further excavations were conducted on the site in 1968 and

1969 by Professor Barri Jones but these were terminated by the changing
political situation in Libya.8 Most of the trenches were in the lower city
where the excavated material appears to belong to the fourth and early third
centuries bc;9 a scarp on the Sidi Abeid was also re-explored. Further excava-
tions, supported by the Society for Libyan Studies, have resumed in recent
years, initially under John Lloyd and then under Andrew Wilson.10

II. The literary evidence for the early colony

The first historical mention of Euesperides is in 515 bc during the revolt of
Barca from the Persians, when an expedition reached as far as Euesperides.11
Early reports that excavations in the lower city had found remains of a Persian
destruction level proved to be premature when it was recognized that this in
fact was an early fourth-century level.12
Euesperides was one of a number of Greek colonies in Cyrenaica which,
if Herodotus is to be believed, were settled as a result of the Delphic oracle
prompting settlers from Thera.13 They founded the colony of Cyrene,
and Herodotus suggests that a further Delphic oracle during the reign of
Battos’ grandson, Battos II, prompted a further colonizing movement to
Cyrenaica which provoked a response from Egypt, then ruled by the Saite
pharaoh Apries.14 The Egyptian forces were defeated and in the aftermath the
philhellenic Amasis seized power.15

III. The archaeological evidence for the early colony

The earliest archaeological survey of the city found no clear evidence for
an archaic phase of the colony. However, deep trenches on the Sidi Abeid
have now found certain archaic levels, and archaic pottery also appears in
later contexts. The first survey of archaic pottery was prepared in 1971; this
identified the presence of East Greek, Cycladic, Laconian, Corinthian and
Attic pottery.16 There are three key deposits for the archaic city, two first
explored by the expedition of the early 1950s, and the third by the more
recent excavations.

1. Square B7
One of the deepest sections on the Sidi Abeid comes from section B7, the
north-west corner of an insula block which adjoins the north-south road
running across the Sidi Abeid, and the east-west road which runs down to
the so-called house by the city wall.17 The section, some two metres deep,
suggested that there had been four main periods in this part of the city; up to
ten archaeological layers were recognized in the course of the excavation. The
upper levels contain coins that suggest that periods 3 and 4 should be dated to


David Gill

the third century.18 Indeed it now seems likely that a phase of building work
was taking place in the city immediately prior to its abandonment, in favour
of the establishment of the new city of Berenice, which almost certainly took
place in the 250s.19 Although only part of the insula block was excavated,
the thick eastern wall at the south end of the trench should probably be
considered as the rear wall of a house, measuring approximately 10.2 m by
at least 9.4 m; as such this might indicate that it formed one quarter of the
block.20 Along the side of the block adjoining the road was a well-built wall
with foundations which went down to bedrock. This probably marked the
edge of the block from the archaic period onwards.
The period 2 house (Fig. 4) has a number of features which do not continue
in later periods. Notably at the north-east corner of the house is a rectangular
room, c. 4 m x c. 3.3 m (internal measurements), with paving stones on the
floor. The door is offset to one side which might suggest that it was an andron.
The room to its south is puzzling as it is of a similar size, c. 3.5 m x c. 3.3 m
(internal measurements), with a door opening to the south, and at the centre
is a mudbrick stand and a large jar set in the floor. This may well have been
a utility room. Given the access to this pair of rooms, it seems possible that
there was a courtyard to their south, with this house taking a strip of the block
some 10 m wide, that is to say with two houses per block.
The layout of this archaic house is similar to that found at Lato on Crete.21
A number of rooms with offset door were entered through a foyer that had
a central stand. For example, the so-called house of the Prytaneion seems to
be two linear houses. The one on the south side has a rectangular room at the
west end, c. 3.2 m x c. 5.5 m, with a nearly square foyer, c. 5 m x c. 5.5 m. House
D ran approximately north-south. The end room, c. 4.1 m x c. 4.5 m, gave
access at its south end to a rectangular room, c. 6.5 m x c. 5.5 m, with a central
hearth. These rooms placed before the andron have been described as a foyer
area. The architectural form can be traced back to the Bronze Age, and its
function seems to have been to help cool the main room of the house. Given
the unusual nature of this house plan, it might suggest that the colonists of
this phase of the archaic city came from Crete, or a place that used a Cretan
style of architecture.
The internal walls of the Euesperides house consisted of a stone socle with
mudbrick walls. The eastern wall of the house, serving as a boundary wall
with the adjoining property, is notably thicker than the others. One explana-
tion is that it served as a retaining wall on what was the downslope side of the
building. This level is equated by a large number of archaic finds which are
described as coming from the hearth layer.22 These include a number of East
Greek cups, East Greek rosette bowls, Middle Corinthian skyphoi, and one
skyphos fragment that is possibly Early Corinthian.23


 Early colonization at Euesperides: origins and interactions

Fig. 4. Reconstruction of archaic building on the eastern side of the Sidi Abeid (B7). ©
Patricia Flecks.

This house, which we can place in the Middle Corinthian horizon, was
preceded by earlier occupation, represented by some 1 m of stratification.
Although there are no apparent architectural features, it would seem that the
wall along the east-west street marked the original line of the house. Within
the block are two distinct bands of grey-brown and brown earth which sit on
a black layer. Immediately under the hearth was Middle Corinthian material,
but in the lowest level the pottery is almost completely dominated by East
Greek material.24
One further feature which deserves comment is the structure identified
on the plan as an ‘oven’, lying to the east of the archaic house. The internal
diameter of this structure is approximately 1.1 m, perhaps large for a domestic
oven.25 This structure might possibly be a pottery kiln. Such kilns were in
fact noted in the next insula block to the north during the excavation of the
so-called Italian Trench.26 If this interpretation is correct, then this may well
have been the potters’ quarter of the colony. An alternative interpretation
may be that these structures were linked to dye-works.27

2. Northern Sidi Abeid: House HI

Recent excavations in the northern part of the Sidi Abeid have discovered the
line of the city wall which may have followed the line of a stone and mudbrick


David Gill

defensive construction probably dating to the archaic period.28 Immediately

behind the wall was a building whose orientation seems to have been influ-
enced by the alignment of the wall, and which rested on the bedrock. The
earliest pottery identified is a Middle Corinthian skyphos and other associ-
ated material.29 The house appears to have had a linear arrangement, some
2.5 m wide, and the internal length of the main room (room 3) seems to have
been c. 3.5 m. This seems to be slightly smaller than the complex discovered
in square B7, though it is possible that they were of a similar design.

3. The scarp on the south edge of the Sidi Abeid

The Ashmolean expedition cut a section through the scarp on the south side
of the Sidi Abeid in 1953. The excavators identified four main periods of
occupation in a depth of some 3 m of stratigraphy. The key thing to note is
the way that the walls of the period 3 house were built on the same alignment
as the walls of period 2 which suggests the continuity of the block within the
framework of a possible grid system. There are few architectural details from
period 1, though a hearth was identified.
One of the earliest pieces of pottery from the Ashmolean section was an
East Greek hemispherical bowl (Fig. 2).30 Similar bowls have been found at
Cyrene.31 Other pieces include late Attic black-figured skyphoi decorated with
sphinxes (Fig. 3),32 and an Attic black-figured lekythos which is considerably
later than the pottery that has been discovered in square B7. The section was
recleaned by Barri Jones’ excavation in 1968–9.33 The material contained late
Attic black-figured pottery, an early Attic black-glossed Type C cup (contem-
porary with the black-figured material); the earliest piece was a fragmentary
Corinthian skyphos though no precise phase could be ascribed.

4. Other sections to bed rock

Other sections within the colony indicate the extent of the archaic city. On
the east side of the Sidi Abeid a house was excavated adjoining the city wall.34
It seems clear that this house was constructed on a levelled site, perhaps in
the late fifth century, and there is no evidence of archaic occupation. The
road leading from the Sidi Abeid to this house was excavated both in the
early 1950s and more recently.35 The area to the east of the house explored in
square B7 does not appear to be any earlier than the late sixth century.
A number of excavations have taken place in the lower city which extends
into the lagoon.36 There is as yet no evidence of any archaic material from
this location, and the section to the south of the supposed agora was almost
certainly constructed in the early fourth century due to the appearance of
Attic black-glossed pottery with rouletting in the earliest layers.37


 Early colonization at Euesperides: origins and interactions

IV. Relative chronology

Sir John Boardman has wisely commented within the context of archaic
decorated pottery that ‘absolute dating … for pottery has to be taken
cautiously since it indicates primarily what appears to be its relevant place in
a sequence’.38 He has also made the important methodological point that ‘we
should probably trust relative archaeological chronology more than detailed
relative chronologies derived from one or more written sources, while
acknowledging that absolute chronology must depend ultimately on written
sources, but preferably not of a hundred years and more after the event, and
preferably not Greek at all’.39 In archaeological terms the sequence of occu-
pation at a site should be described in terms of the ceramic sequence which
can then be compared to a similar sequence at another site irrespective of the
absolute chronological dating-scheme used by the excavator. It is therefore
important that chronologically sensitive information should be presented in
chronologically neutral language, in terms of archaeological horizons.
The earliest pottery from Euesperides may be Early Corinthian,40 although
periods 1 and 2 in the house at B7 appear to belong to the Middle Corinthian
horizon; period 1 may have started earlier. One of the best stratified archaic
sites for Cyrenaica is Tocra, excavated in the early 1960s, where the excavators
identified three deposits.41 The East Greek rosette bowls from Euesperides
are comparable with those found in Tocra Deposits II and III, though one
was found in Deposit I.42 Deposits II and III also provide parallels for the
earliest pieces of Attic pottery.43 One of the earliest Laconian pieces from
Euesperides, an aryballos, can be placed in the Middle Corinthian horizon.44
In the light of material from the deep sections, the main burst of activity
at Euesperides can be placed in the same chronological horizon as Tocra
Deposit II, though it seems that some pottery from the colony is contem-
porary with Tocra Deposit I which contained Early Corinthian and some
Transitional Corinthian.45
Placing Euesperides and Tocra in a wider context, it is possible to recon-
struct the relative pottery sequence for the Greek colonization of Cyrenaica.
At the possible site of Aziris, the settlement which preceded the colony
of Cyrene, Protocorinthian pottery was discovered as well as East Greek
pottery.46 At Cyrene a number of Early Corinthian sherds have been found at
the extra-mural sanctuary of Demeter and Kore though none from ‘an undis-
turbed archaic context’.47 Early Corinthian material seems to have been found
at Apollonia (the port for Cyrene) and Ptolemais.48 One of the earliest pieces
of Corinthian pottery to have been found in Cyrenaica is a Middle Protocor-
inthian conical oinochoe from Tocra which Boardman has interpreted as an
‘heirloom’.49 This is atypical, and most of the Corinthian finds from Tocra
start in the Transitional or Early Corinthian horizon.50


David Gill

Although it is important to remember that the earliest pottery might not

yet have been found,51 it does seem as if there is a relative sequence emerging
from the colonies of Cyrenaica. There are a small number of pieces of pottery
which can be placed in the Middle Protocorinthian horizon from Aziris and
Tocra. At Cyrene the earliest pottery is Early Corinthian, and this is found at
other sites in Cyrenaica. The Middle Corinthian horizon seems to have been
particularly significant at Euesperides, as this is the point when architectural
features can first be identified; the same is true for the sanctuary of Demeter
and Kore at Cyrene where at this time ‘there is an expansion in both the
volume and range of [Corinthian] pottery imports’.52
This activity in Cyrenaica can be placed in a broader setting. The estab-
lishment of Naukratis in the Nile Delta falls into a similar chronological
horizon. Three sherds of Transitional Corinthian pottery have been found,
but the earliest period of Greek occupation seems to have occurred in the

Table 1. Colonies placed in the same ceramic horizon as Euesperides (based on Graham 1982).

Mother city or cities Literary foundation date

‘c. 600’
Abdera Klazomenai 654
Teos c. 545
Apollonia in Illyria Corinth and Corcyra c. 600
Apollonia in Libya Thera –
Casmenae Syracuse 643
Elaios Teos –
Massalia Phocaia c. 600
Nymphaion ?Miletos –
Panticapaion Miletos –

‘c. 600–575’
Akragas Gela 580
Amisus Miletos and Phocaia c. 564
Apollonia Pontica Miletos c. 610
Black Corcyra Cnidus ?c. 625–585
Emporiae Massalia/Phocaia –
Hermonassa ?Miletos –
Myrmekion Miletos or Panticapaion –
Odessos Miletos –

‘c. 600–570’
Camarina Syracuse 598

‘c. 600–500’
Agathe Massalia –
Assos Methymna –
Tyras Miletos –


 Early colonization at Euesperides: origins and interactions

Early Corinthian phase.53 The horizon that saw the settlement of Cyrenaica
and the establishment of Naukratis coincides with a burst of other colonial
activity. Taking the list of Greek colonies founded between 800 and 500
which appears in The Cambridge Ancient History, some 20 colonies can be
deemed to be roughly contemporary with Euesperides;54 8 of these are placed
in the precise range defined by the presence of Middle Corinthian pottery.
Of the 20 colonies, only 10 seem to have a foundation date derived from
literary sources (Table 1). These colonies include Massalia,55 and a series
of colonies in the Black Sea including Apollonia Pontica, Odessos, Tyras,
Nymphaion, Panticapaion, and Myrmekion.56
Middle Corinthian pottery seems to belong to the phase when Old Smyrna
was reoccupied after its sack. The siege mound from the city contained ‘Early
Corinthian of not very late date’.57 It might be suggested that the capture of
Old Smyrna, perhaps as part of a concerted attack on the cities of Ionia, led
to emigration of sectors of the community, perhaps with the encouragement
of Delphi. Thus the burst of colonies where the earliest apparent activity can
be dated to the Middle Corinthian horizon might be interpreted as coming
in the wake of such attacks on the Greek world.

V. Absolute chronology
Euesperides would appear to belong to a second phase of colonization in
Cyrenaica, an event recorded by Herodotus.58 Herodotus provides a possible
fixed date for this as the Libyans appealed to the Egyptian pharaoh Apries
(589–570 bc) who sent an expedition against Libya that was soundly
defeated; this disaster resulted in Amasis seizing control in Egypt. This would
suggest that this colonizing movement was taking place in the 570s 59 and
during the reign of Battos II.60
It is not immediately clear how these historical events can be detected
in the archaeological record at Euesperides. One of the problems is that
some of the excavators have been interpreting the archaeological remains
using the orthodox chronology for Greek painted pottery. So for example
it has been suggested that ‘the knoll was fortified by c. 600 bc’ 61 when in
fact what is meant is that the earliest pottery found in this area is Middle
Corinthian which is dated on the orthodox chronology to c. 600 bc.62
Such absolute dates, rather than more relative chronological horizons, are
frequently used in discussions of the colonization of Cyrenaica. Osborne,
for example, has suggested that the earliest pottery from Aziris can be dated
to c. 650, whereas the earliest occupation of Cyrene, Tocra and Ptolemais is
placed c. 620 bc.63
Some scholars present their absolute chronologies for archaic pottery as
if there are no problems with the present scheme.64 This would be to ignore


David Gill

the issues raised by, for example, the lack of stratigraphy for Late Geometric
pottery at Hama,65 and the Bocchoris scarab in a grave containing Early
Protocorinthian pottery at Pithekoussai.66

Table 2. ‘Orthodox’ dating of Corinthian pottery

Dunbabin67 Amyx68
MPC I: c. 700–675 690–670
MPC II: c. 675–650 670–650
LPC: c. 650–640 650–630
Trans: c. 640–625 630–620/615
EC: c. 625–600 620/615–595/590
MC: c. 600–575 595/590–570

VI. Pottery and the origins of the colonists

It is now widely accepted that pottery need not identify the origin of the
traders. Commercial graffiti especially from the fifth and fourth centuries bc
have demonstrated that Attic pottery was moved by Etruscans and Phoeni-
cians as well as a range of Greek traders. Boardman identified three main
reasons why pottery moved in the archaic period: first, ‘for the supply or
use of Greeks overseas who had not their own kilns or could not be satisfied
with local non-Greek products’; second, for ‘commercial value’ either for
their contents or as valuable objects in their own right; and third, as ‘curios’.69
Although Greek pottery can no longer be seen as travelling due to its own
‘intrinsic merit’ 70 pottery may reflect contact with a particular region.71 East
Greeks play a part in the story of the colonization of Cyrenaica. Kolaios
the Samian came across the Cretan fisherman Korobios who had been
left on the island of Platea by the Theran settlers.72 The Lindian temple
chronicle suggested that a Lindian had been part of the original settlement
with Battos.73 A possible Lakonian element may be reflected in the story,
preserved by Pausanias,74 of the Olympic victor Chionis who apparently took
part in the original expedition with Battos.
This East Greek element is also reflected in Herodotus’ account of
Demonax of Mantinea, who came as a lawgiver to Cyrene during the reign
of Battos III.75 The colony was divided into three Dorian tribes consisting
of first the Therans and the perioikoi, second the Peloponnesians and the
Cretans, and third all the islanders.76 Either this cosmopolitan mix can be
taken as representative of the original colonists, or, as is perhaps more likely,
the result of an intake as a result of Delphi’s call to colonize Cyrenaica after
the initial foundation. It may, therefore, be important to note the presence
of East Greek pottery at Euesperides and elsewhere in Cyrenaica especially
from early contexts.77
10
 Early colonization at Euesperides: origins and interactions

The presence of imported pottery at Euesperides needs to be viewed against

similar material from the other Greek settlements in Cyrenaica, notably the
archaic sanctuary at Tocra, the sanctuary of Demeter and Persephone at
Cyrene, and the agora excavations at Cyrene. Although some pottery remains
unpublished (or even unpublishable) – in this case less than 10% of the Corin-
thian pottery from the sanctuary of Demeter and Persephone at Cyrene78 – it
is clear that East Greek pottery was a major component of the pottery finds
at the sanctuary with almost equally high levels of Laconian.
This question of identity has been addressed on several occasions by
Boardman.79 Boardman, who helped to conduct excavations at Tocra in the
early 1960s as well as discussing the archaic material from Cyrenaica, has
presented percentages of the archaic material from Tocra and Cyrene.80 The
combined pottery from both of the Tocra volumes suggests that approxi-
mately 38% of the archaic pottery is Corinthian, 6% Laconian and 3.2%
Chian (Chart 1). Boardman reproduced Stucchi’s figures for the material
discovered during the excavations in the Agora at Cyrene. However, if one
looks at the published pottery from the sanctuary of Demeter and Perse-
phone at Cyrene, it is immediately clear that the Agora material is not
representative of the colony as a whole (Chart 3). For example Chian and
Laconian each represent just under 7% of the total archaic material. Yet the
Demeter sanctuary has published 69 Chian sherds, and 223 Laconian; in
other words there is three times as much Laconian as Chian.81 It is also clear
that Laconian forms a substantial proportion of the archaic material,82 falling
only slightly behind East Greek.83
The comment that the similarities between Tocra and the Agora material
from Cyrene ‘are more impressive than not’ is potentially misleading.84 For
example Boardman places great emphasis on the amount of Corinthian at
Tocra (38%) compared to 10% from Cyrene Agora. Although only a fraction
of the Corinthian pottery from the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore has been
published, it seems to represent more than 40% of the published archaic sherds
(Chart 2).85 The fact that substantial amounts of Corinthian pottery arrived
at Cyrene (via Apollonia) may suggest that Boardman’s claim that Tocra was
‘at the end of the trading run along the coast’ now needs to be revised.86
Any attempt to quantify the amount of archaic pottery from Cyrenaica
is thwarted by the lack of information on the sum total of sherds that have
been found rather than just published. Bald percentages do not give a useful
indication about the rate at which pottery arrived in Cyrenaica, though for
Tocra it has been possible to chart the changes in percentages through the
three main deposits of the archaic period. Most significant is the fact that
the presence of Attic pottery in Deposit III is at the expense of East Greek
pottery which declines marginally. However Tocra is no longer the sole index

11
 David Gill

45.0%
40.0%
35.0%
30.0%

Sherds
25.0%
20.0%
Chart 1. Archaic pottery 15.0%
from Tocra (based on
10.0%
Boardman and Hayes
1966, 1973). 5.0%

Corinthian

Rhodian

Attic

Local

Laconian

Chian

Melian

Cretan
300

250

200
No. of Sherds

150

100 Chart 2. Published Corinthian

pottery from the sanctuary of
50
Demeter and Kore, Cyrene
0 (based on Kocybala 1999).
EC MC LC late 5th
–4th c.

450
400
350
300
No. of Sherds

250
200
Chart 3. Selected archaic 150
fabrics from the sanctuary of 100
Demeter and Kore, Cyrene 50
(based on Schaus 1985). 0
Corinthian

East Greek

Laconian

Chian

Cretan

12
 Early colonization at Euesperides: origins and interactions

for interaction between Cyrenaica and the rest of the Greek world during the
archaic period, and a careful analysis of the pottery from Cyrene may reveal
a different pattern.
Perhaps there needs to be some comment about links with areas outside
Cyrenaica. Venit has argued that the Laconian pottery from Tocra and
Cyrene does not compare well with that found at Naukratis, arguing ‘against
a direct trade route between the two regions’.87 Perhaps more significantly,
the distribution pattern of Laconian pottery has suggested that it was
arriving in Egypt via Samos, and Venit has extended this to include pottery
movement aboard Samian ships.88 The presence of imported archaic pottery
at Euesperides, Tocra or Cyrene does not necessarily mean that there is direct
contact between the regions producing the pottery and Cyrenaica. For
example, if Venit is right to suggest that Laconian pottery came via Samos,
then Laconian needs to be considered against East Greek material arriving
in Cyrenaica.

VII. Conclusion
Excavations by the Ashmolean Museum and the Society for Libyan Studies
have helped to plot the extent of the archaic city located on the Sidi Abeid.
The northern line is fixed by the line of the city wall around the 9 m datum
line. The southern limit is clearly to the south of the excavation on the
southern scarp, and it may well have followed the original 8 m datum line.
The archaic city does not seem to have gone as far as the later city wall on the
eastern side; it must lie to the east of the house excavated in square B7 and
the wall should therefore be around the 7 m datum line. The western limit is
not at all clear, though it might have been around the 7 or 8 m datum line.
However, what is not clear is whether there were any buildings in the lower
city, perhaps round the site of the harbour, or if the agora, so far unexcavated,
was established in an earlier period.
This would give an area of the archaic city of approximately 2 ha. Clearly
parts of the city included kilns, but there may have been some 60 houses
of the size discovered in square B7. Using the hearth multiplier of 5,89 the
possible population is likely to have been no higher than 300 people. Such
a figure is not unreasonable given the size of the original colony at Cyrene,
perhaps in the region of 200 men, or Apollonia in Illyria.90 One reason why
the colony was so compact is probably because of the threat of attack by the
local Libyan population.
The pottery found in deep excavations on the Sidi Abeid demonstrates
that there was regular contact, either direct or indirect, between the site and
the Greek world, notably Corinth but also East Greece, from the Middle
Corinthian horizon onwards. Such contact can be mirrored at Tocra and

13
David Gill

Cyrene, and it may reflect a small Greek presence in this part of Cyrenaica.
The limited amount of Early Corinthian pottery and the lack of any archi-
tectural features, at least so far, would suggest an earlier limited settlement,
perhaps even seasonal. This Early Corinthian horizon coincides with the
development of the main colony of Cyrene, and the main developments at
Euesperides come in a later second phase of colonization.

Acknowledgements
I am grateful to Michael Vickers who has been generous with his support and encour-
agement for the work on the Euesperides material. Two of my research students, David
Sturgeon and Patricia Flecks, have provided valued comments on aspects of the city, and
the latter has kindly allowed me to reproduce her reconstruction of the archaic building
on the Sidi Abeid. Andrew Wilson has made helpful comments about the later excava-
tions. The late John Lloyd and the late Barri Jones also provided access to their material
at key points during the project.

Notes
1
Dennis 1867 [1870]. Much of the pottery discovered by Dennis is now in the
British Museum; unfortunately the provenance is usually given as the general ‘Cyrenaica’.
For example, the fifth-century bc black-glossed stemless cups, London, British Museum
1866.4–15.41–42, or the Lykinic lekanis, 1866.4–15.29. For a find of an archaic terra-
cotta in 1863: Higgins 1954. For details of the career of Dennis: Rhodes 1973. For
reports of other early visitors to the site: Lenormant 1848; Vattier de Bourville 1848;
1849; 1850.
2
Salvadori 1914.
3
Goodchild 1952. The sherds are now in the British Museum: see Gill forth-
coming.
4
Goodchild 1962.
5
For a description and view of the site in 2004: Wilson et al. 2004, 186–7, fig. 17.
6
Rhodes 1973, 83, quoting Dennis 1867 [1870].
7
 Vickers et al. 1994. For further material from the excavations in the 1950s see
also Gill 1998; 2004; Gill and Flecks, in press; Hinds 1991; Sturgeon 1996; Treister
and Vickers 1996. See also Wright 1995. Some of the material from the Ashmolean
excavations appears in Elrashedy 1985; 2002. A final report is in preparation by Gill
and Vickers.
8
Jones and Little 1979; Jones 1983; 1985. See also Vickers and Reynolds 1971–2,
41.
9
For comments on the mosaics found in the lower city: Dunbabin 1979, 269–70,
pl. 37, fig. 4; Joyce 1979, 260. For a discussion of one of the later inscriptions: Fraser
1951; 1953.
10
Buzaian and Lloyd 1996; Lloyd et al. 1995; 1998; Hayes and Mattingly 1995;
Bennett et al. 2000; Wilson et al. 1999; 2001; 2002; 2003; 2004.
11
Hdt. 4.204. For the date of the introduction of taxation on the cities of Cyrenaica:
Mitchell 1966, 107.

14
 Early colonization at Euesperides: origins and interactions
12
For the interpretation of the Persian destruction: Jones 1983: 110–11; Jones and
Little 1971, 66. For the observation that the level was in fact later: Vickers and Gill 1986:
97. Full discussion will appear in the final report of 1968–9 excavations.
13
Hdt. 4.150–1.
14
Hdt. 4.159. At this time the Cyrenaican constitution was reorganized by Demonax
of Mantinea who had been sent at the indication of the Delphic oracle (Hdt. 4.161.2).
Herodotus records that the cult site outside Cyrene where the Persian army stopped in
515 bc was the site of Zeus Lykaios (Hdt. 4.203.2). As this sanctuary was in fact that of
Zeus Ammon, Herodotus may be recording the influence of Arcadians who had brought
their cult of Zeus Lykaios with them. For contacts between Delphi and Cyrenaica under
Arkesilas IV: Mitchell 1966, 108.
15
For a convenient summary of the period: Lloyd 2000.
16
 Vickers and Gill 1986. This is the report predicted by Humphrey 1980, 84. Contex-
tual information concerning the archaic pottery published in 1986 has now been
identified and it may be possible to identify the deposits where some of the material
was found.
17
See most recently: Gill 2004, 398–403. See also Gill and Flecks, in press.
18
Coin E20 [B7/1/0, found c. 20 cm down], Magas in revolt, c. 282–261 bc; coin E10
[B7/E/3, grey ashy], Magas reconciled with Ptolemy II Philadelphus, c. 261–258 bc.
On the coinage of Euesperides: Buttrey 1994; 1997, 59–62. See also Bond and Swales
1965. On the significance of coins for dating the third century bc layers at Euesperides:
Wilson et al. 2003, 153.
19
The appearance of Euesperitans in the third-century bc P. Hibeh 91 is significant.
There is a funerary stele of the Euesperitan Theudasios from Amathus on Cyprus (BMI
no. 974). He was probably part of the Ptolemaic garrison on the island.
20
Lloyd 1985, 53, notes the dimensions of the blocks as c. 18 m by c. 20 m.
21
Hadjimichali 1975. For a reconstruction of the house and discussion of the differ-
ences between the houses at Euesperides and Lato: Gill and Flecks, in press.
22
Context B7/GA/7.
23
cf. Boardman and Hayes 1966, 39, pl. 25, no. 341.
24
This occupation, period 1, also contained a pyramidal loomweight. For a review of
loomweights at Euesperides: E. Tébar Magías, in Wilson et al. 2004, 180–4.
25
For ancient kilns: Sparkes 1991, 23.
26
Further kilns were identified to the north of the line of the city wall in area M:
Buzian and Lloyd 1996, 134–6. The kiln in the Italian Trench was c. 2.5 m across.
27
See Gill and Flecks, in press. This aspect is discussed in detail by Patricia Flecks in
her Swansea M.Phil dissertation (2005). There is clear evidence of processing murex
shells at Euesperides; for the most recent discussion see E. Tébar Magías, in Wilson et
al. 2004, 168–9.
28
Buzaian and Lloyd 1996, 144 suggest a date ‘as early as the late seventh or early sixth
century bc’ based on the conventional chronology of pottery found in an adjoining
house. For a recent overview of the ceramic finds from area H: Lloyd et al. 1998:
158–60, ‘Pottery associated with the first recognized phase of habitation, dating to
around 580–570 bc’.
29
Buzaian and Lloyd 1996, 144, 147 fig. 18.
30
BUS152.7: Vickers and Gill 1986, 98–9, fig. 1, no. 1.
31
Schaus 1985, pl. 18, nos. 299 and 306, dated to ‘600–590’ and ‘600–570’ bc. The

15
David Gill

type is also common at Naukratis

32
BUS152.1 and 2. BUS152.3 probably comes from the rim of another skyphos. For
a similar piece from Tocra: Boardman and Hayes 1973, 48, no. 2171, pl. 29. Another
skyphos of this type comes from the Italian Trench to the east of the Sidi Abeid:
BUS181.1.
33
Jones 1985, 32: ‘pottery of mid- to late sixth century date from the primary levels’.
34
The most recent discussion is Sturgeon 1996.
35
Buzaian and Lloyd 1996, 146 (‘Area J’); Lloyd et al. 1998: 161, ‘The ceramic
sequence … from the later sixth to late fourth/early third centuries bc’. The excavations in
the 1950s designated this as the Italian Trench extension, so-named after using a gun-pit
as the starting point of a trench designed to find the east line of the city.
36
For cores in this area: Alette Kattenberg, in Wilson et al. 2004, 169–71.
37
This area was excavated by Barri Jones: Jones 1983. It is clear from his notes that
rouletted pottery comes from the burnt layers that he had associated with the Persian
destruction of the city. Key contexts: T12, 6; and T20, 11.
38
Boardman 1998, 10. Cf. ‘although absolute dates remain somewhat elusive the
application of conventional dates to new finds invariably tallies well with other, historical
expectations’ (pp. 178–9).
39
Boardman 1994, 147.
40
In 1986 it was thought that the earliest Corinthian material was Middle Corinthian:
Vickers and Gill 1986, 100. Some of the very fragmentary Corinthian sherds from the
deepest levels of square B7 may be earlier.
41
Boardman and Hayes 1966; 1973.
42
 Vickers and Gill 1986, 98. See also Vickers and Gill 1986, 106: ‘the most judicious
way to describe the earliest activity on the site [Euesperides] is to say that it seems to be
contemporary with Tocra Deposit II’.
43
 Vickers and Gill 1986, 103.
44
 Vickers and Gill 1986, 100.
45
Boardman, in Boardman and Hayes 1966, 12.
46
Boardman 1966, 150–1. Boardman dates this material to 637–631, the six years
(Hdt. 4.158) preceding the traditional founding of Cyrene.
47
White 1984, 23; Kocybala 1999, esp. p. 5. See also Boardman 1966, 152.
48
Boardman 1966, 152–3.
49
Boardman 1966, 153; Boardman, in Boardman and Hayes 1966, 21: ‘there is every
reason to believe that it was brought to Tocra as a prized possession by one of the early
colonists and subsequently offered as a dedication in the sanctuary’.
50
Boardman, in Boardman and Hayes 1966, 21: ‘The main series of Corinthian
scarcely begins before the Early Corinthian period. There are only one or two pieces
which might be called Transitional’.
51
See the cautionary tale of Selinus in Sicily: Snodgrass 1987, 54–6.
52
Kocybala 1999, 5.
53
Boardman 1980, 121; Venit 1988, 60–6; Möller 2000, 217 (with additional
examples), 217–18 (16 examples of EC pottery); James 2003, 261. Boardman 1994,
141–2, only provides absolute dates.
54
Graham 1982, 160–2. Euesperides is dated to ‘c. 600–575’: Graham 1982, 161. The
chronological horizon ‘c. 600–575’ no doubt means that Middle Corinthian pottery was
found on the sites concerned. Kocybala (1999, 5) provides a date of ‘595/90–570 bc’

16
 Early colonization at Euesperides: origins and interactions

for Middle Corinthian pottery.

55
Shefton 1994.
56
Tsetskhladze 1994. This is identified as the second stage of Miletos’ colonization of
the Black Sea (Tsetskhladze 1994, 119).
57
Dunbabin 1953–4, 260. See James 2003, 261–3.
58
Hdt. 4.159. Herodotus also gives an internal chronology for Cyrenaica by indicating
that Battos ruled for 40 years and was succeeded by his son Arkesilaos I who ruled for
16 years.
59
Graham 1982, 136 suggests a date of c. 580.
60
Graham 1982, 137 takes the Lindian chronicle to refer to the colonizing movement
under Battos II. See Chamoux 1953, 124.
61
Buzaian and Lloyd 1996, 150.
62
Cf. Boardman 1980, 15: ‘We rely very much on the dating of Corinth’s vases in these
years, but it is easy to fall into the error of saying that “the earliest imported vases found
at x are Corinthian”, when all that can fairly be said is “the earliest datable vases … are
Corinthian’.
63
Osborne 1996, 15.
64
e.g. Boardman 1994, 141 on the chronology of Naukratis. His unreferenced
mention of those who argue against the orthodox chronology of Naukratis is presum-
ably to Bowden 1991; and see also Bowden 1996; James 2003. For the chronology of
Corinthian pottery: Amyx 1988, 397–434.
65
Francis and Vickers 1985. See most recently Waldbaum and Magness 1997.
66
Gill and Vickers 1996. The most likely dates for Bocchoris’ reign are 720–715
(or 719–714). These dates would provide the terminus post quem for the pottery. The
response by Ridgeway (1999) does not address the central methodological issue of using
this scarab for dating Greek pottery. See also Ridgway 2004, 22.
67
Amyx 1988, 399.
68
Amyx 1988, 428. A similar set of dates is used by Kocybala 1999, 5.
69
Boardman 1980, 16–18. For a more sophisticated discussion of pottery in the
archaic Greek economy see Osborne 1996b.
70
Boardman, in Boardman and Hayes 1966, 14.
71
For a discussion of the link between imports at Tocra and links outside see
Boardman, in Boardman and Hayes 1966, 14–15.
72
Hdt. 4.152.
73
Cf. Boardman, in Boardman and Hayes 1966, 14. Jeffery 1976, 198: ‘The Lindians
who with Pankis’ children founded Kyrene with Battos, to Athena and Herakles a tithe
from war-spoils’.
74
Paus. 3.14.3. Chionis’ first victory was in 668.
75
Hdt. 4.161.
76
Jeffery (1976, 187) suggested that the three tribes were arranged ‘in a descending
social scale’. The first group would be the original settlers from Thera along with those
original Greeks, the second group would consist of Dorians, and the third group would
be Ionians.
77
It is important to be cautious about linking pottery to specific groups of colonists:
see Graham 1971, 36.
78
Kocybala 1999, 2.
79
e.g. Boardman 1994.

17
David Gill
80
Boardman has in fact never published absolute figures for Tocra, merely percentages
in a series of charts and tables, e.g. Boardman, in Boardman and Hayes 1973, 4 fig. 1
(‘Percentages of Archaic wares represented’), 5 fig. 2 (‘Proportions of principal Archaic
wares in each Deposit’); Boardman 1996, 145 fig. 8.2 (‘Proportions of pottery from
the Archaic deposits at Tocra’), 147 table 8.1 (‘Percentages of Archaic pottery found at
Tocra and at Cyrene Agora’). Boardman’s presentation includes comments on Stucchi’s
earlier compilation of archaic material from Cyrene, drawing attention to the fact that
there is a 10% discrepancy in Stucchi’s figures: Boardman 1994, 146. See also Osborne
1996b, 38.
81
An analysis of the published sherds suggests that Chian forms 7% of the total,
Laconian 22%. See also Lemos 1991, 194–5.
82
Cf. Boardman 1994, 146: ‘an allegedly heavy proportion of Laconian at Cyrene
Demeter’. For Laconian pottery from the sanctuary: Schaus 1985.
83
East Greek Wild Goat represents 20% of the total archaic pottery, Ionian bucchero
2%, Fikellura 2% and Clazomenian 1%, i.e. 25% against 22% Laconian. For the
published material see Schaus 1985.
84
Boardman 1994, 146.
85
Kocybala 1999, 2, where it is noted that the catalogue publishes less than 8% of the
pottery from the sanctuary (394 catalogue items out of 5100 pieces).
86
Boardman 1994, 146, based on Boardman 1968. See also Boardman 1979.
87
 Venit 1985, 393.
88
 Venit 1985, 394; see also Venit 1988, 113–16. The argument lies in the observation
that Laconian pots attributed to the Boreads painter were found in large numbers on
Samos. For links between Sparta and Tocra: Boardman, in Boardman and Hayes 1966,
14. For Sparta and Cyrene: Schaus 1985, 98–102.
89
De Angelis (1994, 98) uses this multiplier for Megara Hyblaia. For the problem
applied to the Southern Argolid survey: van Andel and Runnels 1987, 173, 198–9 (5
people as a ‘hearth-multiplier’; suggesting 150 people per ha). De Angelis (1994) also
suggested that each household would need some 3–4 ha. for cultivation at Selinous.
90
For the numbers in early colonies: Graham 1982, 146.

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23
 2

‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization

John-Paul Wilson

Anyone who studies Greek colonization in the archaic period is met by

a series of long-established certainties. Views on the duties of the oikist, the
role of the Delphic oracle, the relationship between colony and mother-city
and between colonist and ‘native’, and so on, are well entrenched and subject
to only minor disagreement. First, it is generally accepted that most colonies
were founded by a polis, or on rare occasions by two or more poleis;1 that
a decision was made within the community to send out a group of colonists,
normally men, to settle elsewhere.2 Second, these colonists were generally led
by a single individual, the oikist, who was responsible for the political, social
and religious organization of the new colony, and who was worshipped as
a hero upon his death. Third, before the colony was founded, the Delphic
Oracle was consulted: either to gain Apollo’s blessing for the enterprise; or
to seek advice, sometimes geographical, about the foundation. Fourth, the
colony was in most instances politically independent from the outset but
maintained cultural and particularly religious ties with the metropolis, ties
which could be invoked by both the colony and the mother-city in times of
crisis.3 Fifth, colonization, when it took place on virgin territory, involved the
violent expulsion of the indigenous population.
One is thus faced with a clear sense that the nature of archaic Greek
colonization is well understood and not open to serious debate. The only
intensely contested issue has concerned the motives for Greek colonization
in the archaic period. On the one side are those who favour commercial
motives, the search for new resources and new markets, as the driving force.4
On the other are those who see land hunger as the key factor: either absolute
land-hunger, reflective of rising population in the homeland placing too great
a strain on Greece’s limited agricultural resources;5 land-hunger resulting
from long-term drought and famine;6 or relative land-hunger, caused by one
group restricting the access of another group to land and, by extension, to
political power.7
Recent scholarship, however, has sought to challenge some of the
certainties that have underpinned this traditional model of archaic Greek

25
John-Paul Wilson

colonization. The impetus for this challenge has in part come from our
post-colonial perspective. In other words, a shift in contemporary ideolo-
gies allows, even encourages, one to look afresh on Greek colonization,
freed of the distorting lens of European colonialism and imperialism, and,
at the same time, increasingly aware of the impact of this distortion. So, for
example, De Angelis (1998) shows how nineteenth- and twentieth-century
discussions of the Greek colonial experience have been fundamentally shaped
by contemporary European experiences. Meanwhile, Osborne (1998) has
demonstrated that the very application of the term colonization to the Greek
overseas settlement of this period originates from the mistaken assimilation
of the Greek term apoikia with the Latin term colonia, which at once imbued
the Greek movement with an imperialistic character it never had. The other
important impetus has been, if not an abandonment, then a re-assessment of
the value of the literary tradition in relation to the archaeological evidence;
an increased desire to treat the material culture on its own terms, not to
force its evidence into a historical framework built upon the less-than-secure
foundations of the literary evidence. More and more colonies are being
examined within their immediate geographical and cultural context rather
than within the confines of an overarching model of Greek colonization.
The debate consequently no longer focuses on the well-worn question
of motives for colonization, which explicitly draws upon the analogy of
western imperialism, but rather on the now re-opened issue of the nature of
early Greek colonization. So, for example, Osborne (1998) presents a picture
of early Greek colonization in the West that suggests that rather than the
product of organized expeditions, Greek overseas settlements were in many
instances opportunist settlements, incorporated into or incorporating indig-
enous communities, some of which flourished and became formal cities,
Greek poleis, but others of which failed to do so, either being destroyed or
simply fading away. This organic model of settlement is in striking contrast to
the traditional model of colonization with its emphasis on the formal role of
mother-city and oikist, and on the Delphic oracle. Osborne correctly empha-
sizes that the ‘traditional model’ of colonization comes to some extent from
the inappropriate retrojection of classical (that is fifth and fourth century
bc) models into the archaic period, models that have much more in common
with both the Roman colonial experience and the modern imperialist expe-
rience. In other words the ‘traditional model’ is a product of the interplay
between ancient and modern ideologies of colonization. It is the former
that is of particular interest here. Thus we will explore the development of
ideologies of colonization in the archaic period, examining the historical
and cultural contexts within which the ‘ideal’ of Greek colonization may
have emerged.

26
 ‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization

We will begin by demonstrating that the treatment of archaic coloniza-

tion as a unity – the desire to see this period as an ‘age of colonization’ – was
an ancient as much as a modern impulse. It will be argued, however, that
this impulse hides the diverse nature of settlement within this period. The
recognition that the nature of archaic Greek settlement changed dramatically
within this period is key to understanding the Greek ‘colonial’ experience but
also to understanding the manner in which ancient ideologies of colonization
emerged.
We will then explore the earliest evidence for ancient colonial ideologies,
i.e. Homer. It will be argued that rather than pointing towards the realities of
colonization in the poet’s own time (the late eight century bc), the colonial
stories to be found within the Homeric epics were in part a product of the
Greek experiences of pre-colonial exploration in the West and in part reflec-
tive of an existing body of settlement myths which might be associated with
Dark Age ‘colonization’ in the Aegean. Nevertheless these stories acted
as models for subsequent accounts of the archaic colonial experience, in
particular poetic accounts of colonization as seen in Pindar. The role of the
oikist will then be explored in relationship to this discussion.
Finally, we will consider how, when and why two key elements of the tradi-
tional view of colonization may have been incorporated into this ‘model’:
that is, the cult of the founder and Delphic consultation.
In essence, then, this paper is another attempt to present a revisionist
view of archaic Greek colonization, by emphasizing the impact that shifting
ancient ideologies have had both on ancient perceptions of this experience
and on our own perceptions.

An ‘age of colonization’?
In modern scholarship, the period of Greek history from c. 730 bc to c. 550
bc is often fashioned, sometimes explicitly, sometimes implicitly, as an ‘age
of colonization’.8 The force of this classification is clear enough, not least
because it encourages one to draw parallels with other so-called ‘ages’ of
colonization. This, so it is inferred, is a period marked out from previous
and subsequent eras not only by the relative intensity of settlement, but
also by the geographical scope of this settlement. There is, of course, some
truth in such inferences. No one questions that during these centuries the
Greeks populated some areas they had never reached before and others that
had perhaps been settled in the Late Bronze Age, but never with equivalent
voracity. The problem arises, however, first, when drawing clear distinctions
between the nature of Greek settlement in this period and Greek settlement
in the preceding centuries, and, second, when treating overseas settlement in
the archaic period as a single movement.

27
John-Paul Wilson

The Greeks of the classical period and later perceived their past as marked
by an almost continuous series of population movements, both within
Greece itself, and beyond into Asia Minor and the western Mediterranean.
Most often heroes led these movements, founding cities in their wake. Before
the Trojan War, for example, Dardanos and Iapyx, among others, were said
to have led Cretans to Italy, while Herakles founded cities across much of the
Mediterranean. The heroes of the Trojan War were themselves remembered
as great city-founders, settling parts of North Africa, Sicily and southern Italy,
as they attempted to make their way home. In the period after the Trojan
War, the descendants of Herakles led the Dorians into the Peloponnese
where they would re-found the great cities of Argos, Sparta, Messene and
Corinth, a process that led in turn to the driving out and resettlement of the
Achaians, Ionians and Aiolians, some within Greece, others in the Aegean
and Asia Minor. Subsequently the Spartans would create further settlements
within the Peloponnese, and across the Aegean, for example, on Melos and
Thera. Within the Greek imagination, all this occurred in the centuries
before the overseas settlement of the late eighth to mid-sixth centuries bc.
From this mythical perspective the archaic period seems unremarkable: it is
just another age of population movements and overseas settlement.
Strikingly, it seems that the Greeks used the same language, the same
terminology of settlement, to describe all these experiences. The term apoikia
– most often translated as ‘colony’ but literally meaning something like
‘home away from home’ – is used as readily to describe the various activities
of Dardanos, Herakles, the Homeric heroes, the Dorians, the Ionians, and
so on, as it is to describe the activities of the archaic Greek settlers. A few
examples will suffice.
Skylettion (Scolacium) in southern Italy, normally identified as a de-
pendent ‘colony’ of Kroton, founded in the sixth century bc, is mentioned
by Strabo (6.1.10), Solinus (2.10) and Pliny (NH 3.95) as having been settled
by Athenians led by Menestheus, their leader at Troy. Strabo calls it explicitly
an apoikos Athenaiōn, a ‘colony of the Athenians’.
The Melians, Herodotus (8.48) notes in passing, were of Lakedaimonian
stock. Thucydides (5.112.2) expands on this considerably in the course
of the ‘Melian Dialogue’: the Melians claimed their city to be 700 years
old, a chronology that would place its foundation shortly after the Dorian
invasion, a ‘fact’ emphasized by Conon (Narrationes 36), where the name
of the oikist, Philonomos, is also added. The key point for this discussion,
however, is Thucydides’ (5.84.2) denomination of the Melians as apoikoi,
‘colonists’ of the Lakedaimonians.
Strabo (8.7.2), in explaining the Ionian departure from the mainland as
a function of Achaian aggression after the return of the Herakleidai to the

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 ‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization

Peloponnese, describes the Ionian settlements in the Aegean and Asia Minor
as Iōnikēs apoikias; while Sparta is described simply as the apoikia of the
Dorians by Pindar (Isthmian 7.12–15).
Further examples could be added but it should be clear that the Greeks
of the classical period and later were happy to describe, using the same
language, experiences that have been treated very differently in the modern
scholarship. It might be argued, however, that the term apoikia was never
a technical term for the Greeks in the way in which colonia was a technical
term for the Romans.9 Rather that it is simply a generic term used to describe
any overseas settlement, whatever its origins or its nature. Another example,
however, will demonstrate how a more clearly technical term was applied in
the same manner.
There is a whole series of stories concerning the origins of Brundisium
(Greek Brentesion). One, found in Stephanos of Byzantium, describes it
as being founded by Brentus, son of Herakles. Another, found in Justinian
(12.2.7) and Isidorus (Origines 14.4.23), recognizes Aetolians led by
Diomedes as the founders. Cretans, however, are prominent in four other
variant foundation myths. One has Iapyx, son of the Cretan Lykaon, leading
the Messapians to found the city.10 Another has Dicte leading Cretan exiles
sailing on Athenian ships to settle the colony.11 The third and fourth variants
are found in Strabo (6.3.6):
Βρεντέσιον δ’ ἐποικῆσαι μὲν λέγονται Κρῆτες οἱ μετὰ Θησέως ἐπελθόντες ἐκ
Κνωσσοῦ, εἴθ’ οἱ ἐκ τῆς Σικελίας ἀπηρκότες μετὰ τοῦ Ἰάπυγος (λέγεται γὰρ
ἀμφοτέρως)·
Brentesion, they say, was further colonized by the Cretans, whether by those
who came over with Theseus from Knossos, or by those who set sail from Sicily
with Iapyx.
The use of ἐποικέω is interesting. It can simply mean ‘to settle’ or ‘to colonize’
but it also has a more technical sense. This is evident perhaps in a fifth century
bc inscription detailing the Athenian settlement of Brea.12 It differentiates
between apoikoi, the initial colonists, and epoikoi, those who join the colony
at a later date. An epoikos then is an ‘additional colonist’, and ἐποικέω implies
a process of secondary colonization. In the case of Brentesion, it is probable
that Strabo sees the Cretan colonization as secondary to the prior Messapic
colonization, the existence of which he implies earlier in Book 6.
The language of colonization thus suggests that the Greeks did not draw
clear distinctions between these ‘population movements’. It is only within
modern scholarship that any such distinctions of terminology have been
made. For the most part those foundation myths that pre-date the Trojan War
are treated as purely mythical. The Cretan myths are most often classified as

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John-Paul Wilson

aetiological: for example the Iapygians, the Italic peoples who inhabited the
heel of Italy, are seen as descendants of the Cretan Iapyx and his followers.13
Herakles’ city-foundations are also sometimes recognized as aetiological,14
but also function more generally to provide divine origins for a community.
The so-called nostoi foundations, although sometimes seen as memories of
either Mycenaean settlement, or of the activities of the ‘Sea Peoples’, often
seem to act primarily as charter myths for later ‘historical’ colonization.15 So,
the settlement of ‘historical’ Achaians at Kroton might be seen as justified
through Strabo’s account of Homeric Achaians being forced to land in the
area and subsequently being joined by like-minded Greeks.16
Foundation myths that concern the period after the Trojan War, that is
those describing the activities of the Dorians, Ionians, Aiolians and Achaians,
have traditionally been treated in a different fashion, as describing actual
historical movements of peoples. These ‘movements’, however, have been
classified as ‘invasions’ or ‘migrations’ and are therefore clearly differentiated
from the ‘colonization’ of the archaic period.17 For example, the movement
of Greeks from the mainland into Asia Minor during the Dark Ages is
described by modern scholars as the Ionian ‘migration’. On the other hand,
the movement of Greeks from Kolophon to found the polis of Poleion in
Italy in the mid-seventh century is portrayed as an act of ‘colonization’.18
Yet the ancient sources attribute both the Ionian movement and the Kolo-
phonian ‘colonization’ to outside aggression and use very much the same
language in doing so: in the former case Dorian and Achaian aggression
forces the Ionians to flee from mainland Greece; in the latter case it is Lydian
aggression that forces the Kolophonian hand.19 The terms ‘invasion’ and
‘migration’, however, conjure up images of tribal movements, of disjointed
and disorganized actions, in stark contrast to the images of carefully planned
and organized settlement invoked by the word ‘colonization’.
What seems to underpin this clear differentiation is the belief that during
the so-called Dark Ages, i.e. from the twelfth through to the first half of the
eighth century, these population movements are the product of a pre- or at
best proto-state society. Archaic population movements, on the other hand,
as already noted, are deemed to have been driven by the polis. It is thus the
emergence of the polis in the latter part of the eighth century bc that is the
key to understanding this classification. The term ‘colonization’ carries with it
‘statist’ connotations and can thus only be appropriately applied to the period
after the emergence of the polis. This raises a whole series of questions about
the impact of modern ideologies of colonization on the study of the ancient
experience. This paper’s focus, however, is primarily the impact of ancient
ideologies and although we have seen so far that the ancient sources do not
in their use of terminology make the clear distinctions between experiences

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 ‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization

found in modern scholarship, this does not mean that other distinctions were
not drawn in the ancient sources.
One important passage in particular reveals the manner in which stories
about settlement and population movements could be readily manipulated
to make an ideological point. This passage, Thucydides 1.12, comes at the
heart of his archaeologia within which he provides a rapid trawl through early
Greek history (and indeed proto- and pre-history). Thucydides has a clear
agenda in this section: primarily to demonstrate why the Peloponnesian War
was the greatest of all wars to that date, by emphasizing the gradual develop-
ment of Greek sea-power and economic vigour across the centuries, coupled
with increased political stability.20
The passage we are concerned with here describes the situation in Greece
in the period from the Trojan War down to eighth century bc:
ἐπεὶ καὶ μετὰ τὰ Τρωϊκὰ ἡ Ἑλλὰς ἔτι μετανίστατό τε καὶ κατῳκίζετο, ὥστε
μὴ ἡσυχάσασαν αὐξηθῆναι. ἥ τε γὰρ ἀναχώρησις τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἐξ Ἰλίου
χρονία γενομένη πολλὰ ἐνεόχμωσε, καὶ στάσεις ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ὡς ἐπὶ πολὺ
ἐγίγνοντο, ἀφ’ ὧν ἐκπίπτοντες τὰς πόλεις ἔκτιζον…Δωριῆς τε ὀγδοηκοστῷ ἔτει
ξὺν Ἡρακλείδαις Πελοπόννησον ἔσχον. μόλις τε ἐν πολλῷ χρόνῳ ἡσυχάσασα
ἡ Ἑλλὰς βεβαίως καὶ οὐκέτι ἀνισταμένη ἀποικίας ἐξέπεμψε, καὶ Ἴωνας μὲν
Ἀθηναῖοι καὶ νησιωτῶν τοὺς πολλοὺς ᾤκισαν, Ἰταλίας δὲ καὶ Σικελίας τὸ
πλεῖστον Πελοποννήσιοι τῆς τε ἄλλης Ἑλλάδος ἔστιν ἃ χωρία.

Even after the Trojan War, Greece was still subject to upheaval and settlement,
such that it could not become peaceful and grow stronger. For the return of the
Greeks from Ilion, after such a long time, led to many changes. Factions generally
began to emerge in the cities, and, in consequence of these, men were driven
into exile and founded new cities … The Dorians, too, in the eightieth year after
the war, together with the Herakleidai occupied the Peloponnese. After a long
period of time, Greece, having finally become permanently settled, and being
no longer subject to population movements, began to send out apoikiai. The
Athenians settled Ionia and most of the Islands. The Peloponnesians settled the
greater part of Italy and Sicily and some parts of the rest of Greece.
Here Thucydides compresses five hundred years of population movements
into a single chapter. The vocabulary he adopts to describe these movements
is diverse. It is clear that he is not using this vocabulary in any technical
sense. He does, however, seem to draw a structural distinction between cities
‘founded’ during the long period of disruption and apoikiai ‘sent out’ when
Greece became settled: the former were an unavoidable product of civil
strife, stasis; the latter an apparently conscious, unforced decision, a product
of stability.21 One could reasonably argue that this is a false distinction given
the timbre of many ‘archaic’ foundation myths. Civil strife is very much at the
heart of the foundation of, for example, Taras.22 One assumes that Thucydides

31
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must have been aware of such stories. This is one potential example, then, of
how these fluid categories could be manipulated. More striking, however, is
Thucydides’ treatment of the Athenian ‘colonization’ of Ionia and the so-
called Peloponnesian ‘colonization’ of the West and ‘some parts of the rest of
Greece’ as analogous. He must have known that, according to most ancient
chronologies, the settlement of Ionia and the islands pre-dated the ‘coloniza-
tion’ of Italy and Sicily by several centuries, if not necessarily the settlement
of ‘some parts of the rest of Greece’.23 He must also have been aware that for
some the settlement of Ionia and the islands was ultimately a response to the
Dorian ‘settlement’ of the Peloponnese, and was thus a part of the general
disorder that enveloped Greece in the wake of the Trojan War, rather than
a product of the order that, Thucydides himself argues, eventually emerged
from this chaos.
Thucydides’ political motive, or at least the political context in which he
was writing, is plain enough to see. The Athenians were making great play
with their position as mother-city of the Ionians in the second half of the
fifth century bc, primarily because this conception of the past legitimized
their current position as head of the Delian League. There were, however,
alternative stories about the origins of the Ionians linking them with
Messenian Pylos and with the Achaians of the north-west Peloponnese.24
In the archaic period, it seems that Athens had actually regarded itself as an
Ionian city: Pseudo-Aristotle (Ath. Pol. 5) says that Solon called Attika ‘the
oldest land of Ionia’. The developing notion of Athenian autochthony that
appears in the fifth-century sources was, however, incompatible with the idea
of an Ionian Athens.25 Athens clearly wished to retain its Ionian connec-
tions, given its political position at the head of a primarily Ionian Empire,
but no longer wished to connect itself with the Peloponnesian origins that
an Ionian identity implied. Hence the apparently fifth-century development
of the myth of the Ionian cities as Athenian ‘colonies’ which one sees here
in Thucydides.26
Thucydides, in equating the Ionian ‘migration’ and archaic colonization,
in presenting them as part of the same process, was, as we have seen, doing
nothing unusual. The language used to describe these two experiences in the
ancient sources was more or less identical. What makes Thucydides’ account
interesting is that he clearly differentiates these two experiences from the
population movements that had come before; and the nature of this differen-
tiation to some extent mirrors that which we have observed within modern
scholarship. Thucydides’ desire to present the ‘sending out of colonies’ as
the product of a stable political environment is very similar to the desire in
modern scholarship to present ‘colonization’ as the product of a state society,
the polis. In both Thucydides’ account and within modern scholarship, it is

32
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argued that colonization cannot take place within a world of political insta-
bility, or rather that such settlement which occurs within this politically
unstable world is fundamentally different from that which took place in the
politically stable world of the eighth century bc.
Both Thucydides and modern scholars have thus been driven by ideo-
logical views about the nature of colonization to posit either implicitly or
explicitly the existence of an ‘age of colonization’ – a product for Thucydides
of political stability and for modern scholars of the emergence of the polis
– that is distinct from the population movements and settlement, whether
mythical or historical, of the previous period.
One can easily question Thucydides’ reasoning. As already noted, political
instability is often cast as the explanation for many archaic colonial expedi-
tions. There is also little question that Greece throughout the archaic period
was wracked by political conflict both within the aristocracy but also between
the aristocracy and other groups demanding political power.
One can as easily cast doubt on the ideological underpinnings of the tradi-
tional view in modern scholarship. This is not the place to enter fully into
the debate about the nature of the polis and the question of whether it was
a product of a long evolution or whether it was the product of a ‘big bang’,
but some general points can be made. Firstly, most would accept that the polis
was a geographically and perhaps culturally delimited phenomenon within
the Greek world. The ethnos dominated not only in much of northern and
north-western Greece, but also in the north-western and central Pelopon-
nese.27 Yet colonization was not limited to the polis. The ethnos of Achaia,
for example, is presented in our ancient sources as a major player in coloniza-
tion. Yet, as Morgan and Hall (1996) have amply demonstrated, the region
cannot even be seen as a cultural unity in the early archaic period, let alone
as a political one. Nor can one reasonably identify communities within
Achaia that could be called poleis. Secondly, the most striking evidence for
the emergence of the polis in the early archaic period is that which suggests
the development of a strong communal identity.28 In contrast, there is little
evidence in the late eighth or early seventh century bc for the centralization
of political power. Indeed the ability of a community to send out a colony
has been seen as one of the best indicators of centralization, but one need
hardly point out the circularity of this argument.29 To sum up this brief
assessment of the evidence: it was not only poleis that sent out colonies in the
early archaic period; and such evidence as there is for the polis does not show
that there was the level of centralized power one might assume necessary to
plan a state-sponsored colony. To take this to its conclusion: whether or not
one might wish to differentiate between archaic colonization and settlement
during the Dark Ages, the emergence of the polis is not the differentiating

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factor.
I turn now to the question of whether archaic colonization can be usefully
treated as a single movement, as classifying it as an ‘age of colonization’ would
seem to imply. I will not dwell too long on this point since the answer is
unequivocally ‘no’. It is clear that a series of experiences, distinct in nature
and also intention, can be identified within the archaic period.
First, there is Euboian overseas settlement, focused primarily on the
northern Aegean and on Sicily and southern Italy. Broadly speaking, the
Euboians seemed to have been more interested in seeking out new resources
and securing trade routes than in territorial control, than in creating apoikiai,
‘homes away from home’. This did not, however, stop them from creating
genuine communities. Pithekoussai is the extreme example of the Euboian
settlement model. Although there is patent evidence of social organization
at the site, reflected most clearly by the careful adherence to family plots in
the cemetery and the demarcation of a ‘manufacturing zone’ from the habita-
tion areas, the ethnically diverse population, and the community’s apparent
reliance on trade and manufacture, have led many to classify the site as an
emporion rather than an apoikia, i.e. as a trading community rather than
a ‘proper’ colony, and to distance it from the colonization movement which
began in earnest a generation or so later.30 More recently, new evidence for
agricultural activity and settlement on the south side of the island, perhaps
implying, at the very least, agricultural motives for the settlers, but maybe
also control of the chōra, has encouraged some to reclaim the community as
an apoikia and to see it as the beginning of the archaic colonial movement.31
In my opinion, this new evidence helps to align Pithekoussai more fully with
Euboian settlement patterns rather than with the archaic colonial movement
in general.
Next, there is the more territorially aggressive colonization of, for example,
the Corinthians and the Achaians in the western Mediterranean. Generally,
this movement is marked by the expulsion or destruction of the native
population and the rapid marking out of a territory. Nevertheless it is worth
pointing out that the aggressive model has been subject to some recent
attempts at modification; and that the distance between the Euboian model
and the aggressive model may not be so great after all.32
Third, there is the Greek colonization of the Black Sea. Obvious parallels
can be drawn with colonization in the West, but it is nevertheless dangerous
to see it automatically in the same terms.
Fourth, there is what has been described as ‘secondary colonization’ in
the West. This is colonization undertaken by communities which were
themselves ‘colonies’. So, for example, Megara Hyblaia, a colony of Nisaean
Megara according to the sources, is presented as the mother city of Selinous.

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 ‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization

And Sybaris, an Achaian apoikia, is identified as the founding city of Posei-

donia. The relationship between these colonies and their mother-city is
potentially very different, primarily because in many instances the distance
between the two is minimal. The possibility that some form of control was
exerted is much greater in these instances, not only because of the issue of
distance, but also because the communities who sent out these colonies are
more recognisably poleis. Both literary and archaeological evidence places the
earliest secondary colonies no earlier than the mid-seventh century bc, and
many from in the early sixth, a time when there is much stronger evidence
for political centralization within the polis. This is reflected not least by the
growing evidence for town planning in the primary colonies in the second
and third generations of settlement.33
Finally, there is the colonization associated with the Greek tyrants of
Corinth and Athens. Graham (1964, 30–4) has shown that these were
colonies in the fuller sense of the world, dependent communities, founded by
sons or other relatives of the tyrant on his behalf, with imperial ambitions.
The modern conception of an ‘age of colonization’ has undoubtedly
played a role in masking the variety of archaic colonial experiences in the
same way that it has forced the drawing of very clear distinctions between
archaic colonization and earlier settlement. It is inevitable that the applica-
tion of a single model to these diverse experiences has concealed the very
different motives for, and the very different nature of, Greek apoikiai in this
period. At the same time, the tendency in the ancient sources, Thucydides
notwithstanding, to bracket together an even broader range of experiences
has further obscured the diversity of the archaic colonial experience.
Yet there is still a clear desire in the scholarship to trace the ancient
evidence for the traditional model, as laid out in the introduction of this
paper, back to the beginning of the archaic period. Essentially, it has been
argued that many of the key elements of the ancient colonial ideology are to
be seen already in Homer.34 If one accepts this argument, then it undermines
the possibility that this model was formed over a long period of time in
response to the very distinct experiences laid out above. It is important, then,
to consider what evidence there is for ‘colonial ideologies’ in Homer.

Homeric ideologies
The consensus view on the composition of the Homeric epics suggests that
they were written down towards the end of the eighth century bc; synchro-
nous, that is, with the early decades of the archaic colonization movement.
Morris (1986) has argued that the nature of oral composition is such that the
social and cultural background of an oral poem changes to replicate the poet’s
own society. According to his argument, Homeric society must be reflective

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of Greek society in the late eighth century bc. If one accepts Morris’ position,
and it is a position that has become something of a consensus, then one might
expect to see reflections of the colonization movement, of the realities of the
colonial experience and the ideologies underpinning it, in the Homeric epics.
The Odyssey as a whole, a story of maritime exploration, of encounters with
foreign peoples, might be seen as a general commentary on this experience;
while there are a small number of specific passages in Homer, which might be
taken as more direct commentaries on colonization, and a few further that
might be recognized as the earliest examples of a foundation myth. Such an
interpretation of the Odyssey and of these specific passages acts as support for
Morris’ dating of Homeric society (and, by extension, of the consensus view
for the date of composition): hence, for example, Crielaard (1995) argues that
Homer’s awareness of colonization makes a late-eighth-century date highly
probable both for the poem’s composition, and for the society described in
the poems. Yet there is a danger of circularity in such an argument: the epics
were written down in the late eighth century; the poems therefore, following
Morris, are reflective of late-eighth-century Greek society and since coloniza-
tion was a part of this society the poems must reflect on colonization in some
way; several passages in the epics can be interpreted in such a fashion, i.e. as
descriptive of the colonial experience; and since colonization begins in the
late eighth century then the society described by Homer cannot be dated any
earlier than the late eighth century. If, however, one starts from the position
that Homeric society is descriptive of an earlier society, then this enforces
a reconsideration of these passages. Finley (1956) famously argued that the
poems described a Dark Age Greek society of the tenth and ninth centuries
bc, a position now largely rejected. More recently, Malkin (1998) has pushed
back the composition and by extension the dating of Homeric society to
the ninth century bc, and has argued at length that the Odyssey describes
a pre-colonial world. Raaflaub (1998), who is not explicitly interested in
colonization, has argued that the poet, although writing in the late eighth
century, deliberately sets the events of the poem in a society of the near past
rather than in the present; a society still recognizable to his audience but also
a society definitively not of the immediate present. He thus suggests a date of
c. 800 bc. If one accepts any one of these positions it raises questions about
how the ‘colonial’ passages should be treated, and about how the Odyssey as
a whole might be read. Here I broadly accept Raaflaub’s dating. With this in
mind, I will look now first at three specific passages, before turning to consider
the Odyssey as a whole.
The first passage to consider is Odyssey 6.2–11:
αὐτὰρ Ἀθήνη
βῆ ῥ’ ἐς Φαιήκων ἀνδρῶν δῆμόν τε πόλιν τε·

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 ‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization

οἳ πρὶν μέν ποτ’ ἔναιον ἐν εὐρυχόρῳ Ὑπερείῃ,

ἀγχοῦ Κυκλώπων ἀνδρῶν ὑπερηνορεόντων,
οἵ σφεας σινέσκοντο, βίηφι δὲ φέρτεροι ἦσαν.
ἔνθεν ἀναστήσας ἄγε Ναυσίθοος θεοειδής,
εἷσεν δὲ Σχερίῃ, ἑκὰς ἀνδρῶν ἀλφηστάων,
ἀμφὶ δὲ τεῖχος ἔλασσε πόλει καὶ ἐδείματο οἴκους
καὶ νηοὺς ποίησε θεῶν καὶ ἐδάσσατ’ ἀρούρας.

Athena went to the land and city of the Phaeacians. These dwelt of old in
spacious Hypereia beside the Cyclopes, men overweening in pride who
plundered them continually and were mightier than they. From thence
Nausithous, the godlike, had removed them, and led and settled them in Scheria
far from men that eat grain. About the city he had drawn a wall, he had built
houses and made temples for the gods, and divided the ploughlands.
A number of scholars have treated this passage as a direct reflection of the
archaic colonization movement: as, indeed, descriptive of the nature and the
practice of this movement. Dougherty (2000, 128), for example, describes
it as a ‘colonial history’ of the Phaeacians. In particular, they have seen in
the narration of Nausithous’ actions the definitive portrait of the colonial
founder. So Graham, for example, in his Colony and Mother-City in Ancient
Greece (1964, 29) places the latter part of this passage (ll. 7–11) at the head
of his chapter 3, ‘The Role of Oikist’, emphasizing the importance of this
passage to his understanding of the founder’s duties. Meanwhile Dougherty
(2000, 129) states that ‘the description … captures the essential activities of
a colonial founder’.
Demand (1990, 28), however, is surely correct to point out that this
passage does not describe colonization at all, but ‘urban relocation’. Demand
(1986, 28–33) argues that this account of a whole people driven from their
homeland by the aggression of their neighbours to settle elsewhere is based
on the experience of the east Greeks in the first half of the seventh century
bc. She suggests that the Cimmerian offensive in Asia Minor is a possible
model for the Cyclopes’ treatment of the Phaeacians, and that the ‘happy
and successful life attributed to the Phaeacians perhaps bespeaks the hope
that preceded actual experience – the immigrant’s anticipation of “streets
paved with gold” ’.35 This is not chronologically impossible. It does, however,
enforce a downwards dating by some fifty years or so of the generally accepted
late-eighth-century date for the composition of the poems, i.e. it requires one
to accept a date of c. 650 bc for the composition. More problematically it
requires one to see the whole Phaeacian episode as a late development in the
epic cycle, since the whole story as we have it seems to rest on the opposition
drawn between the Phaeacians and the Cyclopes, not just in this passage
but also elsewhere in book 6 and book 9. If one argues that the story of

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the Phaeacian origins is incorporated into the tradition in the mid-seventh

century bc, just at the moment the Odyssey is written down, then we must
either assume that the whole episode was developed at that same point, or
ask difficult questions about how this section worked before the inclusion
of the passage.
There are, however, other possible models for this passage. The story seems
to have much in common with the myths of ‘migration’ from the Greek
mainland in the wake of Dorian aggression. Indeed, in the brutish, powerful
Cyclopes one might even recognize a negative portrait of the Dorians. It is
possible, then, that an archaic audience on hearing this story was drawn to
think of mythical episodes such as the Ionian migration much more readily
than any contemporary colonization movement. It is also worth noting that
such myths may have some basis in reality. Although a wholesale ‘migration’
from the mainland to Asia Minor and the Aegean islands during the Dark
Age is not supported by the archaeological evidence, there is some indication
of Greek settlement in Ionia in the tenth and ninth centuries bc.36 It is thus
feasible that the ‘historical’ model for this story is not the contemporary
experience but that of Dark Age settlement in Ionia. One might reasonably
ask why in constructing this episode the poet would look beyond contem-
porary events for inspiration. If one accepts Raaflaub’s argument that the
poet sought to set the poem in some recent past, then the answer might
be that a story that recalled the myths of Ionian migration provided the
requisite distance. To take this argument to its conclusion, this passage, so
frequently brought forward as a guide to the practice of the archaic colonial
founder, may in fact reflect more directly on an earlier period of population
movements.
We turn now to Odyssey 9.116–41:
νῆσος ἔπειτα λάχεια παρὲκ λιμένος τετάνυσται,
γαίης Κυκλώπων οὔτε σχεδὸν οὔτ’ ἀποτηλοῦ,
ὑλήεσσ’· ἐν δ’ αἶγες ἀπειρέσιαι γεγάασιν
ἄγριαι· οὐ μὲν γὰρ πάτος ἀνθρώπων ἀπερύκει,
οὐδέ μιν εἰσοιχνεῦσι κυνηγέται, οἵ τε καθ’ ὕλην
ἄλγεα πάσχουσιν κορυφὰς ὀρέων ἐφέποντες.
οὔτ’ ἄρα ποίμνῃσιν καταΐσχεται οὔτ’ ἀρότοισιν,
ἀλλ’ ἥ γ’ ἄσπαρτος καὶ ἀνήροτος ἤματα πάντα
ἀνδρῶν χηρεύει, βόσκει δέ τε μηκάδας αἶγας.
οὐ γὰρ Κυκλώπεσσι νέες πάρα μιλτοπάρῃοι,
οὐδ’ ἄνδρες νηῶν ἔνι τέκτονες, οἵ κε κάμοιεν
νῆας ἐϋσσέλμους, αἵ κεν τελέοιεν ἕκαστα
ἄστε’ ἐπ’ ἀνθρώπων ἱκνεύμεναι, οἷά τε πολλὰ
ἄνδρες ἐπ’ ἀλλήλους νηυσὶν περόωσι θάλασσαν·
οἵ κέ σφιν καὶ νῆσον ἐϋκτιμένην ἐκάμοντο.

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οὐ μὲν γάρ τι κακή γε, φέροι δέ κεν ὥρια πάντα·

ἐν μὲν γὰρ λειμῶνες ἁλὸς πολιοῖο παρ’ ὄχθας
ὑδρηλοὶ μαλακοί· μάλα κ’ ἄφθιτοι ἄμπελοι εἶεν·
ἐν δ’ ἄροσις λείη· μάλα κεν βαθὺ λήιον αἰεὶ
εἰς ὥρας ἀμόῳεν, ἐπεὶ μάλα πῖαρ ὑπ’ οὖδας.
ἐν δὲ λιμὴν εὔορμος, ἵν’ οὐ χρεὼ πείσματός ἐστιν,
οὔτ’ εὐνὰς βαλέειν οὔτε πρυμνήσι’ ἀνάψαι,
ἀλλ’ ἐπικέλσαντας μεῖναι χρόνον, εἰς ὅ κε ναυτέων
θυμὸς ἐποτρύνῃ καὶ ἐπιπνεύσωσιν ἀῆται.
αὐτὰρ ἐπὶ κρατὸς λιμένος ῥέει ἀγλαὸν ὕδωρ,
κρήνη ὑπὸ σπείους· περὶ δ’ αἴγειροι πεφύασιν.

Across the wide bay from the mainland there lies a deserted island, not far out,
but still not close inshore. Wild goats in hundreds breed here; and no human
beings come upon the island to startle them – no hunter of all who ever tracked
with hounds through forests or had rough going over mountain trails. The isle,
unplanted and untilled, a wilderness, pastures goats alone. And this is why:
good ships like ours with cheek-paint at the bows are far beyond the Cyclopes.
No shipwright toils among them, shaping and building up symmetrical hulls to
cross the sea and visit all the seaboard towns as men do who go and come across
the water. This isle – seagoing folk would have annexed it and built their home-
steads on it: all good land, fertile for every crop in season: lush well-watered
meadows along the shores, vines in profusion, meadowland, clear for the
plough, where grain would grow chin-high by harvest time, and rich sub-soil.
The island cove is land-locked, so you need no hawsers out astern, bow-stones
or mooring: run in and ride there till the day your crews chafe to be under sail,
and a fair wind blows.
This passage is often presented as some kind of colonial ‘fantasy island’.
Agriculturally rich, blessed with a fine harbour and protected from the aggres-
sive locals, Dougherty (2000, 129) states ‘this is an island that embodies all
the possibilities of the new world of colonization’. Certainly, Odysseus recog-
nizes the potential of the island as an ideal place for settlement: ‘seagoing
folk would have annexed it and built their homesteads on it’ he says. But
Odysseus is no colonist and to suggest, as Dougherty (2000, 129) does, that
his arrival on the island is ‘like the “surprised oikist” of colonial legend’ is to
overemphasize the ‘colonial undertones’. Much more likely parallels can be
found, as Malkin (1998) would suggest, with a pre-colonial world of explora-
tion. It might be overstating the case to argue that the western Mediterranean
of the late eighth century, particularly the coastlines of eastern Sicily and
southern Italy, was already extremely well-known but Phoenicians, Euboeans
and other Greeks had been travelling the route to Pithekoussai and beyond
for several generations. Although some surprises must still have awaited
Greek settlers arriving in the West in the late eighth century, the kind of
discovery Odysseus makes in this passage perhaps fits more comfortably into

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a late-ninth- or early-eighth-century world when the western Mediterranean

must have still been very much a mystery. This passage, then, invokes in the
audience not images of a colonial ‘promised land’ but of a recent past when
the wider world was being slowly uncovered by intrepid Greek adventurers;
when discoveries of this kind were still being made, discoveries which would
later be capitalized on by Greek settlers.
The last passages to be examined may be classified as foundation myth
and as such the earliest example of the kind.37 The passage, Iliad 2.653–69,
describes the origins of the three Greek cities on Rhodes:
Τληπόλεμος δ’ Ἡρακλεΐδης ἠΰς τε μέγας τε
ἐκ Ῥόδου ἐννέα νῆας ἄγεν Ῥοδίων ἀγερώχων,
οἳ Ῥόδον ἀμφενέμοντο διὰ τρίχα κοσμηθέντες
Λίνδον Ἰηλυσόν τε καὶ ἀργινόεντα Κάμειρον.
τῶν μὲν Τληπόλεμος δουρὶ κλυτὸς ἡγεμόνευεν,
ὃν τέκεν Ἀστυόχεια βίῃ Ἡρακληείῃ,
τὴν ἄγετ’ ἐξ Ἐφύρης ποταμοῦ ἄπο Σελλήεντος
πέρσας ἄστεα πολλὰ διοτρεφέων αἰζηῶν.
Τληπόλεμος δ’ ἐπεὶ οὖν τράφ’ ἐνὶ μεγάρῳ εὐπήκτῳ,
αὐτίκα πατρὸς ἑοῖο φίλον μήτρωα κατέκτα
ἤδη γηράσκοντα Λικύμνιον ὄζον Ἄρηος·
αἶψα δὲ νῆας ἔπηξε, πολὺν δ’ ὅ γε λαὸν ἀγείρας
βῆ φεύγων ἐπὶ πόντον· ἀπείλησαν γάρ οἱ ἄλλοι
υἱέες υἱωνοί τε βίης Ἡρακληείης.
αὐτὰρ ὅ γ’ ἐς Ῥόδον ἷξεν ἀλώμενος ἄλγεα πάσχων·
τριχθὰ δὲ ᾤκηθεν καταφυλαδόν, ἠδὲ φίληθεν
ἐκ Διός, ὅς τε θεοῖσι καὶ ἀνθρώποισιν ἀνάσσει.

Tlepolemos, son of Herakles, a man both brave and large of stature, brought
nine ships of lordly warriors from Rhodes. These dwelt in Rhodes which is
divided among the three cities of Lindos, Ialysos, and Kameiros, that lies upon
the chalk. These were commanded by Tlepolemos, son of mighty Herakles and
born of Astyochea, whom he had carried off from Ephyra, on the river Selleis,
after sacking many cities of valiant warriors. When Tlepolemos grew up, he
killed his father’s uncle Likymnios, who had been a famous warrior in his time,
but was then grown old. So he built himself a fleet, gathered a great following,
and fled beyond the sea, for he was menaced by the other sons and grandsons
of Herakles. After a voyage, during which he suffered great hardship, he came
to Rhodes, where the people divided into three communities, according to their
tribes, and were dearly loved by Zeus, the lord, of gods and men.
As it is presented here the myth seems to be a relatively brief synopsis of
a more detailed account of Tlepolemos’ adventures. One might speculate, for
example, whether there was a myth in circulation that described the ‘great
hardship’ that befell the hero on his voyage to Rhodes. Certainly aspects
of the story are elaborated in a later version of the myth told by Pindar in

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Olympian 7. There we are given more information about Tlepolemos’ killing

of Likymnios, with the possible implication that Tlepolemos was driven
to kill his great uncle by that man’s incestuous relationship with Midea,
Likymnios’ own mother, but with the more straightforward statement
– ‘disturbances of the mind lead astray even the wise man’ – that he did so
in a fit of madness.38 In the Iliad no explanation for his actions is proffered.
More strikingly Pindar tells us that Tlepolemos consulted the oracle of
Apollo, which ordered him to sail to Rhodes.39 In the Iliad, his relatives drive
him out.
The key question here is, what is the relationship of this myth to those
associated with the archaic colonization movement? Does it fit into the
same category? Does it have a similar structure? One might argue, for
example, that myths about the origins of the cities of the Greek mainland
and the Aegean, in many instances communities long established by the
eighth century bc, only developed in response to the archaic colonization
movement; that as Greeks settled overseas and were forced to think hard
about their origins and to develop stories explaining their presence, so the
Greeks of the homeland were encouraged to think about their own origins in
the same terms. Thus this myth about Rhodian origins would have developed
alongside myths about colonial cities and one might expect it to be similar
in form and function. On the other hand, as noted above, there is archaeo-
logical evidence for movement from Greece to the coast of Asia Minor in
the Dark Ages. Is it not possible that these settlers would have had the same
impulse to fashion stories about their origins, and such myths could just as
readily have functioned as models for foundation myths about the cities
of the Greek homeland and Aegean? If this Rhodian foundation myth did
develop in response to the archaic colonization movement then it did so
very swiftly. As already noted, there are elements of the Tlepolemos story
which imply that it is a much abbreviated version of a longer and perhaps
well-established myth.
This story clearly has some elements in common with later foundation
myths. The theme of the founder as murderer is one that recurs in such
myths. Dougherty (1993) sees, in the murder committed by the founder in
the homeland, an analogy for the death and violence inherent in the colonial
experience: for her, embedded in the image of the murderous oikist is a rec-
ognition of the unavoidable slaughter of indigenous peoples that coloniza-
tion involves. When seen in this light, the passage suggests that the Greeks
had a very clear ideological view of the nature of overseas settlement in the
late eighth century, as a violent experience involving conquest and control
of the native peoples; a colonialist experience in the full sense of the word.
The Homeric version of the Rhodian foundation myth does not, however,

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comply with several other elements within Dougherty’s schema. She argues
that foundation myths adhere to a general pattern along the following
lines: a crisis within a community is caused by some form of pollution;
the Delphic oracle is consulted and advises the sending out of a colony to
be led by the individual responsible for the pollution; once the colony is
sent out the pollution is cleansed and the crisis is resolved. In this passage,
however, there is no crisis, no indication of pollution and no consultation of
the oracle. Tlepolemos is driven out by vengeful relatives; he does not leave
on the advice of Apollo. Whether or not one accepts Dougherty’s overall
argument, it seems doubtful to me that this myth can be slotted neatly into
her schema. Tlepolemos’ story in fact has more in common with one of
Odysseus’ many tall tales. In Odyssey 13.256–76, pretending to be a Cretan
exile, Odysseus recounts how he murdered the Cretan king Idomeneus’ son
who was attempting to deprive him of the booty he had won in the Trojan
War. The deed done – ‘the man’s blood fresh on my hands’ – he fled on
a Phoenician ship. In this instance he is not driven out – in fact, nobody
knows he is the murderer – but leaves of his own accord. Murder here leads
to exile and a life wandering around Greece, not to colonization.
This myth is as well read in relation to other stories of exile and wandering
found within the Homeric epics, such as Odysseus’ Cretan story, as it is
in relation to archaic foundation myths, a point which Dougherty (1993,
124) allows for. Insofar as this is a foundation myth, I believe that it did not
develop in the period of archaic colonization but in relation to earlier periods
of population movements.40
So where has this discussion led us so far? I have tried to argue that scholars
who see evidence of the ideologies and of the practice of the archaic coloniza-
tion movement in Homer are mistaken. I have argued that the three passages
most frequently brought forward as reflections of archaic colonization are in
fact reflective of earlier experiences. In the first instance, the foundation of
Scheria, the story recalls more readily Dark Age settlement in Asia Minor.
In the second instance, ‘goat island’ is a pre-colonial rather than a colonial
fantasy. In the third instance, the Rhodian foundation myth must be read
in relation to myths of exile and wandering within the Homeric epics and
perhaps in relation to Dark Age settlement myths. More generally I accept
Malkin’s (1998) view that the Odyssey as a whole is best read as a comment
on a pre-colonial rather than a colonial society and is therefore not reflective
of colonial ideologies.
Rather than a reflection of the practices and ideologies of the archaic
colonial experience, these Homeric ‘ideologies’ played an important part in
the construction of the Greek memory of this experience; to some extent they
acted as a literary model for later foundation myths. We next examine the

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role of the oikist, as it is represented in modern scholarship and in the ancient

sources, in order to demonstrate how this process may have worked.

The role of the oikist

Although it is generally accepted that the full role played by the oikist in the
foundation of a colony is lost to us – no ancient source discusses it in any
great detail – most recognize in Odyssey 6.7–11 a ‘minimum list’ of his duties.
So the oikist is seen by Graham (1964, 29–30), Malkin (1987) and others, as
responsible for the urban and territorial organization of the new community:
for marking out the urban boundaries of the settlement by building a wall;
for organizing the building of houses; for establishing temples; and for
allocating plots of land for the settlers. As Malkin (1987, 68) would have it,
he is responsible for ‘creating a polis ex novo’. Graham (1964, 39), however,
has posited a development in the role of the oikist such that this image of
him as ‘all-responsible, even monarchical’ only applies to the early period of
colonization. The oikists sent out by tyrants, Graham argues, fell under the
immediate sway of the ruler of the mother-city and thus their power was to
some extent delimited; while in the classical period the oikist became purely
a figurehead who in some instances did not even join the expedition.
Graham’s model of the early oikist as a monarchical figure does not depend
solely on the Homeric passages, although the fact that both Nausithous and
Tlepolemos are described as basileis must have some impact on his position.
Also significant to this model is the various later evidence associated with
Battos, oikist of Cyrene. In Pindar (Pythian 5.85–93) the oikist is shown
performing some of the duties assigned to Nausithous, essentially the estab-
lishment of sanctuaries for the gods. It is also clear from Pindar, and from
Herodotus’ account of the foundation, that Battos led the expedition and
became the independent king of the new colony, ruling for forty years and
founding the Battiad dynasty.41 Battos, then, is presented as both founder and
king, a point made even more explicit in the fourth century bc copy of an
alleged seventh century foundation decree for Cyrene which refers to him
as ‘archageta[n t]e kai basilēa’.42 Battos’ status is unusual. Very few oikists are
presented explicitly as rulers of the colony they founded. One wonders how
far the images of Nausithous, who is not as we have seen really an oikist at
all, and Battos, who uniquely becomes king of Cyrene, may have given a false
impression, perpetuated in both the ancient and the modern literature, of the
nature of the oikist as a hands-on, all powerful leader of the expedition.
It is worth considering for a moment how stories about the founder
would have circulated in the ancient world. Much of the information about
individual oikists is transmitted to us through the prose accounts of writers
such as Herodotus, Thucydides, Strabo and Diodorus Siculus. It is sometimes

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argued that many of these later prose accounts were drawn from a body of
archaic and classical ‘ktistic’ poetry that would have recorded details about
the founder and the settlement.43 Such poetry, it has been argued, would have
been performed annually in connection with celebrations of the city’s foun-
dation.44 This implies that there was an ‘authentic’ tradition in circulation
within the colony itself from quite an early date: authentic in the sense that
it reflected the beliefs of the settlers themselves with regard to their founder
and founding city.
Dougherty (1994), however, has argued persuasively that there was no
corpus of specifically ‘ktistic’ poetry until the Hellenistic period. She holds
that there is no early evidence for an annual celebration of a city’s foundation,
and therefore no obvious context for the performance of such poetry. Rather,
she argues that foundation stories would have been a part of other poetic
genres, such as the epinikean poetry of Pindar, where frequently we find the
civic role of the victor being equated to that of the founder.
Pindar’s general relationship with Homer is fairly easy to establish. His
relationship with at least one of the Homeric ‘foundation myths’, that of
Tlepolemos and Rhodes, seems clear: at ll. 20–1 of Olympian 7, Pindar
promises ‘to correct the common account’.45 The probable reference here
is to the Homeric account since, as we have seen, Pindar offers a distinctly
different version, which places the emphasis on the Delphic oracle as the
driving force behind the colonization of Rhodes, not Tlepolemos’ vengeful
relatives. One sees here how Pindar engages with a specific passage in Homer,
changing and manipulating it to reflect his own historical and literary
context. One might wonder how far Pindar may have drawn more generally
on the image of the founder as seen in Homer. Having said this, there are
clearly elements in Pindar’s model which are not reflected in the Homeric
model: the worship of the founder as a hero; and the role of the Delphic
oracle. We will now examine these elements considering how and when they
may have been incorporated into the ‘ideology’ of Greek colonization.

Founder-cult
In Pythian 5 Pindar states that at his death Battos was buried at the edge of
the agora and worshipped as a hero by the Cyreneians.46 This is the earliest
piece of literary evidence for the phenomenon of the Greek founder-cult
but it is widely accepted that the observance of such cults goes back to the
early days of colonization and that the actual tomb of the founder would
have been the focus for cultic rites.47 The more general growth of both
hero- and tomb-cult in the late eighth and seventh century bc provides an
obvious historical context in which founder cult could have developed.48 If
one begins, however, from the position that many of the earliest ‘colonies’

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were not so much founded as evolved organically, then by extension both the
notion of a founder and of a founder-cult must be later developments. When
one examines the scant literary and archaeological evidence for founder-cult
then one finds support for the idea that it is a later development, an example
of ‘invented tradition’.49
A key literary passage in the debate is Herodotus 6.38 which describes
how Miltiades of Athens, after his death, was offered sacrifices by the
people of the Chersonese, of whom he was king, which were ‘hōs nomos
oikistēi’– ‘customary for a founder’ – in addition to which athletic and
equestrian games were inaugurated.50 The key point here is that since
Herodotus feels no need to discuss the nature of these sacrifices, one might
reasonably assume, as Malkin does, that the audience knew exactly what
sacrifices were customary: ‘Herodotus firmly believed in the existence of
a generally established norm for founder cults’.51 It is worth pointing out,
however, that Miltiades was not strictly speaking a founder at all: he had
been invited to become ruler of a people called the Dolonkoi on the advice
of the Delphic oracle and had agreed, bringing with him such Athenians as
wished to follow him.52
Similarly, Thucydides (5.11) tells us that Brasidas was worshipped
as founder at Amphipolis after his death in 423 bc, although it was the
Athenian Hagnon who was the technical founder:53
μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα τὸν Βρασίδαν οἱ ξύμμαχοι πάντες ξὺν ὅπλοις ἐπισπόμενοι
δημοσίᾳ ἔθαψαν ἐν τῇ πόλει πρὸ τῆς νῦν ἀγορᾶς οὔσης· καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν οἱ
Ἀμφιπολῖται, περιείρξαντες αὐτοῦ τὸ μνημεῖον, ὡς ἥρωί τε ἐντέμνουσι καὶ
τιμὰς δεδώκασιν ἀγῶνας καὶ ἐτησίους θυσίας, καὶ τὴν ἀποικίαν ὡς οἰκιστῇ
προσέθεσαν.

After this, all the allies parading fully armoured buried Brasidas in the city
[Amphipolis] at public expense in front of what is now the agora. From then
on, the Amphipolitans, enclosing his grave, sacrificed to him as a hero and
honoured him with games and annual sacrifices, and they made him founder
of the colony.
What does the evidence of these two passages, coupled with that of Pindar,
tell us definitively about the nature of founder cult? First, it tells us that by
the second half of the sixth century bc the title oikistēs could be assigned to
individuals who were not strictly speaking founders at all. Second, it tells
us that this was a substantial honour, but one which could be expanded on
by the addition of games. Third, it tells us that by the middle of the fifth
century bc the practices associated with founder-cult were well established:
both Pindar and Herodotus seem to have a clear vision of what founder-cult
involved, even if they do not tell us. One cannot, however, assume that these
sacrifices were recognized as customary at the time of Miltiades. Fourth, by

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the second half of the fifth century bc, founders were celebrated at an annual
festival. These earliest scraps of information about founder-cult tell us no
more and no less than this.54
Turning now to the archaeological evidence, one finds that here also there
is little or nothing to suggest that hero-cult was a phenomenon to be associ-
ated with the early days of colonization, and indeed some evidence to suggest
that the importance of such cult was only emerging in the latter part of the
sixth century bc.
The so-called grave of Lamis at Thapsos dated to the eighth century bc
shows no evidence of any associated cult activity so is hardly evidence of
founder cult.55 A building on the edge of the agora at Megara Hyblaia dating
to the mid-seventh century bc has been identified as a herōon, and because of
its position it has been associated with the colony’s founder.56 It is not imme-
diately clear, however, that this is a herōon, although there is strong evidence
that it is some sort of sacred area.
Evidence from Cyrene is intriguing. A tomb dating to c. 600 bc, that
is around the time of Battos’ death, was found at the edge of the agora in
a position compatible topographically with Pindar’s account.57 When the
agora was re-organized at the end of the fifth and again in the later fourth
century bc, the tomb was in the first instance marked by a new mound and
cenotaph, and in the second by the building of a wall around it.58 One might
reasonably identify this as the tomb of Battos, or at least as the tomb associ-
ated with Battos by the Cyreneians. There is, however, no clear evidence for
cult activity associated with the tomb in any period.
Perhaps the best, but still by no means unproblematic, archaeological
evidence for founder-cult comes from Poseidonia, a notional secondary
foundation of Sybaris. An underground chamber, a hypogaion, was found to
the south of the so-called temple of Athena.59 It contained five iron spits laid
on an elevated platform in the centre of the chamber, eight bronze vessels,
six hydriai and two amphorae, each containing a sticky substance, perhaps
honey, and an Attic Black Figure amphora, repaired before being deposited,
which dates the deposit and probably the chamber to c. 500 bc. There was
no evidence of a body. The function of the chamber is possibly suggested by
the iconography on the Attic vase, which shows the apotheosis of Hercules,
the implication being that this might be a herōon. The spits and the honey
might also be seen as the accoutrements of heroic feasting. This could then
be the cenotaph of a hero.
Zancani-Montuoro (1954) long ago suggested that this might in fact be
the tomb of the founder, not however of Poseidonia, which has a traditional
foundation date in the mid-seventh century bc, but of Sybaris, which was
destroyed in 510 bc. In other words, she proposes that, along with some of the

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Sybarites, the tomb of Sybaris’ founder, Is of Helike, was transferred to Posei-

donia. Malkin (1987, 214) sees Zancani-Montuoro’s hypothesis as no more
than a conjecture that ‘avoids the difficulty of the late date (i.e. this cannot be
a cenotaph for the founder of Poseidonia itself ) by positing an unparalleled
practice’. If, however, one starts from the position that founder-cult is an
‘invented tradition’, then it is certainly possible that the cult of Poseidonia’s
‘founder’ was only formally introduced at the end of the sixth century bc. The
impetus for this introduction could well have been Sybaris’ destruction: one
might, for example, see Sybarite refugees, wishing to highlight the connection
between the two cities, as the initiators of such a cult.
To my mind, the location of the hypogaion supports its identification as
a shrine of the founder. The exact location of the Greek agora at Poseidonia
is open to question. Some have favoured the idea that it lies beneath the
later Roman forum. The position of the ekklesiastērion (or bouleutērion) as
well as the orientation of the so-called sacred way favours the idea that the
agora lies to the north of the Roman forum. The ekklesiastērion would have
sat on the eastern boundary of the agora with the sacred way forming the
western boundary. In this scenario, the hypogaion would have sat at the north
eastern corner of the agora, a highly likely location for a notional tomb of
the founder.
There is nothing in the archaeological evidence that allows us to associate
founder-cult with the earliest stages of colonization, with the possible
exception of the ‘tomb of Battos’ at Cyrene. Cyrene, however, is a relatively
late colony and Battos, as we have seen, is not a standard example of an
oikist. The evidence from Poseidonia, on the other hand, supports the
idea that founder cult could be inaugurated long after the ‘foundation’ of
a community.
The question of when and why founder-cult became important is ulti-
mately a matter of conjecture given the state of the evidence. This paper
rejects the position that it can be dated to the very early days of Greek
colonization. One possible context I would suggest for its emergence as
a significant institution is the colonization of the Corinthian tyrants in the
latter part of the seventh century bc. We have seen how the Amphipolitans
claimed Brasidas as their founder on his death after the Battle of Amphipolis.
This was clearly a political act that stated that Amphipolis was aligning itself
with Sparta and rejecting Athens, a fact made all the more clear by their
treatment of Hagnon’s memory. What better way for the colonists of Leukas,
Anaktorion, Ambracia, Apollonia, and Epidamnus to celebrate their connec-
tion with the Corinthian tyrant than by celebrating as founder heroes the
sons and relatives of the tyrant. There is no explicit evidence to support this
picture but one incident recorded in our sources and relating to Apollonia

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may offer some corroboration for this scenario. We are told by Stephanus
of Byzantium that Apollonia was formally named, after its founder Gylax,
Gylakeia. Malkin (1987, 87) suggests convincingly that the context for this
change was the downfall of the Kypselid dynasty, which had sent out Gylax,
some eighteen years after the city’s foundation. If a city could be named for
its mortal founder, as would be so often the case in the Hellenistic period,
then it is not difficult to imagine founder-cult emerging in this context as
a suitable honour to be given to the powerful representative of the tyrant.

The role of the Delphic Oracle

The absolute centrality of Delphi to the process of colonization is clearly
established in the classical period. Thus when Sparta decides to establish
a colony at Herakleia in Trachis an essential part of the process as presented
by Thucydides (3.92) was the consultation of the oracle:
πρῶτον μὲν οὖν ἐν Δελφοῖς τὸν θεὸν ἐπήροντο, κελεύοντος δὲ ἐξέπεμψαν τοὺς
οἰκήτορας αὑτῶν τε καὶ τῶν περιοίκων, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων Ἑλλήνων τὸν βουλόμενον
ἐκέλευον ἕπεσθαι πλὴν Ἰώνων καὶ Ἀχαιῶν καὶ ἔστιν ὧν ἄλλων ἐθνῶν. οἰκισταὶ
δὲ τρεῖς Λακεδαιμονίων ἡγήσαντο, Λέων καὶ Ἀλκίδας καὶ Δαμάγων. καταστάντες
δὲ ἐτείχισαν τὴν πόλιν ἐκ καινῆς, ἣ νῦν Ἡράκλεια καλεῖται.

First, then, they consulted the god at Delphi, and when they had received
a favourable reply they sent out settlers from among themselves and from the
perioikoi. They also called for anyone from the rest of Greece who wished to
come forward apart from the Ionians, the Achaians and some other peoples.
Three Spartan oikists led the expedition: Leon, Alkidas and Damagon. So they
established and fortified as new what is now called Herakleia.
Meanwhile, the failure of the former Spartan king, Dorieus, to consult the
oracle before attempting to found a colony explains, in Herodotus’ version of
the story, why the expedition failed:60
Ὁ μὲν δὴ Κλεομένης, ὡς λέγεται, ἦν τε οὐ φρενήρης ἀκρομανής τε, ὁ δὲ
Δωριεὺς ἦν τῶν ἡλίκων πάντων πρῶτος, εὖ τε ἠπίστατο κατ’ ἀνδραγαθίην
αὐτὸς σχήσων τὴν βασιληίην. ὥστε ὦν οὕτω φρονέων, ἐπειδὴ ὅ τε Ἀναξανδρίδης
ἀπέθανε καὶ οἱ Λακεδαιμόνιοι χρεώμενοι τῷ νόμῳ ἐστήσαντο βασιλέα τὸν
πρεσβύτατον Κλεομένεα, ὁ Δωριεὺς δεινόν τε ποιεύμενος καὶ οὐκ ἀξιῶν ὑπὸ
Κλεομένεος βασιλεύεσθαι, αἰτήσας λεὼν Σπαρτιήτας ἦγε ἐς ἀποικίην, οὔτε τῷ
ἐν Δελφοῖσι χρηστηρίῳ χρησάμενος ἐς ἥντινα γῆν κτίσων ἴῃ, οὔτε ποιήσας
οὐδὲν τῶν νομιζομένων· οἷα δὲ βαρέως φέρων, ἀπίει ἐς τὴν Λιβύην τὰ πλοῖα·
κατηγέοντο δέ οἱ ἄνδρες Θηραῖοι. ἀπικόμενος δὲ ἐς τὴν Κίνυπα οἴκισε χῶρον
κάλλιστον τῶν Λιβύων παρὰ ποταμόν. ἐξελασθεὶς δὲ ἐνθεῦτεν τῷ τρίτῳ ἔτει ὑπὸ
Μακέων τε [καὶ] Λιβύων καὶ Καρχηδονίων ἀπίκετο ἐς Πελοπόννησον.

Now Cleomenes, as the story goes, was not in his right mind and really quite
mad, while Dorieus was first among all of his peers and fully believed that he

48
 ‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization

would be made king for his manly worth. Since he was of this opinion, Dorieus
was very angry when at Anaxandrides’ death the Lacedaemonians followed
their custom and made Cleomenes king by right of age. Since he would not
tolerate being made subject to Cleomenes, he asked the Spartans for a group
of people whom he took away as colonists. He neither inquired of the oracle at
Delphi in what land he should establish his settlement, nor did anything else
that was customary but set sail in great anger for Libya, with men of Thera to
guide him. When he arrived there, he settled by the Cinyps river in the fairest
part of Libya, but in the third year he was driven out by the Macae, the Libyans
and the Carchedonians and returned to the Peloponnese.
The later sources also make it clear that Delphi had played a central role
from the outset of the archaic colonization movement. Many foundation
myths associated with this movement depict the founder consulting Delphi.
In some instances, a consultation is made on matters unrelated to coloni-
zation and Apollo orders the sending out of a colony as a solution to the
unrelated problem.61 In others, Delphi is consulted explicitly concerning
if or where a colony should be founded.62 It is reasonable to ask, however,
whether the role assigned to Delphi in these myths reflects the role that the
oracle played in reality or whether these myths are a product of the retrojec-
tion of later experience. There are really two connected questions at stake
here. One, is it feasible historically that Delphi was of sufficient pan-Hellenic
significance to have been consulted as a matter of course by any and every
would-be colonizer? Two, how likely are the Delphic oracles recorded in
these myths to be authentic?
Both questions have been the subject of extensive debate.63 It is worth
noting that there has long been scepticism with regard to the role allotted
to Delphi in the myths. The most important example of this scepticism is
Defradas’ 1954 work, Les thèmes de la propagande delphique, which puts
forward the position that Delphi only established itself as a sanctuary of
international importance in the sixth century bc and that the role assigned
to the oracle in the myths was a product of the sanctuary’s own subsequent
propaganda. This is a position that fits well with the arguments of this paper
since it casts further doubt on the traditional model of colonization, in
particular implying that the information contained within foundation myths
is spurious. Defradas, however, has been widely criticized for underestimating
the importance of Delphi in the early archaic period.
From a literary perspective, the evidence for Delphi’s status in this period
is slight. The few Homeric references are dismissed by Defradas as later inter-
polations.64 There are no particular internal reasons to support this, but these
brief references to the oracle at Pytho hardly demonstrate that the site was of
pan-Hellenic importance, so much as they reflect a passing awareness of its

49
John-Paul Wilson

existence. In any case, it is the contention of this paper that Homeric society
is reflective of late ninth/early eighth century Greek society and as such the
position of Delphi within this society is not immediately significant to this
debate. The absence of Delphi from the Homeric ‘foundation myths’ is also
not a direct reflection of its colonial role at the time of the poet, i.e. the late
eighth century. Some role may be attested for Pythian Apollo in the seventh
century poet Kallinos’ account of the foundation of Kolophon, but I am less
convinced than Malkin (1987, 19) by Gierth’s (1971, 85) thesis. Beyond this
there is no contemporary literary evidence that demonstrates Delphi’s status
in the late eighth and seventh centuries. Malkin (1986), however, has made
great play with Thucydides’ contention that an altar of Apollo Archēgetēs was
set up in Sicily by the founder of the first Sicilian colony of Naxos, i.e. in 734
bc.65 It functioned, Thucydides goes on to tell us, as a pan-Sikeliot sanctuary,
at which all Sicilian Greeks would sacrifice before attending the great pan-
Hellenic games in Old Greece. If taken at face value, this passage would
support the idea that Delphi had played a role in the archaic colonization
movement from the outset. On the other hand, attributing the initiation of
this cult in Sicily to the oldest Sicilian colony seems to me to be explicable as
later Delphic propaganda or as post eventum legitimization of Greek settle-
ment on Sicily.
From an archaeological point of view, the evidence for Delphi’s position
in the early archaic period is less than clear-cut. Forrest (1957) argued that
the material record supported his general contention that Delphi rose to
prominence in the late eighth century in part because of the role it played in
colonization – that is, the colonial movement was the catalyst for the growth
in the sanctuary’s ‘international’ standing – and in part because the Greek
colonists were seeking divine sanction and legitimation. Others, however,
have traced its importance back into the Dark Ages.66 Yet others have argued
that it only became a pan-Hellenic sanctuary in any meaningful sense in
the latter part of the seventh century.67 To me the archaeological evidence
suggests that Delphi was of some local importance, that is within central
Greece west of the Corinthian isthmus, in the later eighth and early seventh
centuries – Corinthian ware is particularly well represented in the dedica-
tions – but only truly came to international prominence, as Morgan (1993)
argues, in the middle of the seventh century. The archaeological evidence,
then, while it does not entirely argue against Delphi having played some
role in the colonial activity of Corinth or Achaia, for example, does not fully
support the picture presented by the ancient sources.
On the question of the authenticity of the oracles recorded in the sources,
the most recent detailed discussion is that of Malkin (1987, 17–91). He
assesses the legitimacy of the oracular responses on a case-by-case basis,

50
 ‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization

rejecting as false those that contain ‘folkloristic elements and aetiologies’

and generally accepting those that present ‘straightforward’ geographical
information. For the most part, Malkin shows more credence in these oracles
than many earlier scholars, such as Pease (1917) and Parke and Wormell
(1956). Since many of these oracles are presented in the wider context of
what is clearly a foundation myth, the question of authenticity seems to me
a little misdirected. While one might not dispute that many settlers sought
divine sanction before going overseas, or that the Delphic oracle played a role
of growing importance in providing this sanction for individuals and for
community ventures, I find it difficult to accept that any detailed or accurate
reflection of the actual process of consultation and response at the time of
settlement is embedded in these myths.
In summary, Delphi did not play the extensive role attributed to it from
the outset of the archaic colonial movement by the ancient sources. Rather
its importance grew in the course of the seventh century bc. It is difficult to
explain exactly how or why Delphi’s significance in overseas settlement came
to grow. As to the how, perhaps to some extent it was symbiotic (as Forrest
(1957) suggests but for an earlier period): as Delphi’s role in colonization
grew then so its importance grew, but also as it grew in importance so it
became more important for would-be colonists to gain its sanction. Within
this scenario it is easy to see why existing overseas settlements may have
desired to create their own history of Delphic consultation, and why Delphi
would have desired to be a part of this process since it further added to the
sanctuary’s prestige if growing cities such as Sybaris and Syracuse connected
themselves to Delphi.

It has been the aim of this paper to present a further challenge to the tradi-
tional model of archaic colonization. Following recent scholarship it has
been argued firstly that this model is a product of the application of modern
colonial ideologies; and secondly that the ancient model upon which the
traditional model is fundamentally based was itself a product of colonial
ideologies which shifted and changed across the archaic period. A priori this
position makes a lot of sense since it is clear that Greek overseas settlement
became increasingly imperialistic, increasingly colonialist, in the modern
sense of the word, as the archaic period progressed, and indeed became more
so in the classical period. It was in this context that the Greek memories of
earlier colonization were being developed and it should be no surprise that
these memories reflect the ‘increasingly colonialist’ ideologies of the world
that created them.

51
John-Paul Wilson

Notes
1
An example of a joint colonization: Sybaris according to Arist. Pol. 1303a29 was
settled by Achaians and Troezenians with the latter being expelled shortly after the
foundation.
2
Graham’s comment (1964, 8) that ‘both state and private enterprise existed
throughout the historical colonizing period’ has, for the most part, not been taken on
board in subsequent scholarship, as Osborne (1998, 251) observes.
3
A good example of how these ties could be invoked comes from the fourth century
bc when the Syracusans, wracked by civil war, called upon Corinth to send assistance
(Diod. Sic. 16.69). Help was sent in the form of the general Timoleon with a small fleet.
At the time, it must have seemed a rather hollow gesture since Timoleon was hardly
proven and the force attached to him was hardly significant, which suggests that Corinth
was doing the bare minimum.
4
See Blakeway 1933 for an early example of an explicit argument in favour of this
view.
5
See Gwynn 1918 for an early statement of this view and more recently Cawkwell
1992.
6
See Camp 1979.
7
See Malkin 1994.
8
A few examples: Murray (1993, 102) implicitly describes the period as an age of
colonization: ‘Two great periods of Greek expansion provided the material basis for the
diffusion of Greek culture … in the century and a half between 734 and 580 the number
of new cities established there is at least comparable to the number of cities already
existing in the Aegean before the colonizing movement began’; while Vidal-Naquet
(1986, 26) is explicit in the following passage discussing the status of the Homeric
Phaeacaians: ‘Phaeacia contains all the characteristic elements of a Greek settlement in
the age of colonization’.
9
See Casevitz 1985 for a fuller discussion of the language of colonization.
10
Anton. Lib. Meta. 31.
11
Lucan. 2.610–12.
12
Tod no. 44.
13
Anton. Lib. Meta. 31 describes how the Cretan Lykaon had three sons, Daunius,
Iapyx and Peucetius, who settled in Italy, and after whom the Daunians, Iapygians and
Peucetians were named.
14
One thinks immediately of the various Herakleias – Italian, Sicilian, Trachinian,
Pontic, etc. – but a number of communities were, according to the foundation myths,
named after a hero that Herakles accidentally killed, e.g. according to Diod. Sic. 4.24.7
and Iamb. Pythian 5.50, Herakles founded Kroton in honour of the eponymous hero
he killed in error (see also Ovid Meta. 15.19–57 for a variation on this story). A similar
story is told for Italian Locris by Conon Nar. 3.
15
On the nostoi foundations as reflections of Mycenaean colonization see Immerwahr
1960 and Cline 1995. On the nostoi foundations as reflections of the activities of the
Sea-Peoples see Sandars 1978.
16
Strabo 6.1.12.
17
See Snodgrass 1971, 296–323 and 373–8, for good discussions of the Dorian
invasion and Ionian migration respectively.
18
But note that Demand (1990, 31–3) describes it as an act of ‘urban relocation’.

52
 ‘Ideologies’ of Greek colonization
19
See Athen. 12.523 and Strabo 6.1.14, who refers to Ionians rather than specifically
Kolophonians.
20
For discussion of the archaiologia see Gomme 1959, 85–102, and Hornblower
1991, 3–59.
21
Hornblower (1991, 37–8) suggests that the use of the term stasis is inappropriate
here and that Thucydides is ‘extrapolating’ from his own experiences of stasis. Perhaps at
a technical and historical level this is correct, but the events that followed the return of
the heroes from the Trojan War, in certain instances the replacement of one dynasty by
another, seem well-described by the term stasis.
22
See Strabo 6.3.2, Paus. 10.10.6–8 and Diod. Sic. 8.21 for the most detailed versions
of the Tarentine foundation myth.
23
It is not clear what Thucydides has in mind when he talks about the colonization
of ‘some parts of the rest of Greece’. It may be that he is thinking about, for example,
Sparta’s ‘colonization’ of Lakonia, which according to the ancient sources occurred in
the middle of the eighth century, and would therefore be more or less synchronous with
the western settlements. On the other hand he might have in mind Spartan colonization
of the Greek islands, of Thera, Melos and Crete which would be closer in time to the
traditional dates for the Ionian migration. Thucydides himself gives us the date for the
Spartan foundation of Melos as a little before 1100 bc (5.112).
24
For Ionian origins see Huxley 1977, 23–35.
25
On autochthony see Rosivach 1987.
26
On Ionian cities as Athenian colonies see Saxonhouse 1986.
27
See Morgan 2003 for a full discussion of the ethnos in early archaic Greece.
28
On this see especially Morris 1987, 1996.
29
See Snodgrass 1977, 33, for a strong expression of this view. See Malkin 1994 for
a variation on this position: he argues that colonization forced the Greeks to assess what
a polis was.
30
See Ridgway 1992, 107–9, for a discussion of the emporion-apoikia debate. Ridgway
casts some doubt on the validity of this debate, doubt taken up by Wilson 1997 and
2001.
31
See De Caro 1994, Gialanella 1994 and d’Agostino 1999 for presentation and
discussion of this new evidence.
32
See Wilson 2000.
33
See Fischer-Hansen 1996.
34
See most recently Dougherty 2000.
35
Demand 1990, 30.
36
See Huxley 1977.
37
See also Iliad 2.678–9 for a much briefer account of the foundation of Kos.
38
Pindar, Olympian 7.27–32.
39
Pindar, Olympian 7.32 ff.
40
Schmid (1947, 5) regards the Tlepolemos story as evidence of the existence, prior
to settlement in the West, of a body of ktistic poetry connected with the ‘colonization’
of the mother-country.
41
Hdt. 4.156–9.
42
SEG 9.3, 26–7.
43
See Schmid 1947, 3–52, and Bowie 1986.
44
Giangulio 1981, 15–18.

53
John-Paul Wilson
45
This is Dougherty’s translation (1994, 123).
46
Pindar, Pythian 5.92–5.
47
See Malkin 1987 for the most detailed recent espousal of this position.
48
See Antonaccio 1995.
49
For the definitive discussion of ‘invented tradition’ see Hobsbawm and Ranger
1983.
50
Similar games were held for Tlepolemos. See Pindar, Olympian 7.77–82.
51
Malkin 1987, 190.
52
Hdt. 6.34–7.
53
Thucydides goes on to describe how the memorials of Hagnon were torn down.
54
Later sources fill out this picture considerably. See Malkin 1987, 190–203.
55
Boardman (1980, 174) makes a positive identification, which Malkin (1987, 213)
rejects.
56
 Vallet, Villard and Auberson 1976, 209–11.
57
Büsing 1978, 71.
58
Büsing 1978, 73.
59
See Kron 1971.
60
Hdt. 5.42–4.
61
A classic example is that of Myskellos of Rhypes who approaches the oracle to
inquire about his failure to produce any offspring (see Diod. Sic. 8.17).
62
In the continuation of Herodotus’ account of Dorieus’ enterprises, we are told
(4.45–6) that he was advised to found a colony at Herakleia on Sicily. This time,
however, he did consult the Oracle as to the suitability of the site and the legitimacy of
his venture.
63
See Malkin 1987, 17–22, for a brief but thorough discussion of the bibliography
on his subject.
64
Defradas 1954.
65
Thucydides 6.3.1.
66
Desborough 1972, 304.
67
Rolley 1983, Morgan 1993.

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57
 3

From Poseidonia to Paestum

via the Lucanians

Michael Crawford

Take a Greek city ‘barbarized’, a Lucanian city as its successor, a colony of

Latin status placed there by Rome in 273 bc; add a campaign of modern
excavation, documenting major changes in the urban framework over the
centuries; mix and stir thoroughly. The result is a series of equations between
political change and urban transformation, with a sub-text that the nice
Lucanians did not change things very much, while the nasty Romans changed
things a lot. But the arguments used do not stand examination: it is no more
plausible to link the filling-in of the ekklēsiastērion of the Greek and Lucanian
city with the arrival of the colony than it is to link the supersession of the
comitium or the Italic temple of the Latin colony with an invasion by some
unknown people in the second century bc. The processes of negotiation, first
between Greeks and Lucanians, then between the two and the colonists will
have been complex;1 and the links with urban change are unlikely to have
been simple. I shall try, first for the city in the Greek and Lucanian periods,
then for the Latin colony, to give an account of what can be known of the
institutional changes that took place; I shall then argue that any impact that
these changes had on the urban framework was slow and indirect.

Barbarization
The story begins with one of the most notorious puzzle passages of the
history of early Italy (Athenaeus XIV, 632a = Aristoxenus, fr. 124 Wehrli):
... διόπερ Ἀριστόξενος, ἐν τοῖς Συμμίκτοις συμποτικοῖς, ὅμοιον, φησί, ποιοῦμεν
Ποσειδωνιάταις τοῖς ἐν τῷ Τυρρηνικῷ κόλπῳ κατοικοῦσιν, οἷς συνέβη τὰ μὲν
ἐξ ἀρχῆς Ἕλλησιν ἐκβεβαρβαρῶσθαι Τυρρηνοῖς ἢ Ῥωμαίοις γεγονόσι, καὶ τήν
τε φωνὴν μεταβεβληκέναι τά τε λοιπὰ τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων, ἄγειν δὲ μίαν τινὰ
αὐτοὺς τῶν ἑορτῶν Ἑλληνικῶν ἔτι καὶ νῦν, ἐν ᾗ συνιόντες ἀναμιμνήσκονται
τῶν ἀρχαίων ἐκείνων ὀνομάτων τε καὶ νομίμων ...

… so Aristoxenus, in the Summikta Sumpotika, says ‘We are behaving like the
people of Poseidonia who live on the Tyrrhenian Gulf, to whom it has befallen
that although they were Greeks at the outset they have been barbarized by

59
Michael Crawford

becoming Tyrrhenians or Romans, changing their language and the rest of their
customs, but still observing one Greek festival, in which coming together they
recall their original names and practices …
Since Aristoxenus certainly lived and wrote before the Roman foundation
of the colony at Paestum, what did he mean by Tyrrhenians or Romans?2
Both Strabo (6.1.3 (254)) and modern scholars of course describe the people
who controlled Poseidonia in the fourth century as Lucanians; but there
is no particular reason why Aristoxenus should not have alluded to them
vaguely as Tyrrhenians or Romans.3 The principal concern of Aristoxenus
was to find a striking simile for a decline in musical taste,4 not to analyse the
ethnicity of Italy. The Etruscans had long been a major presence between
Capua and Salerno, the Romans had had a history intertwined with that of
the Etruscans since the sixth century.5 The Lucanians for Aristoxenus, rather
than being people the other side of the peninsula, were surely above all the
close neighbours of Taras, who appear in an anti-clockwise ring of – with one
possible exception – other close neighbours in another fragment (Porphyry,
de vita Pythag. 21 = Aristoxenus, fr. 17 Wehrli):
προσῆλθον δ’ αὐτῷ, ὥς φησιν Ἀριστόξενος, καὶ Λευκανοὶ καὶ Μεσσάπιοι καὶ
Πευκέτιοι καὶ Ῥωμαῖοι ...

And there came to him (Pythagoras), as Aristoxenus says, both Lucanians and
Messapians and Peucetians and Romans …
The possible exception are of course the Romans, but I suspect that they
are present in the list because Aristoxenus has anachronistically retrojected
the existence of the Roman-created colony of Luceria, founded in 314 bc.
For the Lucanian presence at Poseidonia there is a small amount of
excellent institutional evidence, beginning with the dedication in Oscan in
the ‘edificio circolare’ or ekklēsiastērion.6 The Lucanian period at Poseidonia
also sees the arrival of coins of Samnite Campania and the deployment of
a die already used for the silver didrachms of the Oscan city of Hyria in
Campania;7 and it may be that contact between Lucanians and Campa-
nians is the cause. The pattern of production of silver coinage at Poseidonia,
however, is puzzling: silver staters continued to be struck only until c. 380
bc, with an isolated issue in c. 350 bc; the production of silver fractions was
more continuous, but also came to an end; issues in bronze, on the other
hand, continued until c. 290 bc, some twenty years before the foundation of
the colony. The issue of c. 350 bc is interesting, bearing as it does the Latin or
Oscan name ΔΟΣΣΕΝΝΟΥ.8 But it is clutching at straws to suggest that the
typology of the coinage of Poseidonia becomes ‘Lucanian’.9
After that, things get even stickier. The evidence of burials is slippery, to
say the least: the prominence of scattered burials in the chōra between 360

60
 From Poseidonia to Paestum via the Lucanians

and 320 bc is part of a general pattern of dispersal of settlement into the

countryside in Magna Graecia in the fourth century bc;10 and I should be
very hesitant about supposing that groups of warrior burials of 450–400 bc
in the Contrada Gaudo (600 m away from the city) are those of Lucanians
preparing the way for the take-over.11 Obviously, given that we (think we)
know that there were Lucanians in control of Paestum after 400 bc, we can
say that we have a lot of representations in tomb paintings of members of
the Lucanian elite, perhaps sometimes as magistrates. And it is obvious that
the painted tombs of Paestum are a phenomenon that largely corresponds
with the Lucanian period of the city. But it is not at all obvious that there is
anything specifically Lucanian about interest in military prestige, ostenta-
tious display of wealth, or eschatological belief systems.12 Otherwise? There
is one Oscan name on a tomb painting, in Greek form, marginal and incon-
spicuous, and perhaps the signature of the painter.13 And there has just been
published the graffito μινιηισ, on a black-slip plate, of about 300 bc.14
There are indeed apparently far more Greek than Oscan inscriptions from
Poseidonia after 400 bc.15 And at least one rural sanctuary, that of San Nicola
di Albanella, seems to provide evidence of continuity: the votive deposit
goes from 450 to 300 bc, the cult being that of Demeter and Kore, with no
change in the nature of the offerings, consisting of statuettes and other terra-
cottas, normal and miniature pots, as well as two silver coins, a stater (as SNG
ANS 651–3 = Historia Numorum. Italy [n. 8], no. 1114) and a fraction (as
SNG ANS 706 = no. 1121). The whole deposit was deliberately and carefully
sealed c. 300 bc.16
When we get to the other end of the Lucanian period, a problem is
posed by the dumps of votives, similar to each other, from the fill of the
‘edificio circolare’, from near the Basilica (the so-called Curia), and from
the ‘Giardino Romano’, and a number of other isolated locations. Mario
Torelli does not prove against Emmanuele Greco that the votive statuettes
of children are colonial, rather than Lucanian, but only that they are earlier
than the second floor of the area round the ‘Tempio italico’ (see below).17
Stylistic comparison with the finds of ‘bambini in fasce’ from the Koreion
on Lipari, produced in abundance in the half-century before the sack by
Rome in 252/1, would suggest that the similar votives at Paestum began to be
produced c. 300, before the foundation of the colony.18 Votives of undoubted
central Italian type come from the Temple of Hera or Apollo (the so-called
Temple of ‘Neptune’), and presumably belong to the period of the colony.19
Remaining with artistic production, I see no way of resolving the disagree-
ment between Mario Denti and Mario Torelli over the statue of Marsyas,
found near the south-west corner of the Forum: made in the fourth century
bc, but remaining on display in the colony;20 or made for the colony.21

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Michael Crawford

Fig. 1. Paestum. Drawn by Howard Mason, after E. Greco et al., Poseidonia-Paestum

(Taranto, 1996).

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 From Poseidonia to Paestum via the Lucanians

Let us turn to the history of the urban framework of the city.

The Greek and Lucanian city

The layout of the city seems to date to c. 500 bc, including the main north–
south and east–west streets, that cross at what was to become the south-west
corner of the Forum; the Agora is the whole area between the temple of
Athena in the north (traditionally ‘Temple of Ceres’) and the two temples
of Hera in the south (traditionally ‘Temple of Neptune’ and ‘Basilica’). 22
In particular, the area within the Agora that was to become the Forum was
levelled c. 500 bc.23 On the western edge of the Agora lies the Heroon.24
What is striking above all, however, is the sheer scale of building activity
in the late archaic and classical periods. Apart from the three great temples,
the small temple beside the Temple of Athena is of c. 500 bc, as is the late
archaic ‘tempietto’ near the ‘edificio circolare’. Towards the end of the sixth
century bc, a temple was built on the site that was later to be occupied
by the Basilica of the Latin colony; it lay just south of the main east–west
street, and it was aligned with this, not with the three great temples and
their associated smaller structures: I describe it as the ‘east–west temple’. 25
The ‘sala da banchetto’ is of the same period, and – even if precise chrono-
logical indications are lacking – most of the small temples in the southern
sanctuary must also be buildings of the archaic and classical city. The
closing of the archaic votive deposit of the temple of Athena about 500
bc is presumably to be related to the restructuring of the urban centre at
that date.26 The ‘edificio circolare’, or ekklēsiastērion, was built from 450 bc
onwards, where the altar with the dedication in Oscan was in due course
placed; and a cult area east of the Museum, probably of Demeter, also
belongs to the Greek city.27
Building activity continued in the Lucanian period, some of which will
have markedly altered the appearance of the city centre: in particular, a wall
and stoa that divided off the southern from the northern half of the Agora,28
and a stoa along the south of the main east–west street. In addition, the
‘east–west temple’ was truncated, and an amphiprostyle temple was built
further south, above an archaic altar and perhaps for this reason aligned
not with the street, but with the two southern temples. (The prostyle
temple to its south cannot be dated.) The late archaic ‘tempietto’ west of
the ekklēsiastērion was restored. A kiln between the ‘east–west temple’ and
the amphi­prostyle temple, of c. 350 bc, presumably serviced much of this
activity.29 The Asklepieion is probably of somewhere between 350 and 300
bc;30 a wall was also built to the west of the southern half of the southern
sanctuary c. 300 bc. Nothing in the architectural record would reveal that
the city had been taken over by Lucanians.

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A similar picture emerges at the Heraion at the Foce del Sele, where an
archaic temple with metopes had been built c. 550 bc; a classical temple was
then built on the same site c. 500 bc, with the metopes being re-used; the
classical temple perhaps suffered from fire (there are traces on the metopes),
and was perhaps ruinous before the Lucanian period.31 It is extremely
hazardous to attribute the dump of debris going down to the fifth century bc
to deliberate destruction, by the Lucanians or anyone else.32 To the Lucanian
period, in any case, belongs the so-called ‘edificio quadrato’, of c. 350 bc,
perhaps a building for the weaving of cloth for ritual purposes.33
At Santa Venera, just outside the city to the south, on the other hand,
a shrine in the form of an oikos, with an annex attached on the south, was
constructed after 500 bc, along with a hall for dining.34 There appears to be
no building activity in the Lucanian period, but once again in the Roman
period.

The Latin colony

At least one institutional consequence of the foundation of the colony is
readily identifiable: the issue of bronze coinage, similar in style and fabric to
the coinage of Neapolis and other cities of Campania, but with the legend
in the Latin alphabet, PAISTANO, which means that the issue cannot be
Lucanian.35 The issue encapsulates the fusion of traditions that is character-
istic of Latin colonies, in this case a fusion between the Greek institution of
coinage and the Greek types on the one hand and the Latin legend and the
presence of Roman names on the other; the theme of fusion of traditions
is one to which I shall return at the end. The nomenclature of the colony
contains a mix of Latin, Oscan, and Etruscan names, though it is of course
impossible in most cases to tell whether their owners were part of the colony
of 273 bc, and if so whether they formed part of the existing population,
or whether they were later arrivals.36 In the case of the Etruscan names, the
parallels are all in Etruria proper, and it seems perverse to suggest a local
origin. The earliest colonists seem in any case to have brought with them some
cast bronze coinage from Rome, alien to local traditions: two pieces of the
heavy Dioscuri/Mercury series, one of the heavy Apollo/Apollo series, with
no cast bronze coinage thereafter till the Prow series of 225 bc and later.37 The
epigraphy of the colony also seems to have become wholly Latin overnight.
R. Wachter claims that there is virtually no Latin epigraphy at Paestum till
c. 200 bc, and that it is then archaising;38 but there is in fact a fair amount of
Latin material that certainly falls between the foundation of the colony and
the middle of the third century bc: the graffiti P. Nuom and M. Nu on cups
of the early third century bc;39 a dolium with [M]eneru[e] engraved on the lip
before firing, a bronze tablet with Iue, a dedication to Hercules.40

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 From Poseidonia to Paestum via the Lucanians

On the other hand, it is now perfectly clear that the elite of Paestum
continued to commission painted tombs for a generation or so after the
foundation of the colony.41 The numismatic evidence, which I have discussed
elsewhere, is decisive,42 and the only argument to the contrary is the quite
bizarre a priori assumption that such commissions would not have been
possible. If refutation were needed, it would be provided by the Mesagne
tomb, a burial in every respect typically Messapian, in the territory of Brundi-
sium, a generation and a half after the foundation of the colony.43
There seem to have been land measurement and division to the north of
the city, with one ‘decumanus’ formed by a road dated between c. 300 bc and
ad 79;44 but it is not encouraging that, in Roman feet, the ‘decumani’ are
between 7 and 8 actus apart;45 and in fact the distance between ‘decumani’ of
c. 270 metres is almost exactly 1,000 Oscan feet. At the same time, some sites
in the area seem to end c. 300 bc; but there was also some new settlement at
the edge of the chōra of Paestum in the third century bc, and the picture is
not so far one of massive convulsions.46
The votive deposit at the rural sanctuary of Capodifiume, including both
pots and statuettes, seems to run from c. 400 to 250 bc, with monumental
building taking place at the site c. 250 bc, a quarter of a century after the
foundation of the colony.47 The dedication to Minerva, mentioned above,
from the area of the temple of Athena, shows continuity of cult there.

The colonial city

We do not know where the Latin colonists of 273 bc were housed; the area
of the city east of the modern road is almost unexcavated (see above); but
even accepting that the cult area east of the Museum was inside the Greek
and Lucanian city (see above), it is possible to hold that there was much
empty space in that (or any) part of the city for the colonists, and that no
great upheaval was caused. The eastern edge of the Agora was certainly used.48
Nor would I myself suppose that the displacement of the area of pottery
manufacture from within the walls of the city was an ‘effetto traumatico
causato dalla colonia’;49 I expect everyone was glad that it had been moved.
It is in any case clear that the circuit of walls that we see now round the whole
city was in place before 273 bc.50
The central problem, however, is posed by the ‘edificio circolare’ or
ekklēsiastērion, on one view brutally slighted and filled in on the morrow of
the foundation of the colony.51 But the contents of the fill make it clear that
it was not filled in until c. 200 bc.52 It is of course obvious that the colony
in due course created, as one would expect, a Forum and the other physical
appurtenances of a city founded by Rome; and there is no way of knowing
whether the ‘edificio circolare’ was used between 273 and c. 200 bc. But there

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is no reason to doubt that it formed part of the urban landscape for a couple
of generations after 273 bc; and the altar with the dedication in Oscan was
left in place. A temple was eventually built on the spot.53
As for the Forum, it of course included, on its north side, a Comitium and
Curia.54 (The four rooms behind the Curia in their present form are the result
of a later modification: see below.) The building to the east has been seen as
an aerarium or carcer.55 The Forum has always been hypothesized as symmet-
rical, with 12 tabernae to the east of the Comitium;56 and the east end has
been found where it should be.57 A Capitolium probably lay at this east end.58
The orientation of the Forum clearly respects the layout of the Greek city;
and although it is true that the main north–south street was partially blocked
by the west end of the Forum, it was presumably actually rather convenient
for those using this road to pass through the Forum instead.
With the laying out of the Forum, the stoa on its south side was partly
demolished to create an opening to the south; beyond the opening lies an
Italic temple, oriented at right angles to the great temples, for whose dating
there is no archaeological evidence;59 but it seems not unreasonable to link
the construction of an Italic temple on a wholly unprecedented orientation
with the opening-up of the stoa, and both with the colony. But even if one
supposes the naiskos nearby, in the area of the so-called ‘Giardino Romano’,
also to be a building of the early colony,60 the effect on the southern sanctuary
will have been minimal. It is hard to see the building of either temple or the
demolition of part of the stoa as involving a particularly radical transforma-
tion; what remained of the ‘east–west temple’ (see above) was left untouched
until early in the first century ad it was demolished to make way for the
Basilica (the so-called ‘Curia’).61
In addition, the Asclepieion was taken over by the colony: a road behind
the tabernae on the south side of the Forum carefully avoids it. 62 The
heroon to the west of the agora was carefully and reverently surrounded
by a protective wall. The north wall of the southern sanctuary was rebuilt
between 100 and 50 bc and at the turn of the eras.63 One may compare in
general the repair of the temples of Thurii by the Latin colony of Copia.64
The area south of the stoa laid diagonally across the agora in the Lucanian
period, perhaps a gymnasium, was in part preserved in the Roman period.65
Perhaps the most prominent monument of the early colony was the so-called
‘Piscina’, to the north-west of the Forum, on the west of the old Agora, built
in the third century bc, perhaps a sanctuary of Fortuna.66 But one should
not forget the role of water in the Lucanian sanctuaries at Rossano di Vaglio
and Roccagloriosa.
So much for the first couple of generations of the colony. At a later date,
perhaps in the second half of the second century bc, the Comitium was

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partly covered by a Doric/Corinthian temple.67 It has been suggested that it

is a temple of the Dioscuri.68 At the same time as the building of the temple,
the rooms at the back of the Curia were extended and steps at the back were
added.69 And a temple, perhaps of Mercury, was inserted in the northern half
of the west end of the Forum.70 The Italic temple, probably built after the
foundation of the colony, was suppressed, along with a round temple nearby,
whose date and attribution are wholly mysterious.71 The amphitheatre was
built between 100 and 75 bc. Needless to say, none of these changes is to be
related to a change of population.
At the Foce del Sele, we see continuity between the building activity of
the Latin colony and the earlier sanctuary: in about 250 bc, the ‘thesauros’,
perhaps a shrine to replace the classical temple, if this was indeed by then
ruinous (see above), was built next to it and aligned with its foundations.72
Nor is there any reason to suppose that the use of the so-called ‘edificio
quadrato’ came to an end with the end of the Lucanian period; rather, it was
probably not covered over until the second century bc.73
At Santa Venera, the hall for dining (see above) was equipped with
a portico during the third century bc (a portico renovated in the first century
ad); and there is a dedication of c. 200 bc:74
[---i]us f. Cn Venerei
[d]onauit
Conclusion
The picture, then, is one of slow evolution of the urban fabric, without
institutional or social change having any close causal relationship with archi-
tectural developments. In any case, did Latin Paestum ever wholly forget its
Greek roots? Perhaps not.75 It is well known that, along with Greek Velia,
with which Paestum formed a single circulation area, and Greek Heraclea,
Paestum continued to coin into the late Republic, and, unlike Velia and
Heraclea, beyond.76 During the Second Punic War, it is two hoards of
victoriati, equivalent to the Greek drachma, not denarii, that appear at
Paestum.77And, in the same period, along with Greek Neapolis, Paestum
is attested as holding some of its communal wealth in the form of plate in
temples, a characteristically Greek practice (Livy 22.32.4–9; 36.9).78

Notes
1
See my comments on the Samnites in Cumae, CR 1983, 107–8, reviewing N.K.
Rutter, Campanian Coinages (Edinburgh, 1979).
2
Wilamowitz notoriously removed the problem by excising the Romans from the
text; M. Torelli, Tota Italia (Oxford, 1999), 77–8, casually dates Aristoxenus to after the
foundation of the colony, with extreme implausibility.

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Michael Crawford
3
A. Fraschetti, AIONArch 3, 1981, 97–115, ‘Aristosseno, i Romani e la barbariz-
zazione di Poseidonia’, rightly holds that the passage is not about economic decline,
but fails to explain how Tyrrhenians or Romans might have been responsible for the
barbarization of Poseidonia.
4
See A. Visconti, Aristosseno di Taranto. Biografia e formazione spirituale (Naples,
1999), 144–51.
5
Fausto Zevi, in conversation, has drawn my attention to the presence of Roman
cives sine suffragio in Campania; but I do not see Aristoxenus as concerned with such
technicalities.
6
H. Rix, Sabellische Texte (Heidelberg 2002), Lu 14.
7
R. Cantilena et al., AIIN 46, 1999, 9–154, ‘Monete da Posidonia-Paestum. Trasfor-
mazioni e continuità tra Greci, Lucani e Romani’, at 140–1.
8
N.K. Rutter, Historia Numorum. Italy (London, 2001), no. 1142. G. Manganaro
suggested, RFIC 87, n.s. 37, 1959, 395–402, ‘La sophia di Dossennus’, that, because
Dossennus is a character in Atellan farce, Atellan farce originated at Paestum: far-
fetched.
9
See the account of M. Taliercio Mensitieri, in Poseidonia-Paestum. Atti del XXVII
Convegno di Studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto, 1987 (Taranto, 1988), 133–83, ‘Aspetti
e problemi della monetazione di Poseidonia’, at 165–83, emphasizing ‘la volontà di richi-
amarsi alle origini greche’.
10
E. Greco and D. Theodorescu, in M. Cipriani et al. (eds.) Poseidonia e i Lucani
(Naples, 1996), 192.
11
Contra M. Cipriani, in Poseidonia i Lucani (n. 10), 119–39, ‘Prime presenze
italiche organizzate alle porte di Poseidonia’, at 138–9: ‘… mercenari chiamati a prestare
la loro opera per la polis e cooptati in città in funzione marginale, a differenza di altri
elementi allogeni, isolati, la cui diversità culturale ed ideologica viene invece assorbita
all’interno dei sepolcreti urbani ...’ (i.e., just outside the city) = M. Cipriani, in E. Greco
and F. Longo (eds.) Paestum. Scavi, studi, ricerche. Bilancio di un decennio(1988–1998)
(Paestum, 2000), 197–212, ‘Italici a Poseidonia nella seconda metà del V sec. a.C. Nuove
ricerche nella necropoli del Gaudo’, at 211.
12
For the last, see A. Pontrandolfo and A. Rouveret, Le tombe dipinte di Paestum
(Modena, 1992), 464; and, in general, A. Pontrandolfo, in Poseidonia-Paestum (n. 9),
225–65, ‘Le necropoli dalla città greca alla colonia latina’; A. Rouveret, ibid., 267–315,
‘Les langages figuratifs de la peinture funéraire paestane’.
13
Poseidonia e i Lucani (n. 10), p. 203, no. 96: πλασοϛ, the Greek form of the Oscan
name plasis.
14
M. Torelli, Ostraka 12, 1, 2003, 103–6, ‘Un avo della domi nobilis Mineia M.f. in
una nuova iscrizione lucana di Paestum’.
15
See Poseidonia-Paestum. II. L’agora (Rome 1983), 133–4; Poseidonia e i Lucani
(n. 10), 205 (no. 111 is printed as a mirror image); Poseidonia-Paestum. IV. Forum ouest-
sud-ouest (Rome 1999), 67; M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 77, nn. 218–19; M. Torelli
(n. 14), 103, nn. 7–8; E. Greco (n. 30 below), 73–4.
16
M. Cipriani, San Nicola di Albanella (Rome, 1989), rev. by A. Mastrocinque, DdA,
ser. 3, 8.2, 1990, 85–6.
17
M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 49, n. 47; Torelli in any case holds, 61–2, n. 112, that
the colonists continued to use moulds, for statuettes of a goddess holding a child, from
the fourth century bc, which rather undercuts the rest of his argument. The claim,

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74–5, that the colonists were in large measure freedmen, starting from the belief that
the statuettes of ‘bambini in fasce’ belong to the colonial period, is in any case a model
of how not to use evidence: not only is the statuette in Plate 17 not wearing the single
bulla, but it is clear from Cicero, II in Verrem 1, 152, that the toga praetexta is the mark
of free birth, the bulla rather of wealth.
18
The material from Lipari is to be published by O. de Cazanove, but is on display in
the museum on Lipari. For the export of Paestan pottery to Lipari, see A.D. Trendall,
The Red-Figured Vases of Paestum (London, 1987), 398.
19
M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 60; for the identification see below.
20
M. Denti, in Poseidonia-Paestum IV (n. 15), 106–53.
21
M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 73–4.
22
See E. Greco, in A. Vauchez (ed.) Lieux sacrés (Rome, 2000), 81–94, ‘Poseidonia-
Paestum’; and in id. and F. Longo (eds.) Paestum, Scavi, studi, ricerche (Paestum, 2000),
85–90. Mario Torelli speculates that the ‘Temple of Neptune’ was a temple of Apollo,
rather than Hera: Tota Italia (n. 2), 58–9.
23
E. Greco originally argued, Poseidonia-Paestum II (n. 15), 83, that ‘il foro viene
edificato altrove (than in the Agora) (a danno di uno spazio di cui ignoriamo ancora le
funzioni precedenti)’, a view now abandoned; in fact already when Greco was writing,
a stoa to the south of the site of the Forum suggested a public space in existence there
before the foundation of the colony.
24
M. Bertarelli-Sestieri, MEFRA 97, 2, 1985, 647–91, ‘Nuove ricerche sull’ipogeo
di Paestum’.
25
Poseidonia-Paestum IV (n. 15), 6.
26
Information from M. Cipriani.
27
See L. Jannelli, in Paestum (n. 22), 91; I. d’Ambrosio and L. Jannelli, ibid., 103;
I. d’Ambrosio and R. de Bonis, ibid., 109; an off-the-cuff remark to the contrary by
M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 65, n. 140.
28
Poseidonia-Paestum. III. Forum nord (Rome, 1987), 25.
29
For kilns in sanctuary areas, compare, e.g., F. Castegnoli, Archeologia Laziale III
(1980), 164–7, ‘Santuari e culti del Lazio arcaico’ (Lavinium).
30
E. Greco, in S. Adamo Muscettola and G. Greco (eds.) I culti della Campania antica
(Rome, 1998), 71–9, ‘L’ Asklepieion di Paestum’.
31
J. de la Genière, in O. de Cazanove and J. Scheid (eds.) Sanctuaires et sources (Collec-
tion du Centre Jean Bérard 22, Naples, 2003), 97–102, ‘A la recherche du “temple des
métopes archaïques” du Sele’.
32
Contra J. de la Genière and G. Greco, in I culti della Campania antica (Rome, 1998),
37–43, ‘Beaucoup de questions et quelques réponses au sanctuaire de Héra à Foce del
Sele’, at 42–3.
33
G. Greco and B. Ferrara, in Sanctuaires (n. 27), 103–35, ‘Heraion all foce della Sele:
nuove letture’.
34
J.G. Pedley and M. Torelli, The Sanctuary of Santa Venera at Paestum. I. (Rome,
1993), chaps. 3–4.
35
The significance of the Latin alphabet is not emphasized by M.H. Crawford in
La monetazione in bronzo di Poseidonia-Paestum (AIIN, Supp. 18–19, 1973), 47–103,
‘Paestum and Rome: the form and function of a subsidiary coinage’: see M. Talercio
Mensitieri, in Poseidonia e i Lucani (n. 10), 210–14, though the legend is wrongly in the
Greek alphabet in the ‘Schede’.

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Michael Crawford
36
F. Arcuri, Bollettino Storico di Salerno e Principato Citra 4, 1 (1986), 5–15 ‘In
margine ad alcune epigrafi romane di Paestum’, for Oscan names among the quaestors
of Paestum, marred by prosopographical speculation; M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 76,
for Etruscan names.
37
R. Cantilena et al. (n. 7), 58.
38
Altlateinische Inschriften (Bern, 1987), 424–6.
39
Poseidonia-Paestum II (n. 15), 109–10.
40
M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 53, 64.
41
Contra A. Pontrandolfo, in Poseidonia e i Lucani (n. 10), 292; A. Pontrandolfo
Greco, in Atti del XVI Convegno di Studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto, 1976 (1977),
800. There is no reason to suppose that either the cremation enclosures in the Santa
Venera necropolis (A. Pontrandolfo Greco, ibid., 801–4) or the monumental tombs of
the second century bc (M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 83, n. 255) were deliberately placed
in succession to the chamber tombs above which they find themselves.
42
See A. Burnett and M.H. Crawford, in R. Ashton and S. Hurter (eds.) Stud-
ies … M.J. Price (London, 1997), 55–7, ‘Overstrikes at Neapolis and coinage at Posei-
donia-Paestum’. H. Horsnaes, JRA 17 (2004), 305–11, ‘Romanization at Paestum in the
3rd century bc: a note on the chronology of the PAISTANO coins and the interpreta-
tion of the wall-paintings from the Spinazzo cemetery’, argues in basically the same sense,
but unfortunately continues to print Greek pi instead of Latin p; and I think it very rash
to identify the subject of one of the paintings with a magistrate of the Latin colony.
43
See A. Cocchiaro (ed.) Nuovi documenti dalla necropoli meridionale di Mesagne
(Fasano, 1989) (non vidi); G.J. Burgers, in E. Lo Cascio and A. Storchi Marino (eds.)
Modalità insediative e strutture agrarie nell’Italia meridionale in età romana (Bari 2001),
249–66, ‘L’archeologia e l’Italia meridionale post-annibalica: una prospettiva regionale
e diacronica’, at p. 263.
44
D. Gasparri, in Le ravitaillement en blé de Rome (Collection de l’École Française de
Rome 196, 1994), 149–58, ‘Nuove acquisizioni sulla divisione agraria di Paestum’.
45
Although there is no explicit reference, this calculation presumably supersedes that
reported by E. Greco, DdA, ser. 3, 6, 2, 1988, 79–86, ‘Archeologia della colonia latina
di Paestum’, at p. 86: 4 actus!
46
E. Greco, ibid.
47
Information from A. Serritella and M. Viscione; I am baffled by the conflicting
claims of M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 51–2, that the rural sanctuaries of Poseidonia
came to an end in the Lucanian period, except for Capodifiume, which continued in the
colonial period also; and that it was the colony which put an end to the religiousness
of the territory.
48
See L. Jannelli, in Paestum (n. 22), 96.
49
E. Greco (n. 45), at p. 85.
50
E. Greco and D. Theodorescu, in Poseidonia e i Lucani (n. 10), 184–200, ‘La città e
il territorio nel IV secolo a.C.’ (the north-eastern corner was restored some time after the
third century bc); contra M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 46–7, who links the walls round
the eastern half of the city with the colony.
51
So E. Curti, E. Dench, J.R. Patterson, JRS 86, 1996, 170–89, ‘The archaeology of
central and southern Roman Italy’, at 186.
52
A. Burnett and M.H. Crawford (n. 42); contra R. Cantilena et al. (n. 7), 99, if the
publication of the coins from the fill is accurate, the late coins are not from the surface

70
 From Poseidonia to Paestum via the Lucanians

or even from near the surface. The account in T. Potter, Roman Italy (London, 1987),
72–3, is almost wholly fictional.
53
E. Greco and D. Theodorescu, CRAI 1994, 227–37, ‘L’agora de Poseidonia’, at 232;
I. d’Ambrosio, in Poseidonia e i Lucani (n. 10), 27–8.
54
Poseidonia-Paestum III (n. 28), 27–36; L. Richardson, in Cosa. III. The Buildings
of the Roman Forum (Rome, 1993), 253–64, argues that the Comitium was not round
at the moment of building, but is refuted by E. Greco, Poseidonia-Paestum IV (n. 15),
3, n. 1.
55
Poseidonia-Paestum III (n. 28), 63–7.
56
See Poseidonia-Paestum III (n. 28), 20–1, for the presence of tabernae at Paestum
and Alba, but their absence at Cosa.
57
Poseidonia-Paestum IV, 3–7.
58
M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 54–6 and 61–71, engages in reckless attribution of the
various temples to deities of the colony, in order to attribute to Paestum a copy of part
of the sacred topography of Rome.
59
For the area in general, see I. d’Ambrosio, in Poseidonia-Paestum IV, 36–53.
60
M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 61–2.
61
See P. Vitti, in Poseidonia-Paestum IV, 83–105, refuting the attribution to 100 bc
by M. Torelli.
62
Poseidonia-Paestum IV, 7; Fig. 1 is misleading, but Fig. 20 shows the road just
north of what will in a later age be the apse of the Baths; E. Greco (n. 30), 73–4; the
‘deviazione’ of a wall is not properly explained.
63
M. Mello and G. Voza, Iscrizioni latine di Paestum (Naples, 1968–9), no. 142.
64
See M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2),128–9.
65
M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 67–8.
66
E. Greco, PdP 40 (1985), 223–32, ‘Un santuario di età repubblicana presso il foro
di Paestum’; Poseidonia-Paestum III (n. 28), 41–9, 60–2; M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2),
65, n. 141.
67
F. Krauss and R. Herbig, Der korinthisch-dorische Tempel am Forum (1939);
F. Krauss, Der Athenatempel (1955); for the date see Poseidonia-Paestum III (n. 28),
27–36: a second-century bc fragment in the fill of the podium.
68
D. Theodorescu, letter of 7/2/1988; contra, M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 65 n. 143.
The associated altar and base are of the first half of the first century ad (Poseidonia-
Paestum III (n. 28), 15–24).
69
The Rostra in front of the temple and Comitium are of the first half of the first
century ad (Poseidonia-Paestum III (n. 28), 35–6).
70
M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 68–9 with p. 47, fig. 26, no. 3.
71
I. d’Ambrosio, Poseidonia-Paestum IV (n. 15), 39.
72
J. de la Genière and G. Greco (n. 32); G. Greco and B. Ferrara (n. 33).
73
See M.H. Crawford, Roman Republican Coinage (Cambridge, 1974), 28–9, n. 4.
74
See Pedley and Torelli (n. 34), chap. 7.
75
The phenomena discussed here are ignored by M. Torelli, Tota Italia (n. 2), 77–8.
76
M.H. Crawford, Coinage and Money in the Roman Republic (London, 1985), 71–2;
I do not share the doubts of P. Visonà over the continuation of the coinage of Heraclea,
JRA 10, 1997, 334–5, reviewing F. van Keuren, The Coinage of Heraclea Lucaniae (Città
di Castello, 1994).
77
M.H. Crawford, Roman Republican Coin Hoards (London, 1969), no. 103;

71
Michael Crawford

R. Cantilena et al. (n. 7), 70 (not recognized as a hoard).

78
See C. Ampolo, Scienze dell’Antichità 3–4, 1989–90, 271–9, ‘Fra economia,
religione e politica: tesorie offerte nei santuari greci’; P.G. Guzzo, in S. Adamo Muscet-
tola and G. Greco (eds.) I culti della Campania antica (Rome, 1998), 27–36, ‘Doni
preziosi agli dei’, collects some examples of precious metal offerings; compare Livy 6.4.3
(dedication by Camillus, 388 bc); 10.23.13 (dedication to Ceres, 296 bc); 26.47.7
(dedication at Nova Carthago, 210 bc).

72
 4

Coloniam Deducere: How Roman was

Roman Colonization during
the Middle Republic?

Edward Bispham

1. Introduction
Towards the end of the reign of Augustus an altar was dedicated to his numen
in the colony of Narbo Martius (modern Narbonne). An inscription (CIL
XII 4333) preserves the text of the lex or formal pronouncement made by
a local magistrate, by virtue of which the altar was dedicated. One of the most
interesting aspects of this text is the way in which matters pertaining to the
use of the altar, but not dealt with by the dedicatory formulae inscribed, are
to be regulated: ‘other laws for this altar and its inscriptions shall be the same
as for the altar of Diana on the Aventine’, that is, in Rome. What makes the
choice of those Roman sacral regulations as the model (rather than any others,
Roman or Narbonnese) more interesting, is that the text of a lex dedicating
an altar to Iuppiter Optimus Maximus (the principal god of the Roman
pantheon) in the colony of Salona on the Dalmatian coast, in ad 127, has an
almost identical provision: ‘other laws for this altar shall be the same as the
law pronounced for the altar of Diana on the Aventine Hill’ (CIL III 1933).
A third such document, its heavily abbreviated text implying a very familiar
practice, comes from the colony of Ariminum in Italy, from the first century
ad (CIL XI 361).1
As Beard, North and Price point out, the historical role of this sanctuary
in regulating Roman agreements with allies must play a part in the choice of
its regulations rather than any others (1998, 1, 330). It is also hard to resist
the impression that, while the initiative for adopting the Aventine lex is local,
this identical choice on the part of all three colonies, irrespective of the deity
to whom the altar is dedicated, reflects a shared understanding that there
were accepted modes of behaviour and means of expressing identity, which
were common to Roman colonies in the imperial era.
This epigraphic evidence, then, reveals Roman colonies behaving in
a uniform way, using the same set of Roman ritual rules to express the same

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Edward Bispham

conception of their relationship to Rome. Conversely, Rome is often seen

to have had a uniform view of her relationship with her colonies. Modern
interpretations of literary evidence for colonization, Greek and Roman, have
tended to construct it as a ‘statist’ (i.e. state-organized) activity, designed to
meet public aims (strategic or economic; and for Roman colonization, settle-
ment of veterans, Sherwin-White 1973, 76–80, 82, 84, 93) or problems (land
hunger). The colony is further seen as having strong ties with the mother-city:
affective, juridical or both. On some accounts, Greek colonization was one
stimulus to the crystallization of a higher form of communal organization
in Old Greece, namely the polis.2 Happily, archaeological discoveries have
brought to light colonial ‘type sites’ (most famously Megara Hyblaia in Sicily,
and Cosa in Italy), which seem to bear out the statist interpretation drawn
from the literary sources.
The model works fairly well for classical Greece, or late republican and
imperial Rome; but arguably not so well for earlier periods; nevertheless at
all periods colonists sent to Roman (as opposed to Latin) colonies retained
their Roman citizenship. Osborne (1998) has even argued that ‘colonization’
should be abandoned as a term used to describe Greek overseas settlement in
the archaic period, which, on his view, is ill-characterized by the statist model.
My concern is with Roman colonization in the fourth and third centuries
bc, including new foundations of the Latin name (nomen Latinum): was
a statist agenda manifest, and, if so, how important was it? To address these
issues, I shall in this chapter look at specific ways in which both the prevailing
historio­graphical model of colonization, and the category ‘Roman colony’
can be deconstructed. This in turn will lead us to question both the dominant
model, and some of its statist implications.
Especially through archaeological discoveries, the category of colony
has been almost reified in historical discourse: we know what a Roman
colony is without having to see one, or hear it described. Each has an urban
‘kit’, modelled on core elements of the political and religious topography
of Rome: a citadel, or arx, with a temple dedicated to the Capitoline triad,
dominating a central political space (forum) containing a comitium (assembly
place) and a curia (senate house). These spaces host modes of communal
behaviour implicit in those core structures.3 The foundation ritual, too, is
familiar. Firstly, the deductio, or marching out, of the colonists from Rome to
the site of the colony; there a deductor (founder), in ritual dress (the cinctus
Gabinus), ploughs the sulcus primigenius (the original furrow), tracing the
line of the future walls and instantiating a ritual barrier, the pomoerium.4 As
a standard text-book has it, ‘When the Romans founded new towns … as part
of their colonizing activity in the fourth century bc and later, they inaugu-
rated them with a set of rituals … including the ceremonies of plowing the

74
 Coloniam deducere: how Roman was Roman colonization … ?

ritual furrow … of the pomoerium … and placing the first fruits of the earth in
a ceremonial pit called the mundus, “world” ’.5 All these rituals coalesce to
produce a community which, after a famous phrase of Aulus Gellius, is often
called a ‘little Rome’.
This model is all very well for the Augustan period, and, with qualifica-
tions, for the late Republic (by which time Latin colonial status had become
titular, and involved no formal act of foundation). Augustan Roman colonies
did not look much like Rome, but they did look like each other (cf. Laurence
1999, 199). They also, however, looked unlike each other in various ways. To
privilege the Roman-looking aspects, or the ‘Capitoline kit’, may be to lose
part of the picture of colonial identity, and here our argument touches on
far-reaching reassessments of Romanization recently undertaken.6
As for the foundation ritual, the standard accounts are synthetic and
synchronic, and may thus be misleading.7 For a start, the ‘set’ of ritual acts
is one constructed from a variety of late accounts, primarily of Romulus’
foundation of Rome (such as Plutarch’s account in the Life of Romulus),
itself a ‘charter’ myth, purporting to explain customs which later Romans
actually used in city foundations. Consequently, the ‘set’ of rituals at the
foundation is not clearly defined: accounts of foundations do not always
include, besides the ploughing of the original furrow, the burial of first
fruits from the mother-community in a sacred pit.8 Finally, Peter Wiseman
has reminded us how many stories about the foundation of Rome the pre-
Augustan period knew, stories which gradually lost ground to the ‘canonical’
myths of Romulus and Remus, and Evander;9 we should not expect one set of
procedures to be common to all these variants. The synthetic accounts thus
represent late-republican or Augustan ‘takes’ on the formative moments and
ideals of the Roman community, the latter from a time when Rome was being
effectively refounded, with the protagonist toying with the idea of calling
himself Romulus.10
‘Little Romes’, founded after ritual ploughing, and kitted out with
a standard topography and infrastructure which recall the urbs (city),
have, then, to be treated for what they are, namely late-republican and
Augustan discourses, which evolved in the context of re-shaping an identity
for a far-flung and recently divided empire. These discourses created new
symbolic associations between Rome and her coloniae. These were especially
important in the Augustan period;11 but they are present earlier as well. The
lex, or charter, of the Caesarian civilian colony at Urso in Spain states that
‘whoever as IIvir or prefect shall be in charge of the jurisdiction in the colonia
Genetiva, whenever the decurions shall have decided that he is to lead out
the colonists … under arms for the purpose of defending the territories of the
colony, … that IIvir or whomever a IIvir shall have placed in charge of men

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Edward Bispham

under arms is to have the same right and the same power of punishment as
a military tribune of the Roman people has in an army of the Roman people
…’12 It would be a mistake to think that we can read off the colonial activity of
earlier periods against this late ideological yardstick. What colonies and their
foundations were like, and what the category ‘colony’ meant, in the third
century bc or earlier, are not necessarily to be deduced from the ‘Romulean’
ideology (for the term see Torelli 1988, Fentress 2000b) of the age of
Augustus.13 This is, nevertheless, what has been done, aided and abetted, as
we shall see, by archaeological discoveries and their interpretation.
In what follows I shall attempt to ask, under two particular headings, what
can be said about the process of colonization in the middle Republic; and
consequently to suggest what sorts of things should not be said. My focus
will be on material culture; topography and nomenclature; and on colonial
cults. It will be predominantly urban,14 and in this sense is still constrained
by the urban matrix in which the images of a ‘little Rome’ are generated in
modern discussions. Nor will it seek to deny the Roman state an important
role in colonization. That Roman strategic control of Italy was achieved by
the mechanism of Latin colonies is manifest in their role in the Italian and
Hannibalic wars. Filippo Coarelli has demonstrated how one transforma-
tion of the Italian landscape – road building – is closely bound up both with
cementing the conquest and with colonization, especially the Latin variety
(Coarelli 1988):15 here statist agendas are clearly visible.16
The common metaphor of the plantation of Latin and Roman colonies
across Italy is an agricultural one, conjuring up a transformed landscape.
I shall not discuss, however, the broader impact of colonization on the Italian
countryside, an area worthy of detailed investigation: not least in terms of the
ecological impact of Roman resettlement, in terms of what was grown, where,
and by whom; how it was stored and redistributed, and the processes of
appropriation involved in all these activities.17 Such a study would follow the
work of Horden and Purcell, who focus particularly on the impact of coloni-
zation as an example of a transformation of the ‘social relations of production’
(‘producers’ relations with each other, their tools and the land’, 2000, 270),
affecting the nuanced game of risk and survival (2000, 278–87).18 They set
colonization alongside other forms of exogonous exploitation such as ‘slavery,
share-cropping dependent tenancy … serfdom, allotment, confiscation’ (277;
see also 274–8 on the ‘powerful’).
Allotment and exploitation of land are connected to the replication of
particular social relations in Roman and Latin colonies. We know that, from
the late third century bc, the size of Latin colonial allotments was differen-
tiated along pseudo-military lines, with lots of diminishing sizes going to
classes of equites (cavalry) and pedites (infantry).19 The stratified nature of

76
 Coloniam deducere: how Roman was Roman colonization … ?

Roman society, as well as the ideology of the citizen small-proprietor, were

thereby perpetuated.20 All this needs to be viewed within the larger context
of changes in the Roman state, whose institutions and structures were, we
suppose, being replicated. If these divisions were ‘di regola’ (routine) in the
early second century, as Gabba has claimed (1958, 98), does that mean that
we can retroject that regularity into the evidential black hole of the early
third century and before?
Scholars have been inclined to think so. Indeed, Coarelli (1992) argues for
a strong vein of continuity in Roman colonization from the archaic period
onwards. More cautiously, Gabba thinks the fourth century a plausible
starting date for such colonial structures, arguing for demographic and social
motives, alongside military ones, for colonial foundation (1988); Bandelli
(1988, 106) seems to argue for a politics of colonization beginning with
the distribution of the ager Gallicus in the third century.21 In that case, we
might be able to relate the creation of state-constituted wealth classes (like
those of the Roman census), within which all property holders are nominally
equal, to the ‘liberation’ of the plebeians from the arbitrary domination of
the patrician elites, which was finally ended in the early part of the third
century.22 How, though, would individual third-century coloni (colonists)
fit into the Horden and Purcell outlook? How were they part of a ‘centrally
managed landscape’ (2000, 265), and did the demands of the powerful
intersect with the equality of land-holding which seems to have formed the
armature of their settlement? An appeal to a structural similarity between
allotment and latifundism at a ‘macro’ level does not answer all of these
questions.
These are issues for another occasion, however. The present chapter
builds on (and in some particulars corrects) work on Ostia in a recent article
(Bispham 2000),23 but it draws its main inspiration from a short but provoca-
tive piece by Michael Crawford, in the memorial volume for Ettore Lepore.24
Crawford poses important questions about the nature of the common models
used to understand Roman colonization, and the historiographical tradition
in which they are embedded. The approach underpinning Crawford’s article,
and the questions it raises, can be set beside the work of other scholars, such
as Mario Torelli and Lisa Fentress. The extent of my debt to these writers will
be clear, although I cannot subscribe to all their conclusions. Equally, what
follows also engages with older (now orthodox) scholarship, in a fashion
which is deconstructive, but I hope not wantonly destructive. I shall disagree
with some of the views advanced by scholars like Salmon and Brown; much
remains with which to agree.
The classic synthesis on Roman colonization is still E.T. Salmon’s Roman
Colonization (1969).25 This study took as normative what we may call

77
Edward Bispham

the Gellian ‘model’ of colonization, which assumes that Roman (and by

extension, Latin) colonies were indeed quasi parvae effigies and simulacra,
‘small representations and images of a sort’ of Rome.26 At the same time,
it revealed Salmon’s awareness of the crucial importance of archaeological
evidence, especially when he drew on the ongoing excavations at Cosa.27
There, assumptions similar to Salmon’s about what a Roman or Latin
colony should look like were being made by Frank Brown and others, and
these informed their interpretation of the site.28 Thus (leaving aside for the
moment religious buildings) they identified the following elements of an
urban ‘kit’, all also found in Rome: a forum – linked visually by a clear line
of sight to the arx (citadel)29 – fitted with post holes for Roman-style group-
voting channels; a comitium and curia complex facing the arx across the
forum, complete with a Graecostasis; a carcer (prison) and Tullianum; atria
publica (public halls); and a forum piscarium (fish market).30 The conclusions
were encouraging, and could be extended to illuminate what was then known
of other Latin colonies: Brown wrote of a ‘master plan’ (1980, 42, 44, 58),
and saw second-century colonial fora as ‘planned by the colonial office in
Rome’ (1980, 43).31
Brilliant and ground-breaking as the excavation of Cosa was in many
ways,32 the picture of a Latin colony which emerged was not so much an
analysis as a self-fulfilling prophecy. Problems are at once apparent with
Brown’s method. Let us take the example of the atria publica: ‘the Atria
around the Forum of Cosa may give a glimpse of what [the Roman Atria]
were like, and, conversely, the Roman Atria may suggest the varied functions
which the Cosan Atria served’, he wrote (1980, 36). The assumption that
Cosa should be like Rome is just that, an assumption; to go further, and read
back from the hypothetical derivation to illuminate the archaeologically
unknown at Rome is a circular argument.33 For the forum, recent excava-
tions have shed new light, which seems to undermine Brown’s intrepreta-
tion of these structures, suggesting that they may in fact have been private
houses of high-status colonists (Fentress 2000b, 15–17; cf. Taylor 2002,
61).34 Wholesale application of a Cosan blueprint to Italy should likewise
be treated with caution. The numbers of voting passages at Cosa (5 in the
mid-second century (Brown 1980, 41 n. 11) are not matched at Alba Fucens,
where there are three (later twelve) such channels at the same period (Torelli
1988b, 136).35 Inter-colonial diversity is an important theme, to which I shall
return.

2. Historiographies of colonization
‘But the bond of colonies [to Rome] is different [from that of municipia];
for they do not enter the [Roman] citizenship from without, nor are they

78
 Coloniam deducere: how Roman was Roman colonization … ?

supported by their own roots, but they are as it were propagated from the
citizenship, and all of their laws and customs are those of the Roman people,
not of their own choosing. This status, however, although it is more submis-
sive and less free, is nonetheless thought to be preferable and more worthy on
account of the greatness and majesty of the Roman people, of whom those
very colonies seem to be, in a manner of speaking, small representations and
images of a sort; and at the same time because the laws of the municipia are
imperfectly known and fallen into disuse, they are no longer able to use them
on account of their obscurity.’36
Aulus Gellius’ brief characterization of the difference between colonies
and municipia has regularly been taken out of context, and been made to
serve as a building block for a very dirigiste, statist view of colonization.
I have elsewhere (Bispham 2000, 157 f.) tried to offer a more contextual
reading of this far-from-innocent imperial perspective; without it, our views
of colonization might be very different. As it is, Gellius’ legacy, the idea of the
colony as a ‘little Rome’, was given a new lease of life as a result of archaeo-
logical discoveries during the twentieth century. The interface between the
two strands of evidence on Roman colonization, and their mutual appropria-
tion, call for closer inspection.
Two decades after Salmon’s work on colonies appeared, and almost
a decade after Brown’s synthesis of Cosa’s republican history (1980), R.T.
Scott could write that the archaeological discoveries made at Cosa proved
Gellius right when he talked of colonies as simulacra of Rome, and that this
formulation could confidently be extended to Latin colonies in general. The
view that a Latin colony should be a very Roman place is alive and well.37
Yet with Gellius and his modern disciples, we see the tail wagging the
dog, surely? One small Antonine literary passage has so conditioned our
understanding of republican Roman colonization that scholars now expect
to find Gellius lurking under every bed, or on every arx. Small wonder that
the excavators ‘found’ what they did! We shall return below to the religious
topography and cults of Cosa, and other colonies, and ask whether a dispas-
sionate assessment can really support the prevalent model for understanding
Latin, and by extension, Roman colonization.
The Gellian model has already been challenged, above all by Mario Torelli,
who has stressed how much of our information about early Roman coloniza-
tion is filtered through late-republican and Augustan ideological matrices:38
‘modern historiography, in blindly following the lines traced by the antiquar-
ians of the late Republic, has envisioned the ideological components of colo-
nization as confined within the limits of the ritual canonized by the legend
of the conditor urbis [city-founder]’ (1999, 15).39 We shall return below to
the antiquarians and their influence. For the moment, we must refrain from

79
Edward Bispham

treating the manifestations of this late ‘Romulean’ ideology, over-emphasized

in syntheses like those of Salmon, as normative. This is true both of mid-
republican ritual (such as foundation rites) in particular, and more generally
of the proposition that Roman colonies were little Romes.40 Torelli stresses
that instead we need to reconstruct an ‘ideological picture’ which is valid for
the fourth and third centuries, if we are to get a better approximation of what
colonization in the middle Republic was about.41
Yet, despite ingeniously revisiting the material evidence unearthed at
Cosa, Alba Fucens and Paestum, Torelli does not seem to me to have broken
free from the approach which he has himself criticized. He is able on the one
hand to suspect the literary sources as too ‘Romulean’, but on the other to
accept ‘Romulean’ interpretations of Brown’s finds, since they are, after all,
archaeological and not textual evidence. Yet material culture speaks through
the excavator – and an excavator is no less fallible than a Verrius Flaccus.
Torelli’s detailed knowledge of the archaeological, epigraphic and textual
evidence for mid-republican Rome, and especially its cults, seems to promise
the construction of an ideational world which is much closer to that which
enmeshed earlier colonies than the one criticized. Yet understanding of
colonial cults follows, for Torelli, from the possession of one or more keys,
and these keys are all derived from the ritual topography and iconography
of mid-republican Rome itself. The resulting picture of colonial cult is
much more finely nuanced than what it replaces; yet one cannot help but
feel that structurally both exegeses are fundamentally similar. Torelli twists
the colonial data sets over the Roman reference points; once a precise
correspondence emerges, it becomes a fixed point, from which others are
inexorably nailed down on the basis of the Roman arrangement, sometimes
regardless of plausibility.
In this process, once the interstices of Roman and colonial are located,
everything else follows ‘logically’. The results are interesting (e.g. the ‘flat’
Aventine of Paestum, 1999, 52–6), and Torelli deploys them cleverly in
a wider historical context (note the plausible plebeian tinge which he
discerns at Paestum on the basis of cult and votive offerings: Torelli 1988b,
143 f., 1999, 73–6, 78 f.). The problem is that the underlying approach is
to seek a replication of Rome, which will underpin a further series of cultic
reproductions, in which mythical, ritual and topographical associations come
to operate as they do at Rome. Thus Torelli says of the intervention in the
existing religious set-up consequent upon the Latin colonization of Paestum
that it ‘helps to clarify a design consistent with Roman politico-religious
ideology, which wished the colonies to be fashioned as effigies simulacraque
parva urbis [representations and small images of the city]’ (1999, 62). Gellius
would have approved.42

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Salmon’s titles for his chapters II–IV are revealing. Here we find the
normative categories into which scholars divide the various Roman colonial
foundations in Italy: ‘Priscae Latinae Coloniae’ (Ancient Latin Colonies),
‘Coloniae Latinae’ (Latin Colonies), ‘Coloniae Maritimae’ (Maritime
Colonies);43 other terms are also found in the scholarly vocabulary, such
as coloniae civium Romanorum (colonies of Roman citizens).44 These terms
are based unambiguously on the testimony of the sources, and use the
comforting force of the distinctions of Roman juridical language in order to
maintain themselves as discrete categories. Yet these categories may be them-
selves the inventions of the late Republic or the Augustan period: the earliest
contemporary reference to any kind of colonia is from early-second-century
Aquileia.45 What is unclear is how Romans viewed the phenomenon of colo-
nization and its development in the fourth and third centuries. What did the
contemporaries of the great wave of mid-republican colonization think these
foundations were? Was there any single normative ideology of colonization?
Was there such a thing as a colony, as we would understand it?
This last problem has recently been raised by Michael Crawford.46 He
rightly points out ways in which the normative model may be suspect for the
earlier phases of Roman colonization. His example is a passage of Asconius;
the commentator seems (admittedly there is a textual problem at this
point 47) to say that Placentia, founded in 219, was the 53rd Roman colony
to be founded: ‘eamque coloniam LIII <lacuna> deductam esse invenimus,
deducta est autem Latina’ (‘and we find that colonia to have been founded as
the ?fifty-third, but it was founded as a Latin colonia’) .48 The context of this
remark is Cicero’s description (correct for his day) of Placentia as a munici-
pium. Asconius (wrongly) thought it was always a colony, and it is salutary to
note that his diligent researches overlooked the community’s change of status
consequent upon enfranchisement under the lex Iulia in 90 bc. Asconius
seems to have consulted an antiquarian source, which told him: ‘duo porro
genera earum coloniarum quae a populo Romano deductae sunt fuerunt, ut
Quiritium aliae, aliae Latinorum essent’ (‘there were furthermore two classes
of these colonies which were led out by the Roman people, such that some
were of the Quirites, and others of the Latins’).
Asconius’ source seems to be the only one to have reached us which uses
the term Quirites of the inhabitants of what we call Roman colonies (ancient
sources and scholars prefer cives Romani, Roman citizens), and the use of
the term surprises in view of the military function often ascribed to these
colonies. What is odder is that Placentia should, or indeed could, be consid-
ered the 53rd colony (or 54th, if the true reading were ‘LIII[I]’): there were
not enough predecessors to make up so large a number by the time Placentia
was founded.49

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In fact there is no shortage of apparent ‘eccentricity’ in discussions of, or

references to, colonies in our sources. By far the most ‘heterodox’ is the only
surviving ancient ‘history’ of Roman colonization, that of Velleius Pater-
culus.50 His chronology disagrees with that found in the Livian tradition;
and Roman and Latin colonies are indiscriminately mixed up, or rather,
the distinction which we saw was fundamental to Asconius and his source,
between Quirites and Latini, is absent. Velleius’ list of colonies begins after
the Gallic sack, and ends with the foundation of Eporedia in 100 bc. As
Crawford remarks, such a time frame makes Claudius Quadrigarius a prime
suspect as the original source of Velleius’ material – he seems to have begun
his historical narrative after the Gallic sack.51 We might imagine a situation in
which an account of colonization, written shortly after the Social War, could
have deliberately obscured the juridical division Asconius’ source insists on,
perhaps a reflection of the equalization of status between Roman and former
Latin colonies recently effected by the lex Iulia.
There are other skeletons in the colonial closet, which suggest more
strongly that we may have to rethink our cosy position. Indeed, it is likely
that what we take as normative categories were not in fact timeless truths, but
the product of debate and dispute thrown up by changing political circum-
stances in the first century bc.52 For Crawford, ‘La verità è che non abbiamo
la minima idea di ciò che significasse il termine colonia populi Romani per
i Romani della fine della Repubblica’ (‘the truth is that we do not have the
faintest idea of what the term ‘colony of the Roman people’ meant for the
Romans of the end of the Republic’).53 What colonia populi Romani could be
made to refer to is illustrated nicely by an example not discussed by Crawford.
In 209 bc the complaints of the Latins and allies about the apparently unsus-
tainable Roman demands on their manpower to fight Hannibal mutated
into flat refusal to supply troops. The complaints and the incident’s conclu-
sion are well known.54 Livy focuses on the punishment of the recalcitrant
Latin colonies. He introduces them in a striking way: ‘triginta tum coloniae
populi Romani erant’ (‘at that time there were thirty colonies of the Roman
people’, 27.9.7), and goes on to list the defaulters: Ardea, Nepet, Sutrium,
Alba, Carseoli, Sora, Suessa, Circeii, Setia, Cales, Narnia, Interamna.55 These
are what ancient sources and modern scholars term Latin colonies – this
is uncontroversial. Yet Livy’s characterization of these colonies as Roman
cannot be dismissed as an oversight. He goes on to say that the consuls
‘admonerent non Campanos neque Tarentinos esse eos, sed Romanos, inde
oriundos, inde in colonias atque in agrum bello captum stirpis augendae
causa missos. quae liberi parentibus deberent, ea illos Romanis debere, si ulla
pietas, si memoria antiquae patriae esset’ (‘warned them that they were not
Capuans or Tarentines, but Romans, with their origins in Rome, and sent

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from Rome into colonies and into the land captured in war for the sake of
increasing the [Roman] race; they owed to the Romans what children owed
to their parents, if they retained any sense of duty, and memory of their old
fatherland’, 27. 9.11).
Now, the story illustrates a shocking breach of ties of pietas towards Rome,
and the perils consequently facing her.56 Livy’s rhetoric well conjures up
the sense of shock: ‘non enim detrectationem eam munerum militiae, sed
apertam defectionem a populo Romano esse’ (‘for this was not an evasion of
the duties of military service, but an open revolt from the Roman people’,
9.9); cf. the ‘tantus pavor’ (‘such great fright’, 9.14) of the Senate. To call the
Latins Romans, and contrast them with Capuans (also Romans until their
defection in 216 bc) and Tarentines, polarizes the issue, and throws the
Latins’ crime into sharp relief. Yet the appellation Roman still remains, and
the words ‘coloniae populi Romani’ (9.7) are more in the manner of a factual
aside than of heated oratory. It is difficult to see this use of the term ‘Roman
colonies’ as an Augustan mistake. It must be at least possible that Livy has
taken the formulation from a second-century source: the Gracchan period
would be suitable, notable for the defectio (revolt) of the Latin colony of
Fregellae, concern with the Roman birthrate, and the proposal of C. Gracchus
to make the Latin colonies Roman.57 If so, it would be valuable evidence for
how labile our cherished colonial categories and terminology are. 58 We have
no right, as Salmon did (1969, 52 n. 62), to ignore what Livy says in favour
of a different terminology, unless we can offer a justification: despite Salmon,
Livy nowhere in this passage uses the term Latini after 9.2.59
Not only can the clearly bounded category of ‘Roman’ or ‘Latin colony’
be called into question. The idea of any sort of canonical number of colonies
must also come under threat if we take Asconius’ source remotely seriously.
A higher number of colonies than that derived from the standard accounts
might be explained by supposing that some sites abandoned by the late
Republic had briefly been colonies, or what in an earlier period counted for
a colony (such as a garrison). Alternatively there may have been a range of
possible solutions to those problems (military and other), which the founda-
tion of what we call colonies seems to have been designed to address.60 Later,
as canonical accounts of the history of colonization began to be formed, the
history, and even the collective knowledge, of such places may have been
marginalized (see below, section 7). At any rate, we can be reasonably sure
that there were disputes among antiquarian and historical writers, in the
Gracchan period, and in the first century bc after the leges Iulia and Pompeia,
about what the term colonia meant, about different types of colony, how they
differed, what their rights and responsibilities were, and how many of each
kind had been founded.61

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Such uncertainty, or rather the existence in the Middle Republic of

a diverse and unregimented colonial phenomenon, might explain the
anomalous pro coloniis of the lex agraria of 111 bc, preserved on the Tabula
Bembina:
[quibus colonieis seive moi]nicipieis, seive quae pro moinicipieis colo[nieisve,
ceivium Rom.] nominisve Latini, poplice deve senati sententia ager fruendus
datus [est, quo agro eae coloniae eave moinicipia seive qua]e pro colonia
moinicipiove prove moinicipieis fruentur, quei in trientabule[is est, quod eius
agri ---].62
We might draw an analogy with the difference between consuls and
proconsuls: no one doubted what a consul was; equally, someone who was
not a consul (but normally had been one) could be considered equivalent to
one (pro consule) for a specific period and purpose. It is not my aim here to
investigate the phenomenon of the pro colonia, merely to point out that its
existence suggests that the juridical boundaries which we are accustomed to
draw between colonies and other types of settlement, and between Roman
and Latin colonies, do overlap in large measure with those found in the late
second century bc evidence, but at the same time they do not adequately
describe the colonial situation of that period.63
Disputes about the meaning of colonia can be inferred from other passages,
where the variant explanations should be read as part of an ongoing and
politicized debate, not simply as the echoes of a sterile squabble about
etymologies. Two examples will suffice. Servius (ad Aen. 1.12) tells us:
sane veteres colonias ita definiunt: colonia est coetus eorum hominum qui
universi deducti sunt in locum certum aedificiis munitum, quem certo iure
obtinerent. alii: colonia est quae graece apoikia vocatur; dicta autem est
a colendo; est autem pars civium aut sociorum missa, ubi rem publicam habeant
ex consensu suae civitatis, aut publico eius populi unde profecta est consilio.
hae autem coloniae sunt quae ex consensu publico, non ex secessione sunt
conditae.64
The differing explanations which Servius preserves are all strongly statist,
but the last clause may hint at a rival suggestion that not all colonization
happened as organized mass movement of citizens as a result of regular
political decisions. This possibility is alien to our normative picture of
Roman colonization, but familiar from the world of archaic Greece, or of
the Hellenistic Mamertini at Messana.65 Is this a trace of another contested
meaning? Theorizing is at play in all our explanations, seen for example in
the comparison with Greek practice; on a more fundamental level the defi-
nitions are all ideologically charged and idealizing to some extent, whether
they concern the ‘ready-made’ physical centre (see below), the emphasis on

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agriculture (see Horden and Purcell 2000, 80–7, 197–200, 270–8 on the
ideological hegemony of the cultivator), or the statist tinge.
Siculus Flaccus has a very different emphasis, this time military; note also
that here a sub-category of colony is the subject of antiquarian debate, its
meaning less clear to Romans of the late Republic and early empire than it
is to us:
coloniae autem inde dictae sunt, quod [populi] Romani in ea municipia
miserint colonos, vel ad ipsos priores municipiorum populos coercendos, vel ad
hostium incursus repellendos. colonias autem omnes maritimas appellaverunt,
vel quod mari in his deduceretur, vel, quod pluribus placet, maritimas appellari
existimant ideo, quod Italia ab Alpibus in mare porrigatur a<c> tribus lateribus
exteras gentes intueatur.66
Salmon (1969, 15) cites this passage as evidence that ‘the chief considera-
tion [in founding colonies] was the defence of Roman soil and the establish-
ment of future bases for military operations’, a view familiar from Cicero’s
formulation in a speech to the people in 63 bc.67 This interpretation is not
wrong, but what matters is that Flaccus shows how little agreement there was
about the purpose and nature of coloniae; this implies a ‘fuzzy set’ of colonial
entities, rather than a neat textbook case study.
The labile nature of scholarly categories, and the contingent nature of
ancient conceptions of colonization, should be clear by now; so too the
importance of understanding the historiographical processes by which our
monolithic idea of colonization has been generated. It is time to turn now
to Rome’s relation to her colonies as a symbolic norm, the possible existence
of a colonial religious template derived from Rome, and to the relations of
colonies to indigenous populations.

3. Material culture and colonization

While the individual buildings and urban plans of various colonies have
been seen by scholars as marking little Romes, other areas of material culture
have received less analysis in this respect. In this section I shall look at one
element from mid-republican colonies, namely Black Gloss fine pottery (see
Morel 1981).
First, some theoretical premises. I shall take it as axiomatic that, in the
well-worn post-processual phrase, ‘material culture should be seen as mean-
ingfully constituted’. Such a position is not uncontroversial, but neither is
it without use. Yet in the application of this approach classical archaeology
lagged behind other branches of the discipline until about fifteen years ago.
In a stimulating recent discussion of the methodologies appropriate to using
material and literary evidence together to approach the history of archaic
Greece, Ian Morris argues that ‘archaic Greeks, like humans everywhere, used

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material culture to say things about themselves’ (Morris 1998, 4, cf. 68 f.),
and that as a result, not only is the entire range of material culture useful to
historians, but also it demands two related modes of interpretation. One of
these is that individual elements of material culture be interpreted contex-
tually across time, beside other categories of available material. The other
is that our interpretation of material culture is an interpretation of objects
already implicated in a ‘symbolic field’, already manipulated by individuals
‘in pursuit of goals’ (1998, 4, cf. 79). The materials in the archaeological
record are the building blocks of a ‘symbolic language’, and have meaning
only in the context of the whole dynamic non-verbal linguistic system; this
is a compromised and directed entity since it is used by competing discourses
in communication.
As a result we cannot ‘see the physical remains … as a transparent window
onto the realities of the past’, but we are rather looking at a contextual web in
which everything is in some sense constructed, in which ‘we cannot reduce
cultural practices to underlying economic and social realities which have
analytical priority’ (Morris 1998, 5 f., cf. 74). Archaeological and literary
evidence can operate in symbiosis, since literature provides broad parameters
to limit possible interpretation, and the broad brush of shared elite culture
expressed in the literary evidence can be nuanced in the regional variations
of the material culture (Morris 1998, 6 f.). For Morris, contexts of behaviour
(such as burial, settlement and sanctuary) are also important as the settings
which give meaning to artefacts (1998, 8–10; even within these, objects have
a context-dependent meaning).
Space does not permit anything approaching an examination of ‘total
material culture’ here. At the very least, in order to provide a proper context
for the claims I am about to advance, I should have to consider, for example,
the totality of republican ceramic evidence from more than one Latin colony,
coarsewares beside finewares, imports and local production. What I do
want to do is to draw on at least some of Morris’ ideas in a preliminary way,
by trying to suggest possible implications of one type of material culture,
aware that my study of the pottery is very incomplete and the conclusions
therefore very tentative. I hope to suggest what ranges of meanings might be
predicated of a small class of objects: ways of cracking part of the symbolic
code, given their context. Of course such artefacts are intrinsically polysemic,
but they are also embedded in a series of social relations, and processes of
social reproduction, which are at the heart of the community making and
using them.
Let us begin by discussing briefly the locally made Black Gloss (hereafter
BG) finewares of Ariminum. Experts have been struck by their ‘Romanness’.
By this they refer to a stylistic similarity with BG production from Rome and

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its immediate environs, which distinguishes the output of Ariminum (and

also those of the Latin colony of Cales and the Roman colony of Minturnae)
from those of other centres such as Cosa, Alba Fucens and Paestum.68 From
Ariminum come some four dozen BG pocula deorum (cups dedicated to
a god); they were found in contexts of redeposition, but one bowl base was
impressed with the prow / Roma side of a mid-third-century uncia before
firing. Given this, and the date of this class of object elsewhere in Italy, the
Ariminate examples are probably not to be dated later than c. 240 bc.69
The BG production of Cales also had strong stylistic affinities with
Roman output. The Calene origin of this pottery is advertised by the makers
on a number of vessels; in a market where Calene wares were both popular
and imitated, this is easily understood.70 Given the similarity of Calene and
Ariminate BG to Roman production, and thus to each other, we may ask
at a more general level whether ties to Rome were important to colonial
populations, and if so, how they manifested themselves. Ariminum and Cales
probably ‘felt’ very ‘Roman’ in the third century, at least in some contexts,
for example cultic ones.71 This can be read in the material culture, where
claims about Romanness were being made through fine pottery, both the
pocula used in religious dedications, and a wider range of BG vessels used in
domestic contexts, perhaps suggesting a Roman identity projected onto the
domestic sphere and social interaction within it.
One piece of Calene BG contains a remarkable graffito, which compli-
cates the question of Roman influences, and leads me to make a retraction.
In Bispham 2000 I discussed ways in which Ostia might, and might not,
during the Republic be considered a small image of Rome.72 I there went so
far towards debunking the idea of early Roman or Latin colonies as ‘little
Romes’, that I asserted that all the evidence for the adoption of Roman
toponyms in colonies was imperial in date, and that the practice itself could
not be retrojected to the Republic. I must now correct myself: a relief-
patera (dish) of the first half of the third century bc bears the inscription
‘K. SERPONIO CALEB. FECE. VEQO ESQUELINO C. S.’ (= ‘K(aeso)
Serponio(s) Caleb(us) fece(t) veqo Esquelino c(um) s(uis)?’).73 Despite
Mingazzini’s claims, it seems perverse to argue that the vase was made
anywhere other than Cales; 74 the potter asserts that he worked in a part of
Cales called the Veqos Esquelinos, that is, a vicus named after the Esquiline
in Rome. Here, then, is a clear republican antecedent of the divisions of
Italian cities, well-attested in imperial inscriptions, into areas homonymous
with places in the city of Rome.75 It must, I think, be admitted, that were
our evidence for the middle Republic better, we would probably have similar
examples from elsewhere; although from which places, as we shall see, is
a moot point.

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What are the wider implications? That one can, on the basis of such
evidence argue, with Morel, ‘Que les colonies de Rome, y-compris (et
peut-être surtout) les colonies latines, se veuillent de petites Romes, c’est
ce qu’ indique éloquement leur toponomastique’ (‘that Rome’s colonies,
including (and perhaps above all) the Latin colonies, wished to be little
Romes, is eloquently indicated by their toponymy’), is far from clear.76 In
interpreting the significance of this piece of toponymy in the colonial setup
we are faced with a choice between ‘top-down’ and ‘bottom-up’ models.
Either, when the colonial commissioners carried out the deductio, they not
only accomplished a basic division of the future urban area, but also gave
evocative Roman names to the resulting regions; or, the names were given
locally, to recall the mother-city, by ex-Roman colonists, perhaps by the
colonial elite. In other words: did these names appear as a direct consequence
of the decision of the Roman assembly to found the colony, as part of the
deliberately prescriptive measures taken by the triumviri (the three-man
founding commission)? Or were they an informal reminiscence of Rome,
which hardened into customary usage (as commonly found in emigrant
communities)?77 Certainly the adoption of the rare, aristocratic, praenomen
(forename) Kaeso (a reminiscence perhaps of the triumvir K. Duillius, or
of the gentes (clans) Quinctia or Fabia, both of which used it) by the potter
Serponius (or his parents) was a voluntary act, not an imposition.78
‘Top-down’ evocations of the colonizing city can certainly be found. At
Ariminum, the chief magistrates of the colony (as at the other Latin colonial
foundation of that year, Beneventum) were called cosoles, that is, consuls.79
We could not, it seems, wish for a more unequivocal recall of Rome and her
institutions, nor one made in a more fundamental context within the new
state.80 Surely these colonial toponyms are simply another manifestation of
the same wish to replicate the Roman? Perhaps. One thing is notable: to
our knowledge, the experiment of Latin colonial consuls was not repeated,
in all probability not considered worth replicating.81 By the second(?)
century Ariminum’s chief magistrates were duoviri (ILLRP 545) – no great
emotional investment seems to have been made by Ariminum in keeping the
prestigious consular title.82 Why, then, was it granted?
The context of the foundations of Ariminum and Beneventum needs to be
considered more closely. Ariminum, one of Rome’s furthest outposts at the
time of foundation (Torelli 1988b, 140; Tramonti 1995, 239 f.; Cicala 1995,
360), might want to feel close to the colonizing city, and to compensate
for her exposed geo-political position with familiar titulature, a miniature
Roman magisterial structure (and timocratic social structure to boot). The
anti-marginalization argument also works, although a little less clearly, for
Beneventum, founded to seal the definitive subjection of the Samnites after
the Pyrrhic War, in a resentful area.83
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One explanation for the magistracy may be sought in the changing circum-
stances of Rome’s control in Italy, and her relations with her allies. In 268 it
may not yet have been as hard to recruit colonists as it later became;84 but a sea
change was already underway within the various juridical statuses employed in
Italy.85 The practice of incorporating conquered peoples as cives sine suffragio
(citizens without the vote) was not, so far as we know, extended beyond this
year; and, in the course of the third century, the Romans began to promote
some cives sine suffragio to full citizenship, starting with the Sabines in 264.86
The privileged status of Latin colonists might have seemed threatened. It
does seem that in 268 a new definition of colonial Latinity was reached, one
which should be considered in the light of Latin loyalty in the struggle against
Pyrrhus, and a possible conflict with Carthage. Cicero (Caec. 102) mentions
Ariminum as one of the XII coloniae; it is often held that these were Ariminum
and the eleven Latin colonial foundations (including Beneventum) which
followed (after which no more were established).
What the status of the Twelve Colonies was, and how it differed from
that of the others, is unclear, and cannot be pursued here in any case.87 It
may, however, have sought to buttress the position of Latin colonies vis-à-vis
Rome, in terms of both concrete legal privilege and ideological baggage. The
creation of consuls as the magistrates of Ariminum and Beneventum may
have been a short-lived attempt to pack such baggage into these two colonies,
but it should be stressed that not only does this seem like a move contingent
on the shifting dynamic of status and privilege within Roman Italy, but also
it lapsed after perhaps a couple of generations.88 If nothing else, the case
underlines how colonization is a moving target.
Another explanation, not incompatible with the first, might be offered in
terms of Roman projection of power within Italy, indeed, with the creation of
a new conception of Italy itself. There are signs that the conquest of Italy was
perceived as coming to an end in precisely these years, with the subjection
of Picenum, and the colonial foundations of Ariminum and Beneventum
being seen as in some sense providing closure to the narrative of the Roman
conquest.89 The extent of Roman Italy was now to remain fixed, juridically,
until the Social War. Conceptual boundaries and legal ones rarely match: the
conceptual frontiers of the large block of ager Romanus (Roman territory)
now established in central Italy were protected against Rome’s most worrying
or most recently pacified enemies (Gauls and Samnites) by two colonies
which marked the boundaries of a new Roman state within a new Italy, and
were themselves in some respects very Roman. The sequel, however, showed
that neither Roman ambitions nor Italy as a concept would stay still: Rome’s
interests and reach continued to extend; the need to ‘close off ’ a conquest,
which was obviously no longer complete, faded, and with it perhaps the
overtly Roman titulature.
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Finally, in the case of Ariminum, it seems that its practical importance to

Rome may have influenced its treatment, and underlined the bond between
colony and mother-city. Ariminum seems to have been a forward command
centre for Roman campaigns in Cisalpine Gaul. For all that it was an inde-
pendent city, some evidence suggests that the sphere of action in northern
Italy assigned to consuls in the third and second centuries, often called ‘Italia’
and sometimes ‘Gallia’, could also be called ‘Ariminum’.90
To return to our toponyms. Roman place names, in so far as they may have
existed in colonies under the Republic outside the Calene vicus Esquilinus,
were not ephemeral phenomena like the grand magisterial titles at Ariminum
and Beneventum; I suggest that they were the products of very different
processes. Strikingly, Cales and Ariminum between them produce (under
the Empire) most of the Roman or Romanizing urban (or presumably
urban) toponyms known from Italy (although Beneventum also figures, and
at Augustan Puteoli, for which our epigraphic evidence is quite rich, we can
observe the same phenomenon).91 Cales and Ariminum, founded sixty-six
years apart, were also, at the times of their respective foundations, at the limit
of Roman hegemony within Italy. Although Roman political influence in the
late fourth century quickly fell over the rest of northern Campania and the
Caudini, the artistic output and styles of Cales and Capua remain distinct
through the third century, despite the granting of civitas sine suffragio to the
Campani. This division, which can be mapped not onto regional divisions
(e.g. that between Latium and Campania), but roughly onto parts of the map
of changed juridical status which came in the wake of conquest, has led Morel
to talk of a Romano-Latin artistic koine (community) comprising Rome,
South Etruria (especially Caere), Latium Vetus and the area of Roman and
Latin colonization.92
While to talk of such koinai is also to obscure local differences, for
example between colonies themselves, as Morel points out,93 the distinction
that this koine embodies is nevertheless useful. It enables us to understand the
‘frontier’ status of these two Latin colonies, which at their foundation stood
on the edge of Roman aspirations, looking into an uncertain and hostile
yonder. The divide between Romans or Latins and the Celts of the ager
Gallicus is easily envisaged (although evidence from ‘Gallic’ sites like Monte
Bibele should make us wary of monolithic ethnic or cultural characteriza-
tions in the north94); the hostility first generated by the Roman annexations
would be ended only by the more-or-less complete extirpation of some Celtic
tribes in the early second century.95 Campania was to prove a battle ground
in the First Samnite War, and in the Second Samnite War, only a generation
after the foundation of Cales, a Samnite force penetrated as close to Rome
as Ardea (Salmon 1967, 235). In such uncertain circumstances, one can

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understand the need for strong affective ties which expressed the desirable
link between Rome and these colonies. It is no accident, then, that Cales was
the seat of a Roman quaestor,96 or that Ariminum at one time gave its name
to a provincia Ariminensis (Ariminate area of operations).
Not that this explains all. The ‘frontier of Latinity’ moved ever deeper into
Italy, away from the Tyrrhenian epicentre; further work of this kind is needed
on the ceramic assemblages (and other aspects of material culture such as
votive terracottas97 and coinage) of colonies like Luceria, Saticula, Venusia
and Beneventum,98 which in their turn faced some of the problems which
had faced Cales in 334 bc. The results might surprise. The pottery of Brundi-
sium, the most distant Latin colony from Rome, and at a crucial interface not
just with Messapic peoples but also potential transmarine enemies, seems less
‘Roman’ than that of most colonies; this underlines our ignorance of many
Roman and Latin colonies, and their artisan output, in the third century.99
So the ‘frontier factor’ does not explain all.
Morel also suggests that the origin of the colonists may be another
factor.100 A strongly Roman contingent might be thought to be more vocal
in recalling Rome than a more heterogeneous group of colonists, including
other Latins and indigenous inhabitants.101 Yet here, again, there are compli-
cations: how Roman were the populations of the two colonies in question?
Morel suggests that some of the last Etruscans living in Campania may have
formed part of the original colonial settlement at Cales.102 The republican
epigraphic record from Ariminum boasts a number of names, which scholars
have argued, with varying degrees of caution, should be attributed to non-
Roman immigrants, chiefly incolae from older Latin colonies; some of these
inscriptions might be as old as the third century.103 The Romanness of the
population of Ariminum is striking on one level, but is elusive when viewed
from other angles.
What then of our veqos Esquelinos at Cales? In one sense, given the
strongly ‘Roman familial’ characteristics of Calene and Ariminate BG, and
the undoubted Roman origin (direct or indirect) of some of the Calene
colonists attested in the third century (e.g. the pottery producing Canoleii,
Morel 1983, 23 f.), it should not surprise us that Cales, and perhaps
Ariminum too, in their exposed positions on the edge of a very un-Roman,
un-Latin, world should have Romanizing toponyms of this sort as early as the
third century, and in the case of Cales, perhaps earlier.104 None of this need
mean the imposition of names by the founding commissioners, who may
have been in no hurry to complete every last detail of the colonial set up. The
motivation for adopting such names could easily have come from below, just
as the propensity for the production of very Roman finewares and the use of
Roman praenomina were certainly not part of a Roman-imposed blueprint.

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In fact, given what we know of Cales, it seems quite comprehensible that

such names should have emerged from the imagination of the colonists, and
quickly become part of customary usage. It should also be borne in mind that
many of the colonial toponyms from Italy (like vicus Esquilinus) are not the
Roman names of districts of Rome, but the re-application of place-names
from Rome to colonial geography to produce new toponyms: Roman topog-
raphy acted as a matrix, from which new names, and inevitably new associa-
tions, were generated. Our colonial toponyms are Romanizing, not Roman,
and are the product of an autoromanizzione (self-romanization), explained
by the particular circumstances in which these colonies were founded, rather
than a heavy-handed dirigiste approach on the part of the triumviri. The
claim, made by Sanesi (1978, 77), that the existence of the vicus Esquilinus
shows ‘un ben preciso programmo politico di Roma nell’ organizzazione e
nell’ amministrazione delle colonie fin dall’ inizio della conquista’ (‘a very
precise Roman political programme, employed in the organization and
administration of the colonies since the beginning of the conquest’), seems
to me unsustainable.105
It seems, then, that one thing that is being said in the symbolic language of
material culture, or at least one subtype in one particular context, is similar
to what the words on our Calene patera imply. A set of associations are used
to evoke the colonizing city, Rome. This evocation is not straightforward:
the patera need not mention a real Roman place; but a place that could only
be Roman, and has been instantiated in a colonial context. The exaggerated
stylistic affinities of the BG production of some colonies with Rome are not
simply ways of ‘pretending’ to be Roman; they evoke Roman models, within
the changing kaleidoscope of the conquest of Roman Italy, when what it
meant to be Roman, Latin or ally was not itself static. These evocations of
Rome may be in large part produced under the pressure of settlement in what
were frontier areas. They should, furthermore, be read as a ‘construction’ as
much as a simple ‘affirmation’ of an identity, prescriptive as well as descrip-
tive; indeed, the first-order level of inference implied by the term ‘descriptive’
is in fact unlikely to be available to us from material culture. We should also
note that the associations generated and manipulated by these pots and their
inscriptions seem to be informal and spontaneous, not part of a directed
‘Romanizing’, master-plan. Finally, it is important that we can see these sorts
of things in colonial contexts. Torelli argues in a study of Daunia (1999, 103),
that Romanization affects local ideology and customs, but not local artisan
production in this period.

4. Colonial cults
One context that generates meaning for our BG pottery, especially for the

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Ariminate pocola, is the religious sphere. Let us turn, though, from objects
given a ‘Roman’ meaning as appropriate offerings to the gods, to look more
broadly at the worship of gods in colonies.
Colonization, and the corresponding creation, or reorganization, of
urban centres, brought important changes to local religious structures.106
Temple building, together with defensive circuits, is an early and a major
form of public construction in many colonies.107 Over the course of time
temple-building seems to remain a preferred expenditure of resources in
Latin colonies in particular, although not to the complete exclusion of other
manifestations of the new Hellenistic style of architecture, which filtered
through from the East and from Rome during the second century bc.108
Colonial cults have received much attention themselves, above all the
Capitoline Triad. I shall argue that for the middle Republic, Latin colonies,
better known archaeologically than citizen colonies, should be entirely cut
out of this Capitoline discourse.109 As for Roman colonies, the presence
of Capitolia has often played a crucial role in discussion, as a barometer of
Gellian ‘simulacrity’. Vitruvius (de arch. 1.7.1) advised that a city’s tutelary
deities, and Iuppiter, Iuno and Minerva, should be housed on the arx. This
prescription is often read back into the Republic. Thus, Zanker writes: ‘The
formula [sc. the subordination of Roman political life to the gods] can be
found already … in the small civilian colonies of the fourth century bc. The
combination of the Capitolium and a central gathering place in the middle
of the city embodied the Roman self-image more perfectly than was the case
even in Rome itself.’110 But is this true?
The importance of the Capitolium within the Roman colonial urban
image is clearly seen at Luna, where the forum was dominated by a temple
to the Capitoline Triad from the foundation in 177 bc; later examples
include the conversion of the existing temple of Iuppiter at Pompeii into
a Capitolium by the Sullan colonists.111 For earlier periods, as we shall see,
this situation is hard to verify. I have elsewhere attempted to show that, at
Ostia, the Capitoline triad was a relatively late arrival, and that the core
religious elements in the colony’s make-up had been, and remained, the cults
of the Castores, of Hercules, and above all Vulcan; and that these elements
were taken over from, and ensured symbolic continuity with, the archaic
settlement, which, I argue, preceded that colony.112 I would like to consider
now further ways in which the Capitoline model might be deconstructed.
This requires a survey of colonial cults: my examples come from both Roman
and Latin colonies.
I outlined above the criticisms levelled against the study of colonial cult in
the middle Republic by Mario Torelli, and offered my own critique of some
of his methods. It is only fair here to stress how much I do owe to Torelli’s

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work in this area. He has shown that when we study the evidence for cult in
the mid-republican colonies, far from witnessing a uniform imposition of an
unambiguously Roman series of cult practices and places at the expense of
the indigenous element, we can see a striking degree of survival of local cults.
Of course, the impact of conquest and colonization changed them, adapting
them to serve the interests of the colonists. Yet Torelli is right to stress not
only the pliability (‘duttilità’) of local cults within the framework of Roman
hegemony and colonization (a framework predicated on a certain willingness
to be flexible), but also the diversity of religious topography, practice and
ideology apparent in the mid-republican period.113 This is not to say that the
religious make-up of Roman colonies has no Roman elements at this period,
but simply that the colony often sees the persistence of the local in an adapted
form.114 Alongside this, there is an emphasis on particular cults which could
be called Roman, and which, while they may have analogues in Rome, are
not necessarily those which, to us, signify the ascendancy of a model predi-
cated on the dominant state cults of the Roman res publica, especially that of
Iuppiter Optimus Maximus.
Torelli is also right to stress that beside the Roman element we must
acknowledge the Latin. He points to the type of the large sanctuary, where
a plurality of gods seems to be worshipped in connection with a single
function, as particularly Latin. The type-site would be the sanctuary of the
Thirteen Altars at Lavinium, which Torelli sees in some sense reproduced in
the sanctuary of the lucus (grove) at the Roman colony of Pisaurum (see next
section). Whether or not one wishes to cavil at e.g. the detail of Torelli’s inter-
pretation of the Lavinium sanctuary (1984), it is clear that we should be open
to the identification of Latin as well as Roman elements in the cultic matrix
of the colonies. Again, at Paestum, it might be the case that one particular
group of temples can indeed, as Torelli suggests (1999, 52–6), be mapped
onto an ‘Aventine archtype’; this symbolic arx would carry within it a nexus
of meanings and ideologies appropriate both to the plebeian character of the
colony, and to third-century plebeian Rome. Yet the identifications which
underpin this theory, while ingenious, are not all convincing (e.g. the ‘pan-
Latin Liberalia’, 1999, 56).115
Yet the idea that we might look for an Aventine triad (Liber, Iuppiter
and Minerva) as the core religious structure of a Latin colony is novel,
and represents at least a partial breaking of the mould. Indeed, for Torelli,
the Capitoline triad should not be sought in Latin colonial contexts until
after the revolt of Fregellae. While I shall take issue with this position, it is
refreshingly original, and allows us to see things Capitoline as historically
contingent rather than in any sense ‘givens’ in the colonial context. Again,
after the tantalizing suggestion of a Paestan ‘Palatine perspective’, Torelli

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goes on: ‘However, rather than a deliberate attempt to imitate the capital
city’s topography of sacred buildings, it could equally well be interpreted (at
least in the case of the presumed aedis Matris Magnae) as a reference to the
origo Troiana [Trojan origin] of the Latins and of Rome’ (1999, 65). As we
shall see, allowing due weight to Latin elements in Latin colonies is extremely
important, as are the implications of dynamics of interaction between Roman
and Latin elements.

4.1 Cosa (Fig. 1)

Let us now turn from models to evidence, beginning at Cosa: a site coloured,
as we have seen, with the excavator’s expectations almost before a pick had
been stuck in the ground. Trying to forget the familiar (for a summary of
the current orthodoxy see Taylor 2002, 66–8), we shall re-examine the
evidence for religious developments there, to see whether it will support the
weight of the hegemonic ‘Gellian’ interpretation long since placed on it. The
earliest religious activity attested seems to be represented by the deposition,
in a natural fissure in the rock of the ‘arx’, of sacrificial debris. This assem-
blage, called ‘Deposit A’ by the excavators, contained carbonised vegetable
matter (Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 9–16; Brown 1980, 16 f.),
and pottery dating to the third century bc, including Genucilia plates, and
BG from the petites estampilles (small stamps) workshop,116 including some
carrying dedications to Hercules (Taylor 1957, 75–91; see further below for
this class of pottery).117 Traces of a square structure (25 x 25 Roman feet),
the median line of which ran through the pit, were interpreted by Brown as
a raised platform or enclosure, the colony’s first religious space.118
Brown put a very Roman construction on this physical evidence, and
imagined around it a foundation ritual synthesised from literary sources.119
The fissure in the rock was for him the mundus into which the first fruits
of the new community were deposited.120 Beside this, another very Roman
founding ritual on the arx, the setting up of an augural templum (sacred
precinct): from the arx an augur would certainly have had a clear line of sight
over the city and its territorium.121 The Roman model assumed to be fully
operative here emerges even from the first chapter title in Brown, Richardson
and Richardson 1960: ‘Cosa Quadrata’, invoking the supposed earliest phase
of Rome’s urban history, as Roma Quadrata (Plut. Rom. 9, Festus 310, 312L).
Some of these ritual acts may have happened: an inauguration of the colony
and its ager (territory) from the arx seems plausible. At the same time, it is
methodologically dubious to assume that the late-republican and Augustan
evidence can be simply retrojected into an era for which we do not know
this ‘Romulean’ foundation ideology to be applicable. Roma Quadrata, far
from being a pattern we can expect to see replicated in city foundations,

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Edward Bispham

Fig. 1. Cosa, main republican structures. A: fissure containing deposit A. 1: ‘Capitolium’.

2: temple D. 3: temple B. 4: site of possible auguraculum under ‘Capitolium’. 5: supposed
site of third century temple. 6: basilica. 7: comitium/curia. 8: eastern height – possible
temple.

is a mystery (see now Mastrocinque 1998). Moreover, some elements, like

the pottery dedicated to Hercules, are unexplained on Brown’s model (he
assumed that Iuppiter Latiaris, as god of the Latins, was invoked from the
first ritual onwards: 1980, 16). Indeed, as we shall see in examining the
temples built on the arx over the next century, there is no shortage of dubious
assumption and uncertain logic underpinning the ‘story’ of religious develop-
ment at Cosa.
Two religious buildings of the republican period were brought to light on
the arx during the early American Academy excavations: the ‘Capitolium’,
and Temple D, oriented at right angles to it, to the north. The terracotta
decorations recovered at the time were, however, divided into three separate
series, based on size, decorative characteristics and to a certain extent,
findspot (Strazzulla 1985, 98). The earliest ‘series’, thought to be almost
entirely represented by revetment plaques122 and antefixes, was attributed by
the excavators to an, as yet unlocated, third temple, earlier than the two then
known (Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 151–79; Strazzulla 1985,
98).123 Such a structure was originally thought to be located immediately
to the east of the ‘Capitolium’ (Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960,

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19–23, Strazzulla 1985, 98). Subsequently a ‘footprint’ (where the bedrock

had been cut to receive foundations) of a small temple with an elongated
single cella (chamber) was identified, behind the ‘Capitolium’, to make room
for which it was supposed to have been demolished (Brown 1980, 51; Scott
1985b, 95; Strazzulla 1985, 98; Scott 1992, 92).124 Rabun Taylor, while not
denying the existence of an early series of terracottas (he identifies two sima
subtypes as belonging to this category), has cast doubt, in my view rightly,
on this supposed location for the building which carried them, and instead
proposed that the first temple on the arx was the square structure on its
summit, identified by the excavators as the auguraculum (augural platform)
(Taylor 2002, 66 f., 69–71, 73, 77–80).125
The date of this first temple is uncertain: the excavators, while recognizing
the lack of direct evidence, consistently opted for a third-century date, not
earlier than the end of the First Punic War (Brown 1980, 25 f. and fig. 25;
Scott 1985b, 95; Scott 1988, 75 f.; Scott 1992, 92 f., 94, 96; Torelli 1999, 39;
for an earlier date see, however, Strazzulla 1985, 98; cf. Fentress 2000b, 13,
and Taylor 2002, 66, 69, arguing that we lack firm evidence for third-century
religious activity).126 The early terracottas (on Brown’s and the Richardsons’
view) are not that dissimilar from those found in nearby Etruscan sanctuaries,
and Tarquinian parallels, and indeed manufacture, are often invoked (Brown,
Richardson and Richardson 1960, 156 f.; Brown 1980, 26; Strazzulla 1985,
99). The antefixes, however, have been compared to Campanian rather than
to Etrusco-Italic production (Strazzulla 1985, 99; Scott 1992, 93; Torelli
1999, 39, agnostic about attribution to a particular temple). Yet it is clear
that they have nothing in common with Campanian types, and it seems that
the belief that they do is based only on the excavators’ claim that Hercules
appears only once more in Etruscan antefixes (at nearby Talamone, see
below), but that he and Minerva do appear in Campanian examples.127
The first temple is conventionally (Strazzulla 1985, 98) attributed to
Iuppiter.128 The reason is that some of the antefixes from the earliest decora-
tive cycle are thought to have been reused on the temple identified by the
excavators as a Capitolium.129 This reuse of material is taken to imply conti-
nuity of cult between the two temples. Since, as we shall see, Iuppiter was
worshipped in the ‘Capitolium’, Brown suggested Iuppiter Latiaris, appro-
priate to a Latin colony, as the god worshipped in the first temple (1980, 55;
cf. Torelli 1999, 39 f.; Fentress 2000b, 13).130
It should be stressed that there is little evidence for (or against) this ‘hypoth-
esis’ (Scott 1992, 93, cf. 1988, 76). The only relevant data are the antefixes
just mentioned, depicting, alternately, Minerva and Hercules (Scott 1992,
93; Taylor 2002, 66), some of which were sealed in the construction layer of
the ‘Capitolium’.131 Now antefixes do not represent the deities worshipped

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at a sanctuary; such identifications are difficult to arrive at even from well-

preserved pedimental groups, and inscriptions, cult images and a good sample
of all fictile decoration are needed to make a firm attribution. The presence
of Minerva and Hercules does not rule out the attribution of the first temple
to Iuppiter; it does however provide two variables, which must condition the
identification and significance of the deity to whom the temple was dedicated.
That is to say, that the deity ought to stand in some mythical relationship to
Minerva and Hercules.132 To this problem we shall return.
Can the claim of continuity of cult be sustained, though? In its favour
two arguments have been adduced: (i) the contiguous locations of the first
temple and the later ‘Capitolium’, and (ii) the apparent reuse of the early
antefixes in the ‘Capitolium’ (Brown, Ricardson and Richardson 1960,
20). (i) is not weakened by Taylor’s relocation of the cult building, but, if
anything, strengthened. (ii) is, however, problematic, as it forms part of
a reconstruction that does not rest on clear stratigraphic evidence.133
What then of our terracotta antefixes? Some fragments seem to come from
replacements for damaged antefixes – the moulds in which these had been
made were very worn, suggesting that they continued to be used for replace-
ments for some time, after the first temple had been demolished.134 Yet, as
Taylor points out (2002, 66, 78, cf. Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960,
154 f.), many antefixes were found buried in the construction layers of the
‘Capitolium’; there is an obvious logical difficulty in interpreting the same
material as constituting both construction fill and current decoration in the
same building. Now, superfluous, or superannuated, temple decorations and
dedications often end up deliberately buried, in many cases ritually broken,
within the sacred precinct in which they had functioned; this happens in the
case of rebuilding as much as in that of decommissioning.135 On the other
hand, burial is not the same as reuse. Of course, it might be argued that
some antefixes were ‘ritually buried’, others reused; but the case for reuse
seems so problematic that it should not be used to support the argument for
continuity.136
So we have slender grounds for suggesting continuity of worship; Iuppiter,
certainly worshipped in the ‘Capitolium’, cannot be excluded as a recipient
of cult in the earliest temple. Even granted continuity of cult, however, we
would be wrong to expect continuity of ideology; rather, we must allow for
evolution. We cannot simply read back, for example, a Roman Capitoline
ideology from the supposed ‘Capitolium’ to the first temple. There are many
non-Capitoline manifestations of Iuppiter: we have noted Brown’s prefer-
ence for a Latin Iuppiter. It is surely poor method not to give due weight to
the caesura inherent even in a mutation of the epiklēsis (surname) of a deity,
but to assume full compatibility and to stress continuity rather than change

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in such situations (as does, e.g., Brown [1980, 26]: ‘The god and his image
were incorporated into the new temple and with him all of the decorative
elements of his new house’).137
A second temple, with a square cella (Temple D), appeared on the arx some
years later, on its north-east side, facing out to sea. Recent discussion favours
raising the date of construction to c. 205 bc, on the basis of a sextantal as
found under the floor of the cella, but above the podium fill, giving a terminus
ante quem non for the later stages in the temple’s construction (Scott 1988,
76; 1992, 95).138 Its decoration is described as more modern than that of the
first temple, owing more to Roman or Latin than to Etruscan repertoires.139
To this decoration can be ascribed the pedimental figure of a cuirassed
warrior, which, along with other terracotta fragments from the south slope
of the arx, may have once formed part of a closed pedimental group, perhaps
representing the sacrifice of Iphigenia (Scott 1992, 94; Taylor 2002, 73). The
dedicatee of this temple seems to have been a goddess, as suggested by remains
of what was almost certainly a draped female cult statue. Which divinity has
been much debated; tentative suggestions identify Mater Matuta.140 It was
thought at one time that this temple formed a pair with the ‘identical’ extra-
mural one overlooking the port and lagoon, which was ascribed to Portunus;
it may rather be to Neptune (Fentress 2000b, 21).141
Finally came the very large temple, often referred to, on account of its
triple cella, as a Capitolium.142 With this most ‘Romanizing’ structure the
wish-fulfilment of the excavators seems strangely guilty, and there may be
a hint of illicit affinity with Rome in the way in which it is also referred to
repeatedly as the ‘Capitolium style building’ vel sim. (e.g. Scott 1992, 96).143
Generally, however, the interpretation of this building is as a ‘no-holds-
barred’, deliberate attempt to recreate at Cosa the substance and setting of
the Roman Capitolium.144 For Scott the temple ‘seems intended to evoke the
area Capitolina [Capitoline precinct] in Rome, as we know other temples
and areas of the capital were recalled in other Italian settings’ (1992, 96),
and he writes of the ‘multiple Roman accents visible on the Arx in the second
century’ and how the building can be seen to ‘stress Roman inspiration in
large detail and small’ (1992, 97).
The detail of the Romanizers’ case is as follows. The temple’s proportions
are similar to Vitruvian recommendation for a ‘Tuscan temple’ (4.7.1–5),
which are in turn supposedly based on the proportions of the Roman Capi-
tolium (Brown 1980, 52); the heavy, archaic profile of the podium (base)
moulding apparently recalls that of the Roman Capitoline temple (Brown,
Richardson and Richardson 1960, 69–73; Brown 1980, 53 f.);145 roof tiles
and revetment plaques from the first temple were reused in lining the temple’s
cistern (Brown 1980, 54); the stone gable of the cistern is thought to be based

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on those of the Roman Capitoline cisterns, or favissae (Brown, Richardson

and Richardson 1960, 108; Brown 1980, 54; but see the criticism at Fentress
2000b, 21 f.); the temple forecourt apparently copied the area Capitolina at
Rome (yet the Cosan altar’s position was determined by the existing location
of the arx’s sacred pit), and was related augurally to the layout and centuria-
tion of Cosan territory (Brown 1980, 54; Scott 1985b, 95; Scott 1992, 92;
doubts: Taylor 2002, 78, 80).
The case does not stand up: its weaknesses and circularities are clear.
To which god(s) then was this temple sacred? The terracotta decora-
tion provides our only real evidence. The remains of a pedimental group,
which may show a sacrificial scene (Strazzulla 1985, 98), or a procession
or assembly of the gods, could be reconciled with a number of scenarios.146
Two beam-end sculptures, however, offer more hope: one shows Hercules,
the other Ganymede being snatched by an eagle (Strazzulla 1985, 98).147 The
depiction of a moment in the Ganymede myth does seem strongly to suggest
Iuppiter as one of the three deities housed in this temple. Yet one swallow
does not a summer make: what evidence is there for the worship of Iuno and
Minerva?
As we have seen, the presence of Minerva on the third-century antefixes is
not proof that she was worshipped in the first temple, and it need not imply
her worship in the three-cella temple either. For Iuno there is little evidence,
it seems, and we should take the time to consider other possible candidates
for the two lateral cellae. After all, a Capitolium in a Latin colony in Italy is
simply anomalous at this period. There were less unusual ways of celebrating
Cosa’s ties to Rome; to say with Scott that the decoration of the temple was
‘redolent of the heightened associations of Roman victory and triumph and
their expression in Hellenistic terms’ (1992, 97) is to go further than the
evidence allows. We must be prepared for some lateral thinking, to unseat
the hegemonic Capitoline model.148
There are a number of three-cella temples from Italian towns in this
period. Some have been thought to be, and have been called, Capitolia, but
for none of them is this claim supported by a shred of evidence. An example
is the temple on the arx of the Latin colony of Signia, which a third-century
bc bronze lamina (sheet), once attached to a dedication, shows to have been
sacred to Iuno Moneta (Coarelli 1982, 177 f.). Other three-cella temples
which were not Capitolia, and which seem variously to have housed between
one and four gods, are known from Veii, from the Latin cities of Cora and
Lanuvium, and from the Latin colony of Ardea, whose Casalinaccio temple
offers perhaps the closest parallel to the mouldings from the podium of the
Cosan ‘Capitolium’.149
Brown, to his credit, was aware that identifying the deities of the Cosan

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arx was not straightforward. His Capitolium was terribly Roman, but it was
also, so to speak, a broad church, which could in some sense incorporate
Iuppiter Latiaris, as well as the Etruscan Tinia of *Cusi (the defunct Etruscan
centre beneath modern Orbetello), and ‘Argive Hercules, to whom one of
the wellheads in the pronaos was dedicated’, the local god of the Portus
Herculis (1980, 55 f.).150 We noted above the presence of pottery dedicated
to Hercules in the early Deposit A on the arx: if this deposit is in any way
connected with the foundation of the colony, the devotion to Hercules must
imply some significant role for him in the new venture. Scott too seems aware
that his Capitoline model may be perverting the outcome of the analysis,
and adopts a broader perspective when he suggests that the reference of the
terracottas may be local, and that Hercules may be seen as a Latin deity, while
Minerva (as part of the Capitoline Triad) is surely Roman.151 Assessment of
non-Roman and local ingredients in Cosa’s religious make-up may indeed
provide a broader interpretative matrix for our three-cella temple.
The Ganymede beam end can be paralleled elsewhere, but not in a Capito-
line context. Ganymede appears in the Lo Scasato II pedimental group from
Falerii, in which a group very ‘similar’ (Torelli 1999, 137) to the Capitoline
triad is prominent: Minerva, Iuppiter and Iuno. The group comes, however,
from a temple which has been attributed to Minerva (Torelli 1999, 134–9,
with bibliography).152
The pairing of Hercules and Minerva in the antefixes, and the possible
Hercules beam-end sculpture among the terracottas of the ‘Capitolium’,
are also suggestive.153 An acroterial group of Minerva leading Hercules into
Olympus decorated the archaic temple of Fortuna in Rome, a sanctuary
replaced in the middle Republic by twin temples to Fortuna and Mater
Matuta. The latter has been suggested as the goddess worshipped in temple
D, and has the kind of Latin connections which are clearly of potential
importance at Cosa.154 We should note also the terracotta antefix of Minerva
from the Latin colony of Beneventum (mentioned above; Giampaola 1991,
127 f. and figs. 6 and 7, Giampaola 2000, 36), dated late-third to mid-second
century. The treatment of the hair and the aegis recall that on the Cosan
Minerva antefixes (but the fact that the Beneventan Minerva wears a torc,
unlike her Cosan counterpart, but recalling the Minerva in the antefixes
from Talamone – for which see below – should encourage us not to press
such similarities too far).
As significant as possible Latin aspects of the deities of the arx are parallels
closer to Cosa. The temple at the nearby Etruscan centre of Talamonaccio,
ancient Talamone (see Torelli 1999, 145 f.) seems to have undergone a res-
toration, perhaps in the early second century, with a new cycle of terracotta
decorations. For Strazzulla (1985, 99) these repairs, and accompanying

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new pedimental sculptures, share with Temple D at Cosa motifs inspired

by Roman production, in the newest style (see also Brown, Richardson and
Richardson 1960, 156 f., suggesting a Tarquinian workshop; Scott 1992, 95;
von Vaccano 1992, 64 f., 73 f., declining to draw political conclusions from
stylistic affinities; Taylor 2002, 68).
This second phase of architectonic decoration at Talamone includes
antefixes with nimbate heads of Minerva and Hercules, which while not
replicas of the Cosan antefixes discussed above (Hercules, importantly, is
beardless, and Minerva sports a torc), display clear affinities with them.155
Their date is unclear, with third- and second-century chronologies proposed
(see now Taylor 2002, 62, 64). A third-century date might demonstrate the
influence of Cosa’s religious architecture on the Etruscan centre. Others,
perhaps rightly favouring a later date, have argued for a more political
dimension to the creation of these ‘Romanizing’ pieces, seeing in them
a reflection of a renewed Roman interest in this part of coastal Etruria in the
first quarter of the second century, which saw the reinforcement of Cosa,
and the settlement of Saturnia (see von Freytag-Löringhoff, 1992, 69 f., for
doxography).
For neither date, however, should we consider as satisfactory an inter-
pretation which simply looks to Rome as the source for everything, and
denies any local input. The decorative idiom may ultimately be Roman, and
probably derives from the terracotta cycles of Roman Italy, and Roman and
Latin colonies, but the subject matter is well suited to local traditions and
concerns. Massa Pairault has seen Hercules and Minerva as both linked to
the Argonautic myth, and as used to convey local identities and elite aspira-
tions in Etruria in this period. The relevant part of the Argonautic myth
sees Hercules, companion of the Argonaut Telamon, defeat Laomedon and
besiege Priam in Troy. Thus, she argues, local legend reconciled Etruscans
to Roman ideology, through the link of Telamon to the Trojan myth.156
On a less cosy reading, we might stress the conflict between Hercules (and
Telamon) and the Trojans: in my view von Freytag-Löringhoff is rightly
cautious about explaining these terracottas in Romano-centric terms.157
In either case, I suggest that, whatever their other associations for the
colonists at Cosa, Hercules and Minerva, as worshipped there, also reflect
an engagement with, and an appropriation of, these two deities as important
parts of a pre-existing religious environment.158 As such they have an important
role to play in mediating Cosa’s relations with Etruscan communities: local
religious continuity accounts in part for their presence here, and they
manifest once more the workings of Torelli’s duttilità.
We should therefore be wary of accepting Torelli’s contrast between the
religious situation at Cosa, and that at Alba Fucens (on which see below).

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Torelli sees, probably correctly, Hercules at Alba as having an integrative role

in an environment where the indigenous inhabitants played a much bigger
part. In contrast he imagines a de-Etruscanized zone confiscated from Vulci,
including the ager Cosanus (territory of Cosa) (1999, 41). Yet the situations
at Alba and Cosa are not comparable; and I am not sure that the ‘ethnic
cleansing’ view of the Roman appropriation of the ager Cosanus adequately
describes the situation, or that Etruscans were absent from the world view of
the colonists, or isolated within the wider region.
What, then, have we discovered about Cosa’s three-cella temple? If it
was a Capitolium, it would be unique at this period in a Latin colony; and
in that case, special pleading would be required, not least for the absent
Iuno. Equally significant must be the fact that three-cella temples in Etruria
were very far from being uncommon.159 We cannot show that Hercules and
Minerva occupied the lateral cellae of this temple. The evidence for their asso-
ciation with the arx, and their relevance to the wider region, and thus Cosan
identity, is good, however; and cult activity relating to Hercules seems to go
back to the earlier years of the colony. Any reconstruction of religious activity
on the arx has to involve these two deities, as well as Iuppiter, and the goddess
worshipped in temple D, whether Mater Matuta or not. A Capitolium by
default will not do.
Let us briefly consider Cosa’s other main temple (Temple B), which
dominated the forum.160 The chronology of this temple is uncertain: a date
around or after the first quarter of the second century is proposed for its
completion; in any case, it clearly forms part of the monumentalization of
the forum which took place during that period.161 The deity in question is
probably female, given the discovery of fragments of female draped terracotta
statuettes dedicated to her. A reused inscription found nearby was taken to
show that she was Concordia (Brown 1980, 38 f.; cf. Strazzulla 1985, 98),
but early on Ceres was offered as a possible alternative (Scott 1985c, 97). The
theme of the temple’s decorative frieze, which may show the recognition of
Paris (Scott 1992, 95), is not easy to fit into either interpretation.162
More suggestive was a fragment of the snout of a terracotta sow, probably
of the second century bc, which Brown (1980, 39) linked to the Latin myth
of the scrofa Laurentina, suggesting an assertion of Latin identity by the
colony. Torelli then offered an intriguing reading of the relationship between
this myth and the cult of Concordia, arguing that it asserted concordia
(harmony) between Rome and the loyal Latin colonies in 209 bc in the face
of the refusal by others to meet Roman demands for troops (see above).163
Re-examination of these terracotta fragments, however, by E. Richardson
(cited in Fentress 2000b, 20 f.), seems to show that the sow was held by
a life-size votive bust of the goddess, who Richardson suggests was Ceres,

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Persephone or Libera. Thus Latin connections cannot be pressed in the

current state of the evidence.
In summary, then, what reflections are suggested by the cumulative
evidence for the public cults of this Latin colony? Important deities seem
to be Hercules (from early on), followed by Iuppiter and Minerva. The
only monumental cult centre in the forum housed a deity associated more
with a plebeian outlook – Ceres or Libera (compare the contemporary
foundation of Paestum, as analysed by Torelli 1999, 71–9). The evidence
for designating the three-cella temple a Capitolium is weak, and some other
explanation, taking into account Latin- and Etruscan-compatible elements
in Cosa’s pantheon, is called for. It is important also to note that the three-
cella temple was built at Cosa only in the generation following the sending to
the colony of a supplementum (reinforcement) in 197 bc. Its presence must
also be understood in the context of the other monumental building carried
out in the colony, especially around the forum at this time (Scott 1988, 76 f.;
Torelli 1983, 244–7). The changed situation in the early second century must
be taken into account (see below), as well as possible continuity. It does not
seem satisfactory to argue (as does Fentress 2000b, 13) that the Cosan boom
of the early second century was simply a realization of what had been planned
in the third century but not realized because of manpower shortages.164 It is
unlikely that it was only in the first quarter of the second century that Cosa
was finally able to realize plans made a hundred years earlier (although the
improved demographic situation after 197 was hardly a negligible factor).
There already existed material manifestations of the colony’s religious and
cultural identity: the first temple on the arx, later demolished (and perhaps
partly recycled) to permit the building of what, I argue, was something
essentially new.
Earlier in this chapter we questioned the extent to which Cosa can be seen
as a little Rome, and the methodologies and expectations underpinning that
interpretation. Let us now return briefly to these claims. Even if a monolithic
‘colonial mentality’ was being expressed at Cosa, as Scott claims,165 it is
simply wish-fulfilment to see it as expressed by the building of a ‘Capitolium’.
Even were the three-cella temple a Capitolium, it would still be the case that
for some hundred years prior to its building, through two Punic Wars, in
which her loyalty to Rome had been tested and proven, Cosa had managed
to express an identity without it. Any sense of Romanness at Cosa, or of
a special relationship with Rome, was for the first period of the colony’s
life demonstrably not expressed through any ‘Capitoline ideology’, but via
other religious matrices, within which the part played by Hercules was early
and probably significant. There might, as assumed by Scott and others, be
‘multiple evocations of Rome’166 on the arx (even this term, as Taylor 2002,

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60 points out, is a loaded one) and in the forum of Cosa; and, for the second
century, they might well have been ‘sponsored’ by Rome. Such later devel-
opment was bound up with the profits of imperial conquest, and with new
architectural models reaching Rome and Italy, along with the appearance of
new construction techniques such as opus incertum.167 Yet we struggle to see
a clear attempt made to evoke the Roman area Capitolina at Cosa, either in
terms of micro-topography, with its overlying mesh of myth and meaning, or
at a general level. Indeed, the simple picture of earlier accounts must now be
adjusted to take account of new discoveries: like temple B in the forum, the
new temple on the eastern height was found to have replaced earlier housing;
and traces of possible housing on the same alignment as the colony’s street
plan, have been found on the arx; it is impossible to disprove stratigraphically
their co-existence with temple D (Fentress 2000b, 14;Taylor 2002, 70).
A strong evocation of Rome is to be found on the Cosan arx, but, ironi-
cally, it comes from a period when the colony’s autonomous existence had
been cancelled out by the acceptance of municipal status after the Social
War. The evidence comes again from terracottas, this time from, probably,
an Augustan restoration associated with the Capitolium (Scott 1985b, 95;
Taylor 2002, 60, 75 – assigning the campana plaques to this phase, 81). This
restoration is represented by a very Roman terracotta cycle, perhaps from
a portico built around the three-cella temple; Strazzulla notes the presence
of similar themes and treatment to those of the terracottas of Augustus’ pres-
tigous sanctuary of Apollo Palatinus (1985, 100).168 Perhaps Apollo should
be added to our list of Cosan deities – a not insignificant addition, as we shall
see. In any case, the closest evocation of Rome to be found at Cosa comes
within the context of a post-colonial imitation of the art and architecture of
the new régime at Rome in the late first century bc.

4.2 Alba Fucens (Fig. 2)

The Latin colony of Alba Fucens169 was founded in 303 bc, to buttress
Roman expansion into Aequian territory. Both the circuit of the walls
and some monumental building seem to date from the middle of the third
century.170 Interestingly, sondages conducted across the line of the wall-
circuit have revealed architectural terracottas and pottery which seem to
predate this phase of monumentalization. Some of this material could come
from the first years of the colony,171 but much of it seems in fact to predate
the foundation (although none of it is to be dated earlier than c. 350 bc).172
There is thus a good chance, as Mertens argues, that the colony was implanted
in a pre-existing Aequian oppidum (fortified settlement), perhaps one of the
thirty-one reported by Livy as destroyed by the Roman campaign.173 No
occupation horizons from such an Aequian oppidum have been found, but if

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1. sacellum of Hercules
2. Pettorino temple
3. S. Pietro temple
4. comitium
5. colonial walls
6. Alba Vecchia
7. Porta di Massa
8. forum pecuarium
9. basilica

Fig. 2. Alba Fucens.

the architectural terracottas did derive from this putative pre-colonial settle-
ment, we would once again be faced with the question of how the Romans
reacted to the presence of local cults in conquered cities.174
At Alba destruction seems to have been the first reaction, as Livy believed.
The possible pre-colonial material noted above was found reused as fill,
mainly in ramparts behind the walls.175 Yet destruction need not preclude
some sort of cult continuity; the colony’s early religious development does
not seem to follow a ‘Capitoline’ model. Instead, the earliest sanctuary
seems to be that of Hercules.176 This occupies a central position in the saddle
in which most of the colony lies.177 Later the sanctuary was monumental-
ized as a sacellum (shrine) dominating the long axis of the forum pecuarium
(sheep market). The form of the sanctuary now visible is essentially of early-
first-century date (Torelli 1988b, 137); neither plan nor elevation of the
earlier phases is known, but a circular basin associated with late-fourth- and
early-third-century pottery seems very likely to have been part of the cult
apparatus. In the area later occupied by the forum pecuarium itself, limited
sondages produced BG pottery associated with coins belonging to the
second quarter of the third century (c. 269 bc according to Mertens), as well

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as two BG cups, described as ‘Campanian’, with the H marked on the base

(thus dedicated to Hercules, like the Cosan examples discussed above), found
under the later porticus.178
There are clear signs of the chronological priority of the Hercules
sanctuary with respect to other important public buildings at Alba. It is with
this sanctuary, not the later forum and basilica complex, that the comitium,179
built at the northern end of the saddle, is aligned. This is highly suggestive,
as is the fact that the Italic temple on the hill of Pettorino was also oriented
on the Hercules sanctuary.180 While Mertens suggests (1988, 104) that the
central sanctuary may not have belonged to any one deity in particular, its
subsequent development, and the dedication of early votives to Hercules
alone, do make it likely that he dominated cult here.181 This cult was, physi-
cally and conceptually, the focus of civic life in the early colony.182
Hercules’ function(s) here cannot be explained simply; we should bear
in mind his enormous popularity in the upland Apennine regions of Italy,
a phenomenon quite independent of the Roman conquest, and one which
has often been related, through the story of Herakles’ lost calf, to the practice
of transhumant pastoralism among the Italic peoples.183 Hercules probably
evoked a number of responses for the Roman and Latin settlers placed here
in the mountainous frontier looking out over the heartlands of the Aequi and
Marsi, peoples with a life-style different (perhaps imagined as more different
than it was) from that of the urbanized Tyrrhenian plains which they had
left behind. The god may equally have served as a way in which local popula-
tions, or such as remained after the Roman conquest, could be in some way
conciliated, and even integrated into the colony and the new organization
of society, territory and economy. Following earlier observations by Coarelli,
who rightly emphasized an imperial dedication from Alba to Hercules
Salarius (Coarelli 1984, 87, citing CIL IX 3961),184 Torelli wrote (1999, 39;
cf. 1993, 111–15, 1988b, 137):
The case of the religious and cultural roots of the cult of Hercules Salarius in
Alba Fucens is very useful in showing that even in the rather inconspicuous
appearance of the local cultic system remarkable care was taken in exploiting
Roman and Latin tradition to favour the economic integration between the
new foundation and the surrounding areas, an integration which should better
be described in terms of strengthening the socio-economic domination of the
urbanized Latin colonists over their non-urbanized Marsian areas.
We should, nevertheless, give due weight to the importance of Hercules in
indigenous society, which made such manipulation of cult possible in the
first place.
Other cults at Alba Fucens, although given monumental sanctuaries later
than Hercules’, are of interest too. Apollo has been identified as the deity of

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the hill-top S. Pietro temple, as the Roman Apollo Medicus. This identifica-
tion may be supported by the discovery nearby of anatomical ex-votos in the
Romano-Latin tradition (see on the phenomenon, and its association with
healing, De Cazanove 2000). Unusually, this temple has a double-cella, and
this may well imply the presence of Diana, Apollo’s sister. The double-cella
may be a sign of localized religious difference at Alba, since the Pettorino
temple also has one.185 Vulcan was also worshipped somewhere in the
colony, perhaps implying (so Liberatore 2001, 190, 192) imitation of Rome,
although a great antiquity for the cult at Alba is not attested.

4.3. Ariminum
We have already considered ways in which some Ariminate material culture,
at least in a religious context, laid claim to a particular form of Romanness
in the third century, and how issues of perceived identity and isolation may
have shaped attitudes to Rome, and their expression. Ariminum’s earliest
religious practices may also embrace an indigenous substrate.186 Let us begin
by looking again at the ‘Romanizing’ third-century BG wares from the
colony, other than the pocula deorum already considered.
Morel has drawn attention to the predominance of related types of BG
pottery associated with, or evoking, Hercules and his cult, in a number of
third-century bc colonial contexts.187 Firstly, we have the so-called Herak-
lesschalen (Herakles-vessels): cups or paterae figuring Hercules in the central
zone. They were made principally in Rome; and are found in small numbers
at certain Roman and Latin colonies (possibly with limited production at
Paestum), and more commonly across the ager Romanus, in northern Etruria,
and even, in one or two cases, outside Italy; they seem to be cult objects, with
a commercial distribution not restricted to colonies.188 Secondly we have
Calene-style paterae featuring the apotheosis of Hercules on the umbilicus
(centre), made at several centres in central Italy.189 Thirdly, vases with a stamp
figuring Hercules’ club and sometimes other Herculean attributes (found
at Rome; Minturnae; Alba Fucens, Paestum, Cales, Interamna Lirenas, and
Fregellae; the allied communities of Teanum and Aquinum, and one example
in Spain).190 One production centre for these vases, termed the gruppo erculeo
(Hercules group), has recently been identified at Cales.191 Finally, there is
a group of vases related to the atelier des petites estampilles, with the letters
‘H’, or ‘HR’ vel sim. in ligature, stamped, cut, or painted, usually in the
tondo (inside base) of the vase; these are found in Rome from the late fourth
century until near the middle of the third; in Latium and S. Etruria; at Ostia,
Minturnae; Paestum, Cales, Fregellae, Alba Fucens, Cosa and Ariminum
during the third.192 The last two types are, according to Morel, characteristic
of a ‘popular’ piety.193

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At Ariminum the cult of Hercules is attested, at various social levels,

through the BG pottery. He is not the only deity who figures there: the
pocola also name Ceres and Apollo for example (see Franchi de Bellis 1995).
Other evidence for the worship of Hercules, even if later, may be added here:
it seems that he may have had a sanctuary in the vicus Cermalus, (note the
Romanizing name: CIL XI 6787; Susini 1965, 147 f., 148 n. 1).194 Diana is
also important, not as a Roman element for (in some ways) a very Roman
community, but rather as a manifestation of the devotion of what was, after
all, a Latin colony, to the federal Latin cult at Nemi. A bronze tablet found
there in late 1886 or early 1887 (ILLRP 77), which should belong to the
third century (so Degrassi ad loc., Cicala 1995) reads: ‘C. Manlio(s) Ac[---] f.
/ cosol / pro / poplo Arimenesi’.195
Here we see the public face of the Ariminate community, which addresses
itself through its chief magistrate (see above on the Ariminate consuls) to
Diana Nemorensis,196 the deity of the old Latin federation whose prestige was
said to have driven king Servius Tullius to found the cult of Diana in Aventino
as a rival (see Introduction above, on Ariminum and Aventine Diana). Now,
the old Latin League was no more after 338, but some of its religious observ-
ances seem to have survived it, and it is not surprising that Rome exploited
them, or allowed them to be used, to perpetuate and strengthen a shared
sense of purpose among the Latin colonies, whether founded before or after
338. Yet more than a sense of shared Latinity may be read from Ariminum’s
choice in making a dedication here at Nemi. Ariminate devotion to Diana
seems indeed to be pre-eminent; in the imperial period there was a vicus
Dianensis at Ariminum (CIL XI 379), and Ariminates also set up a dedica-
tion to Diana at Rome (CIL VI 133).197 The deity had a special place in the
local hierarchy, and from an early date (Cicala 1995, 358, 361 is probably
right to situate her at the very foundation of the colony). This, however,
was not simply a local phenomenon; deliberately or otherwise, it came to
provide another channel by which Ariminum, as a geographically peripheral
community in the third century, could relate itself to the core. That core is
not simply Roman, it is also Latin. By setting its worship of Diana within this
particular matrix, the colony seems to be trying to associate itself with one of
the oldest strata of Latin cult, and obtain thereby a vicarious antiquity for its
religious identity, which compensated in some measure for isolation, real or
perceived (on which see above).198
The presence of Apollo, Diana’s brother, is not accidental either, nor
the somnolent reflex of an innately Roman religious nervous system. The
importance of his presence at Ariminum (and Adriatic Pisaurum), has been
stressed by Susini among others.199 Susini relates Apolline prominence to
the expulsion of the Gauls from Greece c. 279–8 bc after the sack of Delphi

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(a theme recalled in the terracotta decoration of the temple at Civitalba

in Umbria, Torelli 1999, 142–4). Apollo also became more important
to Romans as their relations with Greeks grew from the First Punic War
onwards, reflecting increasing awareness of Apollo’s role as Archegetes for
the Greeks of the West, and as protector of strangers. For Susini (1965, 148),
there is more than a whiff of colonial ‘policy’: ‘on ne saurait exclure enfin que,
dans le cadre de la politique d’implantation coloniale du IIe siècle av. J.-C.,
Apollon … ait été invoqué également dans les nouvelles colonies comme dieu
de bon augure’ (‘finally it would be difficult to exclude the possibility that,
in the setting of the politics of colonial foundation of the second century bc,
Apollo … was invoked equally in the new colonies as a god of good omen’).
Likewise for Ortalli (2000, 503) the Ariminate pocola, dedicated above
all to Apollo and Hercules, are ‘tra l’altro collegate a rituali migratori e di
fondazione’ (‘among other things, tied to rituals of migration and founda-
tion’).200 In any case, Apollo and Diana, and also Hercules, emerge in public
(and perhaps in private) contexts as the pre-eminent deities of Ariminum for
some time after the foundation.

4.4 Tarracina (Fig. 3)

Literature on the Roman colony of Tarracina still commonly names the great
extra-urban sanctuary which dominates the height to the E. of the city as
that of Iuppiter Anxur, the poliadic deity of the community. Some years ago,
however, Coarelli mounted a convincing challenge to this identification,
proposing instead to see the sanctuary as dedicated to Venus Obsequens
(Coarelli 1987, 113–40). The first significant phase of the visible remains (the
‘small temple’ and the upper terrace of the main complex) seems to belong to
the third quarter of the second century, with the lower terrace of the main

1. sanctuary of Venus Obsequens

2. big temple
3. small temple
4. acropolis (S. Francesco)
5. Via Appia
6. Aemilian forum
7. republican wall
Fig. 3. Tarracina.

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complex dating to the first decades of the first, perhaps after 83 bc (Coarelli
1987, 115–17, 121, 125). Earlier activity seems to be implied, however, not
only by the evidence for oracular activity on the lower terrace of the main
complex, but also by two terracing walls in polygonal masonry (Coarelli 1987,
120 f.), which excavated material from the nineteenth century seems to suggest
could be contemporary with the foundation of the colony in 329 bc.
Other cults may have shared this complex, perhaps Iuppiter Anxur (for
the literary evidence on him, and on Feronia, see Coarelli 1987, 123, 126 f.),
for whom Coarelli suggests a primary temple within the colony, on the
site of the convent of S. Francesco, rather than either the ‘small temple’ (to
Feronia? Coarelli 1987, 123–6) or the small temple in antis on the upper
terrace (1987, 122 f.). Feronia, another prominent deity perhaps worshipped
here and elsewhere in Tarracina, well illustrates the adaptive nature of local
cults in relation to forces and phenomena external to the community. As
Torelli (1993, 99–101) notes, Feronia was a Sabine goddess with (here)
a maritime emporic function, exercised in a community which lay at the end
of a transhumance route leading from the Monte Lepini to the sea.201
Coarelli (1987, 121) makes an interesting case for the presence of an
(admittedly extra-urban) auguraculum on an upper terrace at Monte
S. Angelo, which he thinks might go back to the fourth century bc, but
suggests that such a feature has a Latin rather than a Roman colonial pedigree.
As elsewhere, the classic colonial marker, the Capitolium, is attested only late
on: whichever of the two large temples in the centre of Tarracina was the
Capitolium, whether it should rather be associated with the possible ‘Sullan’
forum or the ‘Aemilian’ one (see for various arguments Coppola 1984, 328,
348, 364–6, 371 f.), the earliest certain date for its construction cannot be
pushed back before the first century bc.
The fourth-century colony seems to have revered Iuppiter above all, but
as the young Anxur, not as Capitolinus or Optimus Maximus; and Feronia
may have been more important, probably because of her oracular aspect,
than the Capitoline cult, even in the first century bc. A substantial shift in
cult pratice, and in religious and communal ideologies (perhaps related to
the Sullan victory in the Civil War), can be detected with the institution of
the cult of Venus Obsequens on Monte S. Angelo; this arguably represents
a bigger change in the religious sphere than anything associated with the first
colonization (Coarelli 1987, 127–38; but note 131 f., for links, via Venus
Erucina, to Iuppiter Capitolinus).

4.5 Minturnae (Fig. 4)

Finally Minturnae, a Roman colony, founded in 295 bc. Dea Marica was
worshipped nearby at the mouth of the Garigliano river from at least the

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Edward Bispham

sixth century bc.202 This sanctuary clearly remained an important point of

reference within the colonial world view, another example of Torelli’s flex-
ibility of local religion:203 in 207 bc the Minturnians reported to the Roman
Senate that the lucus of Marica had been struck by lightning (Livy 27.37.2–
3). By then the colony had acquired other religious buildings: a temple of
Iuppiter was struck at the same time.204 This temple has been convincingly
identified with the ‘Tuscan’ temple next to the Augustan temple A (Torelli
1988b, 150; Guidobaldi and Pesando 1989, 39, 51 f.). It is a moot point
whether it should be described as a temple with three cellae, or a single cella
with alae (Bispham 2000, 158, with bibliography on the post-191 ‘Capito-
lium’), although Guidobaldi calls it a Capitolium (1988, 129; cf. Guidobaldi
and Pesando 1989, 51).
At all events, a Iuppiter temple existed by the late third century. How long,
though, had it been in existence? Guidobaldi and Pesando (1989, 39) assume
its existence since the foundation of the colony; yet there is no stratigraphic
evidence to support this claim. As I hope to have shown (Bispham 2000,
174 f.), the temple of Iuppiter at the citizen colony of Ostia has no good
claim to be older than the late third century, and indeed Ostia may never have
had a Capitolium. Perhaps Minturnae’s religious topography developed on
a similar chronology. It should be stressed that the temple of Iuppiter here
lies outside the original castrum (fortification) of the colony, and therefore is
probably not contemporary with the foundation.
As at Cosa, though perhaps starting slightly earlier, the first half of the
second century saw substantial monumentalization of public space at

1. castrum of early colony

2. temple of Iuppiter
3. temple A
4. porticus round forum
5. Via Appia

Fig. 4. Minturnae.

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Minturnae. The forum porticus seems to date between 190 and 150 bc. It
extended and improved the colony’s public space, providing a foral area,
something not included in the original colonial plan (1988, 129; Guidobaldi
and Pesando 1989, 39–60; Coarelli 1987, 30 and n. 22, 1992, 28; Guido-
baldi and Pesando 1989, 39, for parallels with the decoration of the sanctuary
of Aesculapius at Fregellae). This monumentalization can be linked to the
phenomenon exemplified by the wave of colonial modernization described
by Livy for 174 bc (Guidobaldi 1988, 129; Guidobaldi and Pesando 1989,
38–45; Torelli 1988b, 151; see further below).

5. Gods of colonization?
Certain deities recur in the colonies. Hercules is prominent everywhere, and
probably across multiple social strata and groupings, as shown by the dedica-
tion across central Italy, especially in the colonies, of votive vases. There are
early dedications on the Cosan arx; in the iconographic nexus surrounding
the later arx temples at Cosa, Hercules again figures prominently. His
sanctuary is central in more ways than one at Alba Fucens. At Paestum,
Torelli’s identification of the amphiprostyle temple as Hercules’ (1999, 62–4)
seems convincing, as do the proposed links to Mater Matuta (and note that
possibly Mater Matuta shared the arx at Cosa). At Brundisium, the area
probably occupied by the main arx of the colony (formerly the area of the
Messapic settlement), and therefore by a temple or temples, is little known,
but produced a monumental statue of Hercules.205 At the Roman colony of
Ostia Hercules is a precolonial, perhaps emporic, deity, whose sanctuary,
whilst outside the mid-republican castrum, remains one of the colony’s three
most important cult sites throughout its history.206
Apollo and Diana also figure, certainly or with high probability, at Alba
Fucens, Ariminum, and elsewhere.207 Both appear, for instance, among the
deities whom the cippi (inscribed stones) of the lucus at the Roman colony of
Pisaurum (founded in 184 bc) commemorate (ILLRP 13, 21). The frame of
reference of all of these deities is not necessarily Romanocentric, but probably
encompasses Latin, local, and in the case of Hercules and Apollo, Mediter-
ranean elements. It seems that during the Middle Republic, these deities were
in some sense ‘gods of colonization’, as some scholars have suggested. Yet
caution is required before we try to give overarching explanations for their
widely diffused presence in colonies. 208
If we are to use the phrase ‘gods of colonization’, we must use it in a more
nuanced way than simply to denote gods, who, together with their myths and
rituals, were used to mediate and propagate new ideologies of power, and
make clear the new order of Roman conquest and local subjection. This may
be a role assumed in the Roman colonial context from the second century

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onwards by Iuppiter Optimus Maximus, but Hercules will not be made to lie
down in such a Procrustean bed. Studies of the impact and diffusion of the
cult of Greek Herakles in north-west Sicily and the hinterland of Metapon-
tion in south Italy have suggested that it fulfilled a complex integrative
function.209 Herakles’ mythical achievements can be seen as paradeigmatic
of the colonists’ experience, in terms of bringing ‘civilized’ values and of
promoting cultural and economic interaction. Appeal to the past via the
hero’s myths and cult also legitimated changes in indigenous society, for
which interaction with Greeks was a vital catalyst: the cult may even have
validated the participation of local communities as autonomous agents inter-
acting with Greek colonial settlements (see Giangiulio 1993, 46–8).
We have argued that local situations, where myth and cult act as vehicles
for changing identities, must be taken into account, and that the Romans
did, as others have shown, shape those situations for their own ends. Deities
prominent in indigenous cult and subsequently in a colony must not be torn
from the local context which gave meaning to their worship. Within their
local context, they formed part of a religious landscape and an ideational
realm. Although Hercules is found in a prominent role at Ostia and in other
colonies, we must remember that at Ostia he co-existed with the Castores
and Vulcan, for whom such ‘colonial’ roles have not been claimed. At Cosa
he shared the arx with Iuppiter, Minerva and perhaps Mater Matuta. Ceres
may have dominated the Cosan forum, and she is not held to be particularly
colonial; she is probably, like many of the gods and goddesses on whom we
have focused here, to be found worshipped, in some context and at some
level, everywhere.
There are two instances where we can glimpse the breadth of the religious
devotion of particular groups within colonial societies, demonstrating again
the importance of contextual study, and of being able to look at a collection
of evidence which forms a unity, not a series of bits and pieces. I have in
mind two groups of inscriptions: the cippi from the lucus at Pisaurum from
the early second century, and the early-first-century inscriptions of the
collegia (associations) of Minturnae (reused in the podium of Temple A).
The former group needs to be understood as prominently associated with
matronae (free married women); the latter is an expression of the religious
activity of collectives of freedmen and slaves. At Pisaurum we find dedica-
tions to (besides Apollo and Diana) Fides, Iuno (additionally as both Lucina
and Regina), Mater Matuta (twice), Salus, Diva Marica, Divi No[v]esedes,
Feronia,210 ‘Lebro’ (ILLRP 14–20, 22–60).211 At Minturnae collegia (asso-
ciations) of slaves and freedmen set up dedications to Ceres (ILLRP 729),
Spes (ILLRP 730, 740), ?Venus (ILLRP 737), and Mercury Felix (ILLRP
742).212

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The local context will always impede and deconstruct the identification of
‘colonial’ roles for these deities, whether we think these arose spontaneously,
or were the result of conscious ‘state’ policy. Diana seems to have strong Latin
overtones. Hercules seems almost too ubiquitous and malleable to be useful
(cf. D.H. 1.40.6: besides the Ara Maxima in Rome ‘in many other places in
Italy, precincts [τεμένη] are set up to the god, and altars are dedicated to him,
both in cities and along highways; and one could scarcely find any place in
Italy in which the god happens not to be honoured’). Apollo clearly means
one thing in Alba Fucens, where he probably has a healing role, and another
in the ager Gallicus, where the repulse of the Gauls from Delphi is a principal
intertext.213 I shall be content here to underline the recurrence of certain
deities in Roman and Latin colonial contexts. They appear either alongside,
or as, local survivals; they are worshipped within their own cultic matrices,
dependent on the particular and the local as much as the general and the
Roman. Their repeated presence is, however, not fortuitous. I shall restrict
myself to two sets of general remarks here: firstly on some colonial aspects
of the cult of Hercules; and then on the notable mid-republican absentee
– Iuppiter.
What might Hercules mean? There were some statist overtones to his
cult: Morel notes the Roman state taking over the cult at the Ara Maxima
from the Potitii in the fourth century (D.H. 1.40.5).214 Yet the god is multi-
faceted, and public or private interests are reflected in a variety of functions
and epiklēseis. Hercules might for example figure in colonies as protector of
trade and commerce, as recipient of decumae (tithes), or as the apotropaic
Hercules Tutor.215
But might there nevertheless be Roman mentalities constructed through
the colonial cults of Hercules? It may be that a passage of Dionysios of
Halikarnassos can help us here. After describing the slaying of Kakos by
Herakles, Dionysios goes on to tell the ‘truer’ story of Herakles’ presence
and exploits in Italy (‘which has been adopted by many who have narrated
his deeds in the form of history’, 41.1); rounding up stray calves was clearly
insufficient reason for them (cf. 41.2, 42.4, 43, on Dionysios’ heterodox
genealogies).216
The reason for Herakles being honoured as he is, says Dionysios, is that
he destroyed, at the head of a great army, every tyranny in all the land within
the Ocean, ‘that was grievous and painful to its subjects, or any polis (city)
which outraged and mistreated its neighbours, or any rule (ἡγεμονία) of
men who practised a savage way of life and unlawful murders of strangers;
he established instead law-abiding kingdoms and temperate governments
(πολιτεύματα) and humane and sociable customs for life’ (1.41.1). In the
process Herakles mingled Greeks and barbarians, inland and coastal dwellers,

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‘those who hitherto had been having mistrustful and unsociable dealings
with each other’. Finally, he built poleis in barren places, drained land and
built roads through mountains, and opened up land and sea for the use of
all. This required some heavy fighting in places, and Dionysios singles out
the Ligurians or Ligues (41.1–3), a ‘numerous and warlike race’ (41.3, cf.
40.3, from the first, ‘legendary’, version of the story, where the Ligurians are
called ‘lawless men’), who tried to bar Herakles’ way into Italy.217 Some cities
(those either weak or Greek) surrendered to Herakles as he made his way
through Italy, but others had to be taken by siege (42.2); among these was
that of Kakos, who was ‘an entirely barbarian chief who ruled over wild men’,
holding ‘fortified places’, and being ‘painful’ to his neighbours. Kakos had
attacked and stolen from Herakles’ army (42.3), but in revenge his ‘citadels’
(φρούρια) were stormed and he himself killed. His former citadels were
demolished, and the surrounding lands given to Evander and Faunos (42.1).
Finally, Herakles settled the prisoners, taken earlier, in newly won regions. ‘It
was because of these deeds that the name and glory of Herakles became very
great in Italy, and not because of his journey through the country, in which
nothing noble was involved’ (42.4).
Now, it does not seem that Dionysios’ narrative is simply an Augustan
myth; indeed, by differing from the version found in the Aeneid, it sets
itself apart from the dominant Augustan version (note his citation of earlier
writers). Some elements of the account are required by the mythic setting;
others, however, seem to come from old strata of the myth, not least the char-
acterization of Kakos as a robber chieftain.218 The core of Dionysios’ material
seems, then, to derive from (a) republican account(s) of Herakles’ exploits,
which addressed the deity’s popularity across the whole of Italy.
Yet those who, like Scott, argue that ‘beyond providing the Latins with
an appropriate heroic pedigree, Hercules’ civilizing activities in Italy became
emblematic of those of the Roman colonies from the later fourth century
onwards’ (Scott 1992, 93), make an attractive case. Within the narrative of
suppression of tyranny, misrule and lawlessness, and the building of roads and
cities, opening up Italy to all, it is possible to see the outlines of a justification
of the Roman conquest as aiming at the same ends, and commemorated
across Italy by the universal veneration of Hercules. The settling of Arkadians,
Aborigines and prisoners in territories conquered by others, and above all
the building of new poleis and roads, recall colonization.219 The settling of
prisoners might be thought to be a means to justify mass movements of
population instigated by the Romans in the third and second centuries.
Strabo (5. 4.13 = 251C) mentions Picentine deportations to Campania, Livy
(40.38, 41) the deportation of Ligurians (note their presence in the Hercules
myth above) to Samnium (where – as in the rest of central Italy – the worship
of Hercules was very popular).220
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It is tempting, then, to see, behind Dionysios’ rationalizing account,

a later-second-century bc historical source, using Herakles’ Italian wander-
ings as a charter myth for Roman conquest and colonization as it had been
known up to that point.221 The archaeological evidence for the antiquity and
ubiquity of Hercules’ cult in colonial contexts seems to find in Dionysios an
echo which may allow us to restore at least some of its original ideological
content. Hercules had more varied local meaning than perhaps any other
deity; 222 but he was also susceptible, at least by the second century, to being
made to carry a number of messages about what the Romans were doing in
Italy, and what their colonies stood for; and carrying them in a way which,
moreover, looked familiar in a local context. That large parts of central
Italy had enthusiastically embraced the cult of Hercules since the archaic
period meant that for a Roman Hercules carrying such messages, there was
a ‘Sabellic’ Hercules who might act as an interlocutor, as at Alba Fucens.

6. What about Iuppiter?223

‘The colonies of Rome contained their versions of the Capitoline Temple of
Jupiter, evoking the hill at the heart of the mother city and the ruling god
who guaranteed Roman military success’ (Horden and Purcell 2000, 457).
That it was partly through cult, and the reproduction of cult (Horden and
Purcell 2000, 457–9), that colonizers and colonists conceptualized their
world and the multiplicity of their relations, seems clear enough for later
periods than ours. We have just reviewed ample evidence, however, that mid-
republican Roman and Latin colonies began life as communities oriented by
cardinal points of cult place and practice which, while they may find points
of correspondence, if not more, in Rome, may also equally be transformed
survivals of local religious practice. Furthermore, it remains to be demon-
strated that they used the cult of Capitoline Iuppiter as a cultic cardinal
point, as a method of understanding their cosmos. The cult of Iuppiter was
of supreme importance at Tarracina, but this was the local Iuppiter Anxur.
At Tarracina, Ostia and Minturnae, at Ariminum, Cosa, and Alba Fucens, it
seems that Iuppiter Greatest and Best came late, if at all, under the Republic.
Despite the imperfections of our evidence, it seems clear that where he was
present, it was as a junior partner. Local deities, especially perhaps Hercules,
overshadow the Capitoline triad so completely as to leave it almost totally
blotted out.
Here, of course, it is vital to distinguish between Roman and Latin
colonies. Granted, however, that Iuppiter Optimus Maximus would be odd
in a Latin colony, nevertheless his other epiklēseis are hardly prominent before
the end of the third century. Only, perhaps, at Cosa, was Iuppiter – in an
unknown manifestation, perhaps Latiaris – important from an early date, and

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there traces of the worship of Hercules seem to have chronological priority.

Replication stands beside re-invention. The world viewed and understood
through the geography and topography of cult was not that of the late
Republic; and it was different for Romans and Latins, for almost as long as
their difference from each other meant anything.
By the late Republic the Capitoline Triad had established itself as the
normative model of Roman colonial cult (Latin colonies in Italy had by then
ceased to exist). Ch. 70 of the lex (charter) of the Caesarian colony of Urso
in Spain specifies, for example, ludi scaenici (games with theatrical enter-
tainment) in honour of Iuppiter, Iuno and Minerva. More than a century
earlier at Luna, a Roman colony founded in 177 bc (Liv. 41.13.4; Harris
1989, 114–18 on the historical context), a three-cella temple, unmistakably
a Capitolium, seems to have been built in the first years of the colony’s life
(Rossignani 1985, 55–7) (Fig. 5).224 The rise of the Capitolia profoundly
altered the cultic balance of Roman communities, their physical appearance,
and their sense of identity. When did it happen, and why?
The growth of the Capitoline cult as a mould for expressing Roman
identity and power was a gradual product of three interlocking processes.
Firstly there is the increasing dominance of Rome’s position in and beyond
Italy in the third century. Within a generation of the battle of Sentinum
(295 bc), which effectively ended the possibility of challenges from within
the Italian peninsula, Rome was embroiled in an ambitious and far-reaching
war with Carthage. Victory here, partly dependent on skilful manipulation
of her Italian resources, gave Rome a new confidence, which reached strat-
ospheric levels after the end of the second Punic War (Gruen 1992, 131–82).
From this point we witness, proportional to the growth in Roman power

1. Capitolium
2. ‘grande tempio’
3. forum

Fig. 5. Luna.

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and influence, the gradual worsening of relations with her Italian allies,
and a corresponding increase both in the value of Roman citizenship and
the importance of Roman identity.225 This confident season, at the turn of
the third and second centuries, was the point at which Romans, beginning
with Fabius Pictor and Cincius Alimentus, first felt the need to formulate
in extenso (and historiographically, Curti 2001, 21; Beck and Walter 2001,
17–19, 22–6, 48) who they were, and how they had got to where they
were, adapting the Hellenistic medium of prose history. Such assessments
of Rome’s character, achievements and mission were for internal as much as
external consumption.
Secondly, the growth of Roman power, and the new formulations of its
ideologies, were based on, and visible in, new wealth: the profits of conquest
and empire, which mainly ended up in elite Roman hands. Much of this
wealth was spent on private luxury, some on public munificence, employing
the new media of Hellenistic art and architecture, together with new tech-
niques such as concrete construction, to begin embellishing Rome, through
competition rather than centralized direction, as a city worthy of imperial
aspirations. Such innovations were, however, slower to reach parts of Italy
away from the Tyrrhenian littoral (and slower in some of those areas than
others).226 Colonies no less than allied cities were relatively, perhaps increas-
ingly, isolated from the main currents of cultural change. Perhaps because of
the relatively small territories of citizen colonies,227 some local elites may have
lacked the resources to undertake energetic monumentalization on the scale,
or in the style, required by the new Zeitgeist.228
Thirdly, and less directly, the elites of the older Roman colonies will have
heard about the new Roman colonies founded in the north of Italy in the
early second century bc, and felt some need perhaps to emulate, or try to
keep up with, the urbanistic standards of these new foundations, which in
size, prosperity and opportunities had effectively replaced the Latin colony
as a vehicle of Roman military and social policy. After 184 bc Graviscae was
the only old-style colonia maritima founded;229 the older ones may have felt
culturally marginalized.
How did these new outlooks and pressures change Rome’s conceptions
of herself and her colonies, and the faces of the colonies themselves? Let
us take urban change first. Where local economic constraints meant that
cities and their elites could not follow the Roman model unaided, the urbs,
or her leading men, stepped in to complete prestige projects of communal
value, such as temples.230 Much intervention happened through manubial
benefactions – related to the creation of ties of clientela (patron-client rela-
tionships) – by individual generals,231 and through the activities of Roman
censors. These developments mainly affected the ager Romanus, above all

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citizen colonies, but urban change was not confined to juridical limits. The
Roman-inspired monumentalization of both Minturnae and Cosa232 should
be viewed as different manifestations of the power of the same Roman
urbanistic dynamo.233
The most striking example of censorial intervention in Italy is that of
Q. Fulvius Flaccus and A. Postumius Albinus in 174.234 It is important to
note that the works listed are paid for from colonial funds (ipsorum pecunia),
not Roman. Unusual are (a) the fact that Roman censors held the locatio
(bidding for contract), and (b) the unprecedented scale of the work. It is
worth setting out in full Livy’s account (41.27.5–13); the text is corrupt at
crucial points, and I have not gone beyond what is printed in Briscoe’s 1986
Teubner edition.235
(5) the censors for the first time ever awarded contracts for paving the roads
in the city in basalt, and for building up the roads outside the city with gravel,
and defining their edges, and for building bridges in many places; (6) and for
providing a stage for the aediles and the praetors; <and> starting-gates in the
circus, and eggs for ?numbering the signs (of the laps) for the chariots … and the
turning posts … and iron cages b<y which wild beasts> could be introduced … fes-
tivals on the Alban mount for the consuls. (7) And they saw to the paving of
the Capitoline slope in basalt, and a porticus from the temple of Saturn up to
the Capitolium as far as the senaculum [place of assembly for the Senate] and
beyond that the curia [Senate house], (8) and outside the porta Trigemina they
paved the emporium [business area] with stone and fenced it off with bollards,
and saw to the rebuilding of the porticus Aemilia, and made an approach with
steps from the Tiber into the emporium. (9) And within the same gate they
paved a porticus onto the Aventine with basalt, and made … public? ... from the
temple of Venus. (10) The same censors awarded contracts for building walls at
Calatia and Auximum; and when public spaces had been sold there, they spent
the money which had been realized in surrounding the forum with shops on
each side. (11) And one of them, Fulvius Flaccus – for Postumius ?said that he
would award contracts for nothing unless on the order of the Roman Senate
and people … – ? let a contract with the money of those colonists (?) for a temple
of Iuppiter at Pisaurum and at Fundi and at Po<t>entia, also for bringing in
water, and at Pisaurum for paving the road with basalt, (12) and at Sinuessa … ?
for bird-keeping …, and in these both for bringing round sewers and a wall … and
for closing off the forum with porticoes and shops and building three arches.
(13) These works were contracted out by one censor to the great gratitude of
the colonists.236
This activity led to a quarrel between the censors, with Postumius
objecting to the scale of Flaccus’ proposals: the role of the Fulvii in the
foundation of Pisaurum and Potentia perhaps explains in part Postumius’
opposition to intervention which would disproportionately benefit his
colleague (Guidobaldi and Pesando 1989, 43). Note how the embellishment

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of Rome is matched by building work in the ager Romanus; it was within

precisely this sort of state-stimulated urbanistic activity that Brown (1980,
44) contextualized the building activity in the Cosan forum, with its new
architectural styles.237 Nevertheless, there was apparently no matching, state-
stimulated, intervention in Latin colonies in 174 (Guidobaldi 1988, 129;
Guidobaldi and Pesando 1989, 41), and this is probably (as Brown suggests,
1980, 44) related to their independent status. Those Latin states with access
to new cultural models had to fend for themselves, while Roman (or Fulvius
Flaccus’) interest focused, as Livy’s comment (haec ab uno censore opera locata
cum magna gratia colonorum) shows, on Roman colonies and colonists.238
Calatia (not a colony) and Auximum, which perhaps was one at this point,
were given walls, even full circuits; the colonies of Pisaurum and Potentia,
as well as the municipium (chartered town) of Fundi had temples of Iuppiter
built, and enhancements to their water supply; in addition, at Pisaurum
a road (the decumanus maximus, the main street?) was paved with basalt. At
the colony of Sinuessa there was substantial building work which affected
the walls and sewers, and saw the recreation of the forum as an enclosed
Hellenistic-style space surrounded by shops and porticoes, and served by
three arches or Iani.239 Through this building work Q.Fulvius Flaccus was
facilitating the closure of what had become an urbanistic gap between new
and old colonies, by modernizing and monumentalizing. The developments
at Minturnae form part of the same phenomenon, and may have been
sponsored by local elites.240
What is significant for us is that part of the official package in 174 was
the creation of new temples of Iuppiter in two colonies; besides these we
first hear of the Minturnian and Ostian Iuppiter temples in the late third
and early second centuries respectively. These temples of Iuppiter do not in
themselves signify the genesis of a Capitoline ideology in Roman colonies
from the late third century onwards; but they do look like a more significant
clustering of attestations when set beside changes in the ideological value of
the Capitoline cult at Rome in exactly these years.
I have argued that Rome’s successes during the third century went hand
in hand with an adjustment of identity which finds clear expression in the
first Roman histories. One concern of the new historical paradigm for Rome
was to present a past which gave assurances of future greatness, as well as
one from which egregious weakness and failure, at least on the part of the
commonwealth, had been edited out. Above all, Rome must never have
known absolute defeat or capture; and, unparalleled as such a state was in the
mutable world of the Mediterranean, it must depend on the especial favour
of the gods: see, for example, the straight-faced claim in an official letter to
Teos, early in the second century, that the support of the supreme deity had

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been responsible for Roman success (Sherk 1969 no. 34 [= Sherk 1984 no.
8] l. 15).
It was, of course Iuppiter Optimus Maximus who guaranteed the funda-
mental and immutable victory of Rome across the years, and who guided its
destiny. As a corollary, while the bulk of the city might lie in ruins, Iuppiter’s
shrine must remain untouched: hence, as scholars have argued, the story
in which the Gauls did not sack the Capitol. This seems to have replaced
another version, only scrappily represented in the surviving sources, which
knew of a capture of the sacred hill (Skutsch 1968, 138–42; Sordi 1984;
Williams 2001a, 150–70). Small wonder that the earliest Roman history,
that of Fabius Pictor, shows a particular interest in the Capitolium: it
contained the story (F 12P) of the naming of the Capitolium from the caput
Oli (the head of Olus), a story which marked the status of the Capitoline hill
and temple as, in Williams’ words (2001a, 170), the ‘symbol of the eternity
of the city par excellence’.241
Such stories may have been invented by Pictor, but they are more likely to
have evolved across the second half of the third century, reflecting changing
Roman self-perceptions, shaped by victory and survival against the odds, the
Celts, and Carthage.242 It is beside this reshaping of Capitoline history in
Rome that we must locate the appearance of colonial Iuppiter temples and
Capitolia. Colonies now began to be seen increasingly as replicating and
underpinning a particular type of Roman power, that of the eternal imperial
city, whose imperium was guaranteed by Iuppiter himself; as a consequence,
beginning in northern Italy, Roman colonies became more similar to each
other.243 In the late third century Iuppiter becomes a noticeable part of the
colonial pantheon for the first time, and by the time of the foundation of
Luna in 177, it was becoming unthinkable that a Roman colony should not
have a temple to the Capitoline triad.244

7. Conclusions
Conventional ‘Capitoline’ accounts of colonization have proven less than
satisfactory. Much remains to be done to bring out the character and
complexity of both Roman and Latin colonization in the middle Republic;
a good start will be the questioning of articles of faith in our current models.
Let us briefly take a single example.
Standard accounts see all Roman maritime colonies founded before the
second decade of the second century bc as small garrison settlements of 300
souls. The clutch of colonies (Puteoli, Buxentum, Liternum etc.) founded in
the 190s are explicitly said by Livy (34.45.1) to have had 300 colonists each,
and there is no special reason to doubt this. The only other explicit attesta-
tion is for Tarracina in the fourth century, again from Livy (8.21.11). Here

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the size of the plots (2 iugera) is suspiciously small, corresponding to the

traditional heredium (hereditary estate); yet the number of colonists may be
correct: Coppola (1984, 326) points out how limited was the land available
in the immediate vicinity of the settlement, squeezed as it was between the
Monti Lepini and the sea. There is, however, absolutely no reason to assume
that 300 colonists was a standard number for Roman maritime founda-
tions in this period; in fact the only other figure attested for the number of
colonists for this period is, as we shall see, 500. Assumptions about numbers
of colonists, or attempts to work out how well or ill 300 men could have
defended a colonial wall circuit, are baseless.245
Under 378 bc Diodoros (15.27.4) tells us: ‘While these things were going
on [the liberation of the Theban Kadmeia from the Spartans] the Romans
sent out five hundred colonists with immunity from taxes to Sardinia.’ This
notice, and one in Theophrastos about Corsica, presumably also referring to
the fourth century (HP 5.8.2, ‘they say that the Romans, wishing to establish
a city, once sailed to the island with twenty-five ships’), have been needlessly
doubted by Salmon (1969, 14 n. 7), and, with some honourable excep-
tions (e.g. Torelli 1982; 1993, 100 f.), have found little place in mainstream
scholarly discussion of colonization. Yet the episode is entirely comprehen-
sible: Cornell 1995, 212, 321 f., notes the synchronism with closer Roman
relations with Caere, which certainly would have had trading interests on
the islands, perhaps for Corsican fir, whose merits provide the context of
Theophrastos’ precious contemporary comment. Roman settlement in these
islands in turn also allows us to make more sense of the prohibition in the
second Romano-Carthaginian treaty recorded by Polybios (3.24.11), and
normally dated to 348 bc, on Romans founding poleis outside Italy.
These two colonies either failed, or evolved very differently from their
Italian cousins; in any event, they illustrate beautifully the breadth and
diversity which we have to allow to the category of colonia before the second
century bc. By that date, ideas of what was a colony were by no means fixed,
but were already hardening, with clearer boundaries.246 This, perhaps, is why
the histories which began to be written in this period by Romans (as opposed
to earlier Greek accounts) do not mention these settlements overseas. Politics
hi-jacked history. The optimate opposition to C. Gracchus attacked his ill-
judged attempt to found Iunonia (the names of his other colonies – Neptunia
Tarentum, Minervia Scolacium, Vell. Pat. 1.15.4 – are intriguing) on the site
of Carthage, using mos maiorum to bolster their attack. Never, it was said,
had the maiores wished to found colonies outside Italy; this tradition is still
clearly visible in Velleius’ account of the events, for example (1.15.1, 2.7.6–8).
Very probably it was this pseudo-history of colonization which misled
Salmon and others into denying the fourth-century overseas colonies.247

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Modern analysis has thus been conditioned by the second century bc propa-
ganda which lies behind later literary accounts.
This chapter began with a sceptical look at the images often unreflectively
and synchronically applied to Roman colonies, both as urban units, and in
terms of their foundation rituals. Evocations of Roman religious topography
we have discussed; political topography too often features in the standard
accounts. Here the comitium (popular assembly-place) plays a major role:
the fine circular comitia (or structures identified as comitia) at Alba Fucens,
Cosa, Paestum and Aquileia have often been used, along with group voting,
to show how Latin colonies (not Roman ones, note) consciously modelled
their political process and civic community on those of the founding city.248
These comitia, despite their differences, are very like each other; but are they
like the Roman comitium? New research on the latter, above all by Carafa, has
reduced the certainty which once existed about its form, leaving substantial
doubts over the date, duration, and even the existence, of a circular phase, on
which the Latin colonial comitia are supposed to be modelled.249 Certainly
the Latin comitia might be symbolic evocations of the Roman comitium, but
in the present state of research it looks unlikely that they were intended to be
close copies of it. Detailed evocations of the micro-topography of the Roman
comitium are scarcely easier to see than those of the Roman arx.250
The synthetic picture of the foundation ritual often painted is, for the
mid-republican period, equally unhelpful. Consider one counter-example,
of a sort of ritual behaviour for which our literary sources do not encourage
us to look. It may encourage us to think of diversity and difference, rather
than pervasive little Romes. Recent excavations under a section of the first
wall of the colony at Ariminum produced what seems to be a votive deposit
connected with the building of the wall. It comprises three coins (one local,
one cast pre-colonial Roman, and one stamped colonial), and the skeleton of
a dog. The colonial coin seems to have been issued at the time of the founda-
tion of the colony, and it is hard not to follow Ortalli, and interpret this as
a sacrificial deposition, perhaps a foundation deposit.251 Associated with the
building of the wall, the deposit is thus associated with an early moment in
the life of the colony, if not the foundation itself. Neither here, nor at Alba
Fucens, where trenches near the Porta di Massa and elsewhere have produced
complete open (thus probably votive) BG vases and large numbers of animal
bones, associated with a rebuilding of the walls,252 is there any trace of the
sulcus primigenius sought by Brown at Cosa, and usually assumed elsewhere.
Ritual ploughing was certainly happening in the first century bc (sometimes
for colonies set up in existing settlements, as at Casilinum), but was it used
for early colonies?253 Varro (LL 5.143) says that towns founded by ploughing
the original furrow along the line of the future walls are urbes (cities), and

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that ‘therefore all our colonies are called urbes in ancient writings’; yet,
writing in the first half of the second century bc, the Elder Cato, according
to Servius (ad Aen. 5.755 = F 18P), says that ploughing the original furrow
was the practice of founders of a ciuitas (community) – as quoted he says
nothing about colonies.
It would be, of course, unreasonable to expect to find the traces of an
ephemeral intervention like a plough furrow in complex urban stratifica-
tion. We must take account of what we find from the time of foundation
itself, before we read back later ideological matrices and their content, and
extrapolate from the comfortable synthesis of late-republican and Augustan
antiquarianism (and its modern followers). At Cosa, we have an early sacrifi-
cial deposit in a pit from the colony’s high place, pehaps dating to the period
of the foundation. It might be a mundus, but it is not at once obvious that it
was; in any case, the presence in it of vessels dedicated to Hercules suggests
that he was invoked at that early religious ritual. Whatever the relation of any
foundation ritual to Iuppiter, Hercules is the deity with observable priority
here. At Ariminum, the strength of the walls, and the symbolic barrier they
embodied, seem to have been protected by the sacrifice of a dog, and the
deposition of three different coins, at a time (again) not distant from the
foundation. Whatever foundation means for us, it must be something which
embraces this diversity of ritual beginnings, at least for Latin colonies; we
need to accept that what was done to make the new community auspicious
in the eyes of the gods may have been nothing like what later writers represent.
There was a change, no doubt, and I have suggested above that it is related
to the adoption of a more Romanocentric, ‘Capitoline’, colonial ideology,
implicated in new manifestations of Roman power.
Leaving aside broad yet important similarities between Rome and her
colonies (Roman or Latin), such as the augurally-rooted distinction between
urbs and ager (Torelli 1999, 52–6), or the use of Roman units of measure-
ment and their subdivisions (at Cosa the actus­, Scott 1988, 75; Cambi and
Celuzza 1985, 104; cf. Greco 1988, 86 for the territorium of Paestum), we
might well ask ‘what, if anything, was characteristic of Roman colonies in the
third century?’ For all Fentress’ penetration in her deconstruction of Brown’s
assumptions in his interpretation of Cosa (2000b, 24, ‘That Cosa was, in
some sense, Rome seems to us unproven’), the underlying assumption is still
that there is such a thing as a ‘standard’ colony. She writes (2000, 11) ‘in
many ways it is an odd colony’. Better to ask: which colonies were normal?
In a stimulating paper, Robin Osborne (1998) argued that archaic Greek
colonization should be seen as the result of opportunistic activity by highly
mobile groups and individuals, and that such colonies were neither sent
out by, nor had (largely) exclusive relations with, ‘mother cities’: in fact that

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they were not colonies at all. The settlement abroad of Greeks in the eighth
and seventh centuries should be distinguished from the state-organized
emigrations of the classical Greek, and Roman,254 periods. Of the latter it
can generally be said that they envisaged equality of lots at a pre-selected
site, under a named founder sent by the colonizing state, and often reflected
commercial or ‘military and agrarian concerns’ (1998, 252, 254, 268).255 The
foundation stories of archaic Greek colonies, for Osborne, represent later
attempts to account for success, to invent a prestigious and clear-cut past
out of a fuzzy and often unflattering history (1998, 262–8). They are a later
attempt, made for contingent political or cultural motives, to invent a ‘big
bang’ (1998, 265; or a series of such bangs: Clarke 1999, 264–76 on founda-
tion and refoundation in Strabo).
Such an argument, although not the last word (see Wilson 2000 for
further reflections) has a lot to be said for it. Rather than enforce, however,
the distinction between archaic Greek and Roman underpinning Osborne’s
analysis, we might want to steal his clothes, and deconstruct the idea of
dirigiste state-organized colonization for the early and middle Republic.
I have argued above that much of the canonical ritual and ideology (above all
the Capitoline) in which colonization narratives are embedded is probably
not that of the middle Republic, let alone earlier; and that the discourse of
replication has no place at that period. What about stories of founders? It
would be very comforting if, because Festus was an antiquarian, we could
rely on the names he gives for the triumviri who led out the Latin colony
to Saticula (313 bc, Festus 458L; note also Velleius’ information on Setia,
382 bc, 1.14.2). Yet we cannot: Asconius’ confusion over the identity of the
triumviri at Placentia, in a later period, when they ought to have been known,
surely shows as much (Crawford 1995, 188). The possibility remains open
that the aura of state foundations, like canonical lists and definitions and
sizes of colonies, is a retrojection, kitted out with plausible (perhaps correct)
founders’ names, to hide a fuzzier past.
In this paper elements of material culture, and evidence for colonial cults,
have both been examined. They have been found to offer little or no comfort
to ‘Gellian’ or ‘Capitoline’ models of colonization in this period. While we
should reject a relativism which removes the brutal nature of Roman aggres-
sion and conquest, it is nonetheless true that Roman and Latin colonies
adapted and transformed local cults, allowing greater integration with local
populations.256 The nature of the colony, its cults, its senses of identity and its
relations to Rome were different, strikingly so, in the late Republic and early
Empire from those which we can observe for the middle Republic.
When I first heard a report of the paper which became Osborne 1998,
from David Ridgway, it was couched in the form of ‘Osborne telling us not to

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think of archaic Greek colonization as being like Roman colonization’. The

remark is ben trovato if not genuine. As far as the early and middle Republic
are concerned, if we imagine the creation of Roman and Latin colonies as
being less like ‘Roman colonization’ we will be doing rather well.

Acknowledgements
My thanks are due to the editors (and to Anton Powell) for their inexhaustible patience
and helpful suggestions on content and style; to those who commented on the original
paper, especially Michael Crawford, Irad Malkin, Lawrence Keppie and John North;
to those who have helped since, by discussing ideas with me and answering questions:
Lisa Bligh, Matthew Leigh, Stephen Mitchell, Llewelyn Morgan, Robin Osborne, Mara
Pellegrini, Jordi Principal, Andrew Wilson; to Susan Kane for making temple terracottas
interesting; and to Nicholas Purcell, who read the entire piece and made a number of
provocative and penetrating suggestions. None of them, however, are responsible for my
mistakes. All translations are my own unless stated otherwise.

Notes
1
Translation from Beard, North and Price 1998, 2, 241 f.; discussion at Beard, North
and Price 1998, 1, 329 f.
2
See for example, Malkin 1987; 1994; but note Tréziny 1997.
3
On the ‘kit’ and common city-plans of Augustan colonies, and their meaning, see
Vitruvius, De Arch. 1.7.1. See generally Torelli 1988b, 132–47; Mouritsen 1998, 76,
118 (including Latin colonies); Laurence 1999, 150; Zanker 2000, 27 f., 33, 35 f., 40 f.
For Zanker (2000, 26) colonial ‘borrowings’ from Rome may be limited to specific
structures, which are the outward markers of political or institutional activity. As
with political topography, political institutions are also modelled on those of Rome:
Sherwin-White 1973, 117 f. (suggesting that Roman and Latin colonies borrowed from
each other rather than directly from Rome), 413. On Capitolia: Barton 1982, 259–65;
Stambaugh 1988, 247.
4
cinctus Gabinus: Livy 8.9.9, 10.7.3; Servius, ad Aen. 5.755 = Cato F18P; Festus
251L., s.v. ‘procincta classis’ is about fighting not ploughing, and does not mention the
head being covered with the toga; ploughing and first fruits: Varro, LL 5.143, Ov. Fast
4. 820–6, Plut. Rom. 11; burying objects of good omen in the ground: Festus 310, 312
L. A synthesis of these elements is the basis of accounts of foundation ritual in standard
introductions to urbanism, e.g. Stambaugh 1988, 9 n. 2, Torelli 1988b, 141.
5
Stambaugh 1988, 244.
6
e.g. Woolf 1998; papers in Webster and Cooper 1996, Mattingly 1997, Fentress
2000a (esp. Zanker 2000), and Keay and Terrenato 2001 (note Terrenato 2001b on
alternative constructions of the impact of Roman colonial settlement at Pisae and Luna,
esp. 56); on the common characteristics of material culture across the Augustan empire:
MacMullen 2000.
7
Cf. Morris 1994, 10 f., on problems with synchronic accounts of ritual.
8
In a footnote to the passage quoted just above, Stambaugh reveals the flimsiness of
the construct, and the ways in which archaeological and textual evidence are invoked in

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mutual support: ‘No ancient text specifically states that these rituals were conducted at
the founding of colonies, but it seems a safe inference, based on the allusions in ancient
sources to the ritual at the foundation of Rome and the archaeological data from Cosa
and elsewhere’ (1988, 244 n. 2); as we shall see, the interpretation of the archaeological
data is conditioned by the same literary sources which are supposed to provide inde-
pendent confirmation.
9
Wiseman 1995; cf. Erskine 2001, chap. 1, esp. 26–36, on the Trojan myth as unre-
markable and not central to Roman identity before Augustus, who transformed it (contra
Torelli 1999, 165–81).
10
Cf. Rüpke 2001, 101. That late-republican and early imperial focalizations of the
Capitoline Triad did not always overlap is suggested by a comparison of two versions of
a speech attributed to Scipio Africanus before he ascended the Capitol in 187 bc, one in
Valerius Antias (= Gellius NA 4.18.3) and the other in Livy (38.51.7–11): the latter has
Scipio invoke the Capitoline Triad, the former only Iuppiter Optimus Maximus.
11
For the Augustan period see Zanker 2000, 37 f., 39–41, on theatres and amphithea-
tres, and new forms of monumentalization of public space under the Principate.
12
lex coloniae Iuliae Ursonensis (translation from Crawford 1996, I, no. 25), ch. 103.
Sherwin-White perceptively wrote of this text: ‘The citizen colony as the perfect image
and picture of Rome makes its first appearance in our sources at the close of the domina-
tion of Julius Caesar’ (1973, 80). In my view, however, this is not solely a function of the
paucity of our sources for earlier periods, but tells us something about colonization and
its contexts at this period; and what we see here is not simply imitatio Romae (‘imitation
of Rome’), but an attempt to ensure that in a non-veteran colony far from Rome, magis-
trates were obeyed without question in emergencies.
13
For Torelli, 1988b, 131 f., the ‘Romulean’ imaginary of the city is a fourth-century
rationalizing construction, whose basis can be traced back through augural practice to
much earlier times. Note, however, Zanker, 2000, 37, arguing for substantial continuity
in ‘the notion of the urban center as a political symbol’ between the Middle Republic
and Augustus.
14
For a deconstruction of the ‘urban variable’ as a separate category of enquiry (at least
from an ecological point of view), see Horden and Purcell 2000, ch. 4, with 553–61.
15
Cf. the statist position of Coarelli 1992, 21–8. See also Potter 1979, 104; Laurence
1999, 5, 14, 19–26, 79–81, 94, 127, 188, 192, with further perspectives and contextual
nuances (but note 25); ibid. 27, 33, 38, importantly setting colonization in a wider
context of town-foundation; 36, 78 on the gap between the foundation of the colonies
and the building of roads (but note Williams 2001a, 15: the reverse is true of the Via
Aemilia in the second century); and 1999, 120, roads rather than waterways linked the
first Cisalpine colonies; Zanker 2000, 29.
16
 Zanker, 2000, 28 f., has a very statist interpretation of the rationale behind the basic
armature of colonial urbanism. Laurence, 1999, 26, notes how Rome’s main ports were
colonies.
17
One might look in such terms at the impact of the supposed ‘ethnic cleansing’ of the
ager Cosanus in the third century bc, for which see Fentress 2000b, 12 f.
18
See also 189, 212, 219 f., 229, 248, 254, 256, 260 f., 265, 294, 318, 323, 328 f., 334,
582 f., 592–4, 600 on interventions in various environments associated with resettlement
and colonization; 426, 430, 434 f., 436, 457, 627, 631 on religion and colonization; and
344, 347, 348, 349, 352 f., 376, 379, 383, 385, 386, 388, 395–400, 469, 607, 609, 616,

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617, 618, 619, 620 f. on connectivity and colonization. To list individual page references
to colonization here is, however, to ignore the wider context of mobility of all types,
frequencies and intensities, within which the authors locate our phenomenon.
19
pedites and equites: Copia-Thurii (Livy 35.9.7–8, lots of 20 and 40 iugera); Vibo
Valentia (Livy 35.40.5–6, 15 and 30 iugera); Placentia (Asconius p. 3C, 200 hundred
equites out of 6,000). Three property classes: Aquileia: Livy 40.34.2; Bononia: Livy
37.57.7 f.; 40.34.3–4; see Bandelli 1988, 107–9. For a later differential between pedites,
centurions and evocati (veterans called back into service): Caes. BG 1.17. 4. For Salmon,
1969, 15 n. 9, these divisions (and the use of adscribere – Livy 31.49.6 (Venusia, 200
bc), and scribere – Livy 37.47. 2 (Cremona and Placentia, 190 bc) for enrolling colonial
supplements) underline the military nature of the colonies; the other passages cited by
Salmon refer instead to the raising of Latin military forces. As for the ‘military struc-
turing’ of these colonies, if accepted, how far back in time can it be read? The new theory
of differential house-plot size propounded by Fentress (2000b, 15, 18; for a different,
functionalist, interpretation of these data, see Torelli 1988b, 141), on the basis of the
recent excavations in the forum at Cosa, is referred to the second rather than the third
century. It is not even a given that these status divisions ‘simply mapped in an orderly
fashion Rome’s own foundations in rank and order’ (Fentress 2000b, 20). I do not
propose to discuss here the supposed archaic heredium of 2 iugera (accepted, for example,
for historical colonization by Torelli 1988b, 128 f., 148), on which see Drummond 1989,
121, with bibliography there cited.
20
On this see Bernardi 1946; Gabba 1958, 98; 1988, 20 f.
21
See also Oebel 1993, on the distributions of the ager Gallicus.
22
Gabba 1988, also seeing Latin colonies as vehicles for integrating non-Roman
elements (incolae) into Roman-style social structures.
23
On Ostia see now Torelli 1999, 29–31.
24
Crawford 1995.
25
Cf. Salmon 1954. See also Torelli 1988b, 127–32, and from a different perspective,
Gargola 1995.
26
On this passage of Aulus Gellius (NA 16.13.8–9) see Bispham 2000, 157 f.; on its
Hadrianic context, namely of increasing municipalization in the Roman Empire, and the
aspirations of provincial cities to the title of colonia, given by a reluctant Hadrian, see
Sherwin-White 1973, 253, 257, 262 f., 267, 272, 274, 378; and ibid. 362 f., 376, 413 f.
(Hadrian talking about republican or triumviral municipia only).
27
Note especially the appendix to Salmon’s introduction: ‘Cosa: a typical Latin
colony’ (1969, 29–39). On Latin colonies see also Bernardi 1973. For the continuing
importance of Cosa as a type-site for Roman colonization, see Gargola 1995, 83.
28
Fentress 2000b, 11, points out that Brown set out to study Etruscan town planning,
and the wider impact of Rome on urbanism.
29
 Zanker 2000, 35, rightly argues that while this might evoke Roman topography,
the general situation at Cosa is too common in Italy to be ascribed to a ‘Roman’ urban
plan; Lippolis and Baldini Lippolis, 1997, 311, argue that the two possible arces at
Brundisium recall the situation at Alba Fucens, and perhaps Rome too – but Rome had
only one arx!
30
Brown 1980, 11 and fig. 10, 36, 51 f.; 18, 24 f., 33, 41; 22–4, 27 (curia modelled on
the Roman one ‘as one must suppose’), 28 (cf. Varro, LL 5. 155); Scott 1985c, 96; Brown
1980, 31 f. (a ‘rectilinear copy’ of the Roman, 32), Scott 1985c, 96; Brown 1980, 33–6;

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Scott 1985c, 96; Brown 1980, 36 (‘Noting that Rome’s fish market at the time adjoined
one side of its Forum … ’); Scott 1985c, 96; cf. Stambaugh 1988, 258. Torelli adopts
a similar line of argument: the assemblage of public structures at Cosa at the start of the
second century closely matches the typologies of public buildings found in Rome before
the onset of Hellenization, underlining the degree to which Cosa depended on Rome
for its spatial identity and building types (1983, 244–7). On Brown and the comitia of
Cosa and Rome see Fentress 2000b, 22 f.
31
Anachronistic language, but (at the period at which Cosa assumed its monumental
republican form, i.e. the early decades of the second century) colonies very like each other
were being founded as a part of the transformation of Gallia Cisalpina; the creation of
a strikingly uniform and homogeneous ‘provincial landscape’ can in part be explained by
the shared cultural values and habits of the Roman aristocrats who implemented these
changes: Purcell 1990, Williams 2001b, 94–7; a colonial office of the mind, if you like.
32
Cosa remains for Fentress ‘a fundamental source for Roman colonization in the
Republic’ (2000b, 11); cf. Taylor 2002, 60, on the influence of Brown and Richardson’s
work.
33
On Brown’s method, circularity and begging of the question, see Fentress 2000b,
13, and for a fuller review, in the light of new evidence, of Brown’s conclusions about
the atria publica, 2000, 14–20. See also Terrenato 2001b, 65, citing Cosa as one of
half-a-dozen ‘over-played pieces of evidence’ on the homogeneity of ‘Roman’ Italy
– ‘[m]oreover, once the case-studies are fully contextualized, they can be thoroughly
deconstructed and shown to be the exceptions rather than the rule’.
34
Other queries might be made about Brown’s conclusions, for instance on the carcer:
‘Oddly enough, Cosa’s carcer seems to be the only one which has been identified outside
Rome’ (1980, 32), my italics.
35
Note also the alternative interpretation: the post holes were for temporary stage
buildings (Brown 1980, 41, Scott 1985c, 96); and now Mouritsen 2004.
36
NA 16.13.8–9. Sed coloniarum alia necessitudo est; non enim veniunt extrinsecus
in civitatem nec suis radicibus nituntur, sed ex civitate quasi propagatae sunt et iura
instituta­que omnia populi Romani, non sui arbitrii, habent. quae tamen condicio, cum sit
magis obnoxia et minus libera, potior tamen et praestabilior existimatur propter amplitu-
dinem maiestatemque populi Romani, cuius istae coloniae quasi effigies parvae simulac-
raque esse quaedam videntur, et simul quia obscura oblitterataque sunt municipiorum iura,
quibus uti iam per innotitiam non queunt. Zanker 2000, 41, takes Gellius to be speaking
of the maiestas populi Romani, of which the built monumental environment can be seen
as the reification; he takes amplitudinem maiestatemque as the antecedents of cuius, not
of populus Romanus, as I have done (and as Sherwin-White 1973, 413 did). The direction
of attention away from simple physical replication is in any case salutary.
37
Scott 1988, 73; cf. 75, where the early layout of Cosa is described as ‘characteristic
of the Roman inspired organization of the colony’; and Brown 1980, 12, 17: ‘the ancient
ritual of plowing the boundary, however that may have been accomplished on the rocky
hillside, enclosed the town… ’ (my italics); 75: Cosa came down ‘to archaeologists as
the most perfect example of a Roman town in the making during the third and second
centuries bc’, cf. Scott 1985, 95; 1992, 97. See Fentress 2000b, 11, on Brown’s view.
38
Torelli 1988a, 65–72.
39
Torelli 1999, 15: ‘the reconstruction of the religious phenomena in the earlier …  col-
onization has been modelled on the situation prevalent in the latter days of the Republic

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and in imperial times’.

40
Torelli 1988a, 65 f.; Bispham 2000, 157 f.; Torelli 1988b takes a slightly different
view, it seems: he asserts that the rituals described in the traditional synthesis were used
in foundation (127 f.); and that in the case of Roman colonies, the Romulean imaginary
of the fourth century, shaped by and expressed through augural practice, determined the
form of the early colonies as effigies parvae simulacraque (a tendency from the second
century onwards transferred from the urban ensemble to individual buildings, 1988b,
145), but (interestingly) that Latin colonies, while sharing augural practice as a cultural
trait with Rome, were not bound to follow the same archetype, hence their (for Torelli,
Greek-inspired) physical difference from the Roman castrum form.
41
Torelli 1988a, 66.
42
Cf. 1999, 73. For Torelli’s more nuanced view, see below.
43
Salmon 1969.
44
e.g. Salmon 1969, 70; Siculus Flaccus p. 135 L = 102.22–8 Campbell.
45
CIL I2 621 = ILLRP 324. ‘L. Manlius L. f. / Acidinus triu(m)vir / Aquileiae
coloniae / deducundae’ (‘Lucius Manlius Acidinus, son of Lucius, triumvir for leading
out the colony of Aquileia’). This statue base is to be dated not much later than the
foundation of the colony, according to Mommsen (ad CIL). For the foundation (181
bc) see Livy 40.34.3.
46
Crawford 1995.
47
Between three and eight letters are missing according to Clark’s apparatus: Crawford
suggests ‘a.u.c.’ vel sim.
48
Pis. p. 3C.
49
Some forty deductiones are known or confidently surmised. As Crawford has shown,
Salmon’s attempt (1969, 67–9) to salvage Asconius’ credibility, or rather, to damage it
by assuming he had confused the original foundation with the refoundation of 190, will
not work: 1995, 190.
50
1.14–15. For Velleius as interested in Greek colonization and Italian foundation
dates, see Starr 1981, 164; see also Laurence 1999, 169–71.
51
1995, 187.
52
Crawford 1995, 190.
53
1995, 190.
54
Livy 27.9, esp. 2–3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13–14. The complaints were first made in conciliis
(‘in assemblies’) (2); refusal is made to the consuls when Latin legationes (‘embassies’)
arrive in Rome (7); money to pay these troops is also an issue: 7, cf. 14: quae daretur in
stipendium (‘what should be given as pay’). See Nicolet 1985.
55
For an interesting case for including Interamna Nahars as a Latin colony, thus
breaching the canonical number of 30, see Bradley 2000b.
56
Cf. Bispham 2000, 172 on Florus 2.21.12.
57
Appian BC 1.23. Sherwin-White (1973, 116) is wrong to refer Pliny NH 3.30 to
this period. In the Social War Venusia joined the enemy, and Aesernia was captured, but
such a context is less attractive.
58
So too the ideology expressing the closeness of the tie with the Latin colonies, and
their role in keeping up population levels.
59
Sherwin-White (1973, 36) pointed out that Livy also uses coloniae Romanae of Latin
communities at 2.16.8, cf. 9.23.2. I would not use the passage under review as evidence
in his wider argument about Latin colonies. Sherwin-White’s explanation (1973, 99)

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of the term Roman in our case (based on heavy Latin military contributions to Roman
wars) is unconvincing; better to point to what he himself notes elsewhere (1973, 99 f.),
namely that these colonies were Roman foundations and heavily populated by Romans
(as the Senate itself argued); see further 1973, 102–4, 106.
60
Crawford 1995, 190 f. with further discussion, noting Philip V’s estimate of Rome
as founding 70 colonies in his second latter to Larisa (SIG3 543 [= Austin 1981, no. 60]
29–34).
61
Festus 276L (priscae Latinae coloniae appellatae sunt, ut distinguerent a novis, quae
postea a populo dabantur, ‘the old Latin colonies were so called, so that they might be
distinguished from the new ones, which afterwards used to be granted by the people’);
this might reflect another such argument, namely, which were the ‘old Latin colonies’?
Crawford (1995, 191) suggests the early second century as a possible context for the
beginning of a process of ‘normalization’ in the discourse of colonization, at a period
when the relative status of Roman and Latin colonies was being debated, with the
concept of Latinity being stretched in other ways, as with the granting of Latin status to
Carteia in Spain (171 bc, Livy 43.3.1–4).
62
‘[to whichever colonies or] municipia, [or] any equivalents of municipia or colonies
[(there may be) of Roman citizens] or of the Latin name, land [has been] granted by
the people or by a decree of the Senate to exploit, [which land those colonies or those
municipia or any] equivalent of a colony or municipium or municipia (there may be) shall
exploit, which [is] in the trientabula, [whatever of that land ---]’. Text and translation
from Crawford 1996 I, 116 f., 145.
63
I deal with this passage further in Bispham, forthcoming chap. 2.
64
‘Indeed old writers define colonies thus: a colony is a group of those men who were
all led out together into a certain place provided with buildings, which they occupied
with a fixed right. Others (say): a colony is that which is what is called apoikia in Greek;
moreover it was called from ‘colere’ (to till); moreover it is part of the citizenry or allies
sent out, where they hold the state by decree of its citizenry, or by the public intention of
that people from whom they set out. Moreover colonies are those which were founded
through a decree of the people, not through secession.’
65
Note that the ‘Roman’ garrison put into Rhegion in the Pyrrhic War, which went
on to seize the city, was (according to Polybios, 1.7.6–12), imitating the Mamertini,
and numbered 4,000 – a similar size to a Latin colony of these years. In 186 bc some
Transalpine Gauls tried to occupy a site near what would later become Aquileia, oppido
condendo, ‘to found a town’. In response to a Roman embassy, it emerged that the
emigrants were acting without the auctoritas (‘authority’) of the Gallic gens (‘people’),
who had no idea what they were doing in Italy. I think that we must wonder whether the
Gauls really understood the Roman question; in any case, the hegemony of the statist
model of colonization by Livy’s time, and the deprecation of Gallic randomness, are
implicit in the story.
66
‘But colonies are so called for this reason, because the Romans sent settlers into
those municipia [‘towns’], either to keep under control those very former peoples of
the municipia, or to repel the attacks of enemies. Indeed they called all the colonies
‘maritime’, either, in some authors, because the foundations were made by the sea, or,
and this explanation satisfies more authorities, they think that they are called maritime,
for the reason that Italy extends from the Alps into the sea, and faces external enemies
on three sides’.

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67
De Lege Agraria 2.73, where he asserts that the Roman maiores (‘ancestors’) colonias
sic idoneis in locis contra suspicionem periculi collocarunt, ut esse non oppida Italiae,
sed propugnacula imperii viderentur (‘thus placed colonies in suitable places to guard
against suspected danger, such that they should seem to be not towns of Italy, but the
ramparts of the empire’). Cicero has an axe to grind here, and his statement must be
read in its context; cf. Bradley, this vol. Salmon (1969, 56 n. 68) cites the ‘vetus … fama’
(‘old … story’) of Horace Sat. 2.1.35–7, that Venusia was founded to protect Rome from
attack.
68
Morel 1988, 62; Ortalli 2000, 503: the ceramic evidence serves to ‘comprovare i
tenaci legami che la [sc. Ariminum] legavano alla madrepatria’ (‘prove the strong ties
which bound [Ariminum] to the motherland [Rome]’); cf. Fontemaggi and Piolanti
2000, 510: all the pocola show ‘stretti legami con Roma e l’area laziale’ (‘close ties with
Rome and Latium’); Franchi de Bellis 1995, 369.
69
 Zuffa 1962; Susini 1965, 146–51; Coarelli and Morel 1973; Morel 1988, 60;
Franchi de Bellis 1995, 369 (giving a date range of 300–260 bc for the pocula); Giovag-
netti 1995; Ortalli 2000; and Biordi 1995, 430 and fig. 8 for the coin-impressed cup.
70
Sanesi 1978, esp. 75 n. 9; and see Morel 1983, 24 and 1988, 54–7, on some impli-
cations of potters’ signatures; also Hayes 1997, 15–17 on provenance stamps (genuine
and other).
71
Sadly the Ariminate BG under discussion seems either to come from contexts of
random redeposition, probably as rubbish (Fontemaggi and Piolanti 2000, 510–11),
or not to have been recovered together with useful stratigraphic data (Franchi de Bellis
1995, 368), which means we must substitute speculation for contextual interpretation.
72
Bispham 2000, 158.
73
ILS 8567: ‘K. Serponius made this at Cales in the vicus Esquelinus with his (?slaves)’
(this resolution of the two final letters is rejected by Morel 1983, 23 and n. 19, who sees
our potter as possibly a freedman, on grounds unclear to me; he also reads ‘fece(i)’, ‘I
made … ’). On the vase see Pagenstecher 1909, no. 121 and Taf. 13 (find spot uncertain),
Rocco 1953, 5; Mingazzini 1958; Sanesi 1978, 74 n. 3; Morel 1988, 55, 60 f.; Sanesi,
1978, 76 for the date, surely correct.
74
Mingazzini 1958.
75
Sanesi (loc. cit.) sees the vicus as a suburb of Cales, perhaps on the basis of the
locations of known kiln sites.
76
Morel 1988, 60, with previous bibliography; Susini 1965, 150.
77
For the archaic Greek west, shared toponyms are a ‘common colonial strategy’:
Wilson 2000, 39, arguing that they do not prove a link between colony and ‘mother-
city’.
78
Morel 1988, 61 and n. 128.
79
ILLRP 77 (Ariminum) on which see Cicala 1995; ILLRP 169 (Beneventum, also
mentioning praetores – a later addition?), 553 (Beneventum).
80
Cf. Sherwin-White 1973, 99, who includes our colonial consuls among examples of
how ‘the coloniae Latinae appear to imitate Roman institutions with riotous abandon’,
cf. 117, ‘Romanizing tendency’, 229; the colony was ‘the most definitely Roman of all
the … constitutions known to Rome’ (speaking of the Augustan period).
81
Admittedly an argument from silence. We know too little of the magistracies of
Aesernia (founded 263 bc; ILLRP 526: II vir; 527: ‘pr(aetor)’?) and Firmum Picenum
(264 bc; ILLRP 593–4) to exclude a repetition of the experiment there.

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82
ILLRP 169 (Beneventum), to judge from its spelling, is a second-century text. The
title may have endured for two or three generations. Interestingly, this is the timescale on
which ideological and institutional change operates, and it is at this level, what Braudel
called ‘social time’ (1972, 20 f.), rather than that of histoire événementielle, that we should
be looking to understand this change. A parallel might be the introduction of new tribal
names at Sikyon by the tyrant Kleisthenes, which despite being (to Herodotus at least)
offensive and anti-Dorian, endured for sixty years (= two generations?) after Kleisthenes’
death in c. 570 (Hdt. 5.68): the change and its longevity must be explained in terms of
evolving mentalités as much as snap decisions by individual reformers. For one critique
(among many) of Braudel see Horden and Purcell 2000, 36–9; for an application of
Braudelian approaches to archaeological analysis, see Barker 1995, 1–11; and Morris
1998, 69–79 (arguing for a methodology where archaeology and literature, social and
individual timescales, illuminate each other).
83
It is true that Beneventum was isolated politically from Roman territory, a Latin
island in a sea of socii (allies); her two main communication routes to Campania ran
through Samnite territory. The mass of Monte Taburno is also a psychological and
physical barrier of the first order.
84
See Guidobaldi 1988, 125 f., on the relative popularity of Roman and Latin colonies
in the late fourth and early third centuries, and change in the perception of Roman
colonies (or rather Roman citizenship through colonization) by the early second century.
Viritane assignations should be factored into this equation.
85
Torelli 1999, 44.
86
See Sherwin-White 1973, 205–14, for the suggestion of a model different from
that adopted here.
87
See Mommsen 1887, 623–5; Bernardi 1946, followed by Bandelli 1988, 112
(guarantee of wider commercium [right to make legally binding business deals with
Romans] and ius suffragii [right to vote]); Salmon 1969, 92–4; Sherwin-White 1973,
102–4 (against the creation of a new type of Latinity, with doxography), 109; De
Martino 1972–5 II, 99–102, Galsterer 1995; Torelli 1988b, 144, Torelli 1999, 44.
Contra Coarelli 1985–7, followed by Bandelli 1988, 112: if Luca is counted as a Latin
colony, then the identification of the XII colonies gets complicated.
88
Galsterer, 1976, 122 sees this change as one to modern institutional titulature from
one which was perceived as anachronistic.
89
On Italy see Williams 2001a, 128 f.; on the painting of Italia in the temple of Tellus,
see Wiseman 1986, 91; and on Ariminum and Beneventum see Purcell 1990, 10; also
Bispham forthcoming, chap. 1.
90
Liv. 24.44.3, 28.38.13; note also Pomponius Mela 2.4, calling Ariminum a terminus
(boundary-stone) between Gallic and Italian peoples. See Amat-Seguin 1986, 100;
Oebel 1993, 129 f.; Brizzi 1995; Ortalli 1995; Tramonti 1995; Williams 2001a, 133.
91
Bispham 2000, 158 n. 5. This epigraphic evidence is all imperial. The Puteolan
material seems to reflect an Augustan reorganization of the colony, although individual
place names may be Republican. It was unknown to Mommsen, who nevertheless
suggested that the Ariminate toponyms should be associated with the foundation of the
Colonia Augusta Ariminensis (CIL XI p. 76). This remains an attractive hypothesis, and
it may be that overall the regional nomenclature known from Ariminum is Augustan,
incorporating some or none of the earlier names (Sanesi 1978, 76 n. 15 raises the same
possibility for Cales). Note the third-century BG poculum sherds from Ariminum,

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mentioning ‘PAGE FID’ (Susini 1965, 150, no. 6); ‘VEICI’ (on which see Franchi de
Bellis 1995, Tav. II, Fontemaggi and Piolanti 2000, 510, no. 180b); and ‘PA’ (all illus-
trated at Susini 1965, pl. 4); Susini (1965, 150 f.) thinks of a pagus Fidenas, recalling
Fidenate colonists, linked to the clientela of the Livii, who played a major role in the
conquest of Picenum; judgement is best suspended.
92
Morel 1988, 62 f.
93
Morel 1988, 62, applying the same criticism to the idea of the ‘Etrusco-Latio-
Campanian koine’ often invoked by scholars, with or without Magna Graecia included:
‘cela n’est exact qu’en gros, dans la mesure où l’Italie est une province de l’hellénisme’
(‘that is only exact in broad terms, to the extent to which Italy is a province of
Hellenism’).
94
Torelli 1999, 3 f. for very brief overview, with bibliography.
95
For the third-century situation, see Bandelli 1988, 105 f. In the second century
Polybios normally uses Ariminum as his reference for the southernmost point of the
Cisalpine plain (3.61.11, 86.2; but not in book 2: see Williams 2001a, 62–4).
96
Sanesi 1978, 77.
97
On Luceria see Torelli 1999, 92 f., 95, 172 (on Latin moulds for terracottas), and
124; and for the Lucerian votive deposit of the Belvedere: Comella 1981; Strazzulla
1981; 1987: 16 f.; D’ Ercole 1990; and De Cazanove 2000, for the wider phenom-
enon.
98
On the poverty of our knowledge of Samnite and Latin Beneventum, see
Giampaola 1991, 123; one remarkable piece of artistic production is a terracotta head
of Minerva, from an antefix, dating between the late-third and mid-second century bc;
it was discovered in a context of redeposition, but probably comes from a major temple
in the colony, possibly on the arx (Giampaola 1991, 127 f. and figs. 6 and 7, Giampaola
2000, 36).
99
Morel 1988, 50; personal inspection of the ceramic material displayed in the Museo
Archeologico in Brindisi in August 2001 noted a predominance of ‘Apulian’ red-figure
and ‘Gnathian’ ware vases, both of which continue into the third century. Admittedly
such displays may not be representative of the whole collection, and plain BG is less
aesthetically pleasing. As for Beneventum, Morel 1991, 189–91, makes no mention of
Beneventane BG production in his survey of fine wares from Samnium.
100
Morel 1988, 62.
101
Equally a Roman identity ‘constructed’ out of heterogeneity is possible: for such
post-eventum constructions in the invented traditions of archaic Greek colonies, with
one mother-city and a single oikist evoked from the ashes of past conflict and confusion,
see Horden and Purcell 2000, 397; Osborne 1998, Wilson 2000. Cases like Zankle
(colonized by pirates from Cumae, then again by men from Chalkis and other Euboians,
with two oikists: Thuc. 6.4.5), and Himera (Chalkidian and Syrakusan colonists, three
oikists, a dialect ‘mixed between the Chalkidian and the Dorian’, but Chalkidian
institutions: Thuc. 6.5.1) were probably more common than our (often late) sanitized
traditions allow.
102
See Morel 1988, 57, with further bibliography.
103
Bandelli 1988, 109 f.: Liburnius, Maecius, Manlius, Obulcius, Octavius, Ovius,
Roscius, Vettius and Sabinus. On his reading, none of these need be names of Roman
emigrant families; only Maecii and Manlii are probable. Bandelli’s interpretation, while
important as a corrective to Romanocentric assumptions, simply pushes the problems of

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origins back another step: if we find Ovii at Fregellae and Venusia and Capua, how are
we to say that they are indigenous to all or any of those regions, rather than products of
earlier immigration? Furthermore, high elite mobility might be warping our picture of
the overall ethnic composition of the colonial body. Nor do we know when many of these
families arrived at Ariminum. Even the Ariminate BG poculum with ‘Q. Oui’ scratched
on it, although once thought to be third century (Susini 1965, 146) has been downdated
to the second century by Fontemaggi and Piolanti (2000, 510 f., fig. 180d); on the
Ariminate Ovii see also the stimulating discussion of Donati 1995. For a pre-existing
indigenous settlement from the fourth century (as at Alba Fucens and Brundisium) in
what was later the northern part of Ariminum, see Ortalli 2000, 501. Presumably this
was razed, and some inhabitants incorporated in the colony: see Bradley 2000a, 133 f.
On the ethnic heterogeneity of colonial populations, and its basis in Mediterranean
mobility, see Horden and Purcell, 2000, 395–400, esp. 396 f. Latin colonial names as
later arrivals: Torelli 1983, 246, on the Roman ‘destructuring’ of conquered areas in
S. Etruria in the second century bc, which manifests itself partly through the intrusion
of Roman and Latin names and individuals into local society; not all of these intrusions
are owed to colonization.
104
Third-century organization into vici (whatever exactly these are) is attested by
painted inscriptions on Ariminate BG pottery: see n. 91 above; and Fontemaggi and
Piolanti 2000, 510 f., fig. 180b, interpreting ‘veici’ as a collective nominative signifying
the dedicators, not a genitive.
105
Sanesi 1978, 77, cf. 76.
106
Torelli 1999, 52, discussing the abandonment of most Greek and Lucanian rural
sanctuaries in the territory of Paestum after the foundation of the colony, extrapolates
a general trend for Latin colonies. But see Crawford, this volume.
107
Torelli 1999, 48.
108
For an interpretation of the urbanism of Latin colonies as very traditional, Torelli
1983, 245.
109
 Zanker 2000, 35 is rightly cautious in the case of Latin colonies, denying that we
can talk of a ‘specifically ‘Roman’ urban plan’, however much that urban plan might
recall Rome (which I shall argue that it did not).
110
So, recently, Zanker 2000, 27, 35. As I have argued regarding Ostia (Bispham
2000), the presence of a Capitolium from an early period is simply an assumption, and
I think that there is no better evidence for one at any other mid-republican site (Zanker
2000, 33, has an interesting qualification: ‘the central location of the principal sanctuary
(often the Capitolium)’ – my italics). Other ‘givens’ for Zanker, including the last two of
his three ‘important features’ of Roman colonies (2000, 27), seem to me likewise to rest
on inference and assumption: if we cannot prove an early Capitoline phase, we cannot
argue that colonial Capitolia were central places along the principal axis of communica-
tion or that they dominated proto-fora; and whether ‘political rights’ could be exercised
in the colony or not depends entirely on one’s definition of those rights. Perhaps it is
better to say that such rights could also be exercised at Rome, as far as they concerned
the res publica (state).
111
Luna: see below. Conversion of the Pompeian temple of Iuppiter: Barton 1982,
261 f., 1995, 75, Zanker 1998, 63–5. See Barton 1982, 262–6 for a list of known Italian
Capitolia; that at Liternum (attested epigraphically) might date to the foundation of the
colony in 194 bc (De Caro and Greco 1981, 91, Barton 1982, 265); and that at Faesulae

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(CIL XI 1545) might be Sullan. Note also the conversion, in the Augustan period, of the
temple of Iuppiter Flazios at Cumae to a Capitolium (no accompanying colonization:
Barton 1982, 265).
112
Bispham 2000, esp. 162–4, 174 f.
113
Torelli 1999, 53, 56, 72 on Iuppiter and Minerva at Paestum; 63–5 on Herakles
/Hercules; 93–7 on Athena Ilias and Trojan Venus. Diversity: Torelli 1988a, 68–72,
esp. 71–2. Innovation is also present in colonial religion: Torelli 1999, 29, 31 f., and esp.
93–7 on the Roman adaptation of the local myth of Diomedes, above all in Daunia,
with bibliography there cited. See also Torelli 1999, 128 f. for the lack of ‘traditional’
Latin-style terracottas at Paestum, suggesting a restriction of ‘cultural choices’ among the
colonists, despite the considerable changes which they introduced.
114
For a different reading of the Roman colony as substitutive and not integrative, see
Coarelli 1992, 25 f., citing the cult of Marica at Minturnae.
115
Cf. Torelli 1999, 65–71: the (over-ingenious) identification of an ‘Aventine slope’
complex around the piscina publica (‘public pool’) at Paestum, involving Venus Verti-
cordia, Fortuna Virilis and Mens. The addition of a Forum Boarium / Forum Holitorium
analogue (the temples of Aesculapius and Magna Mater: 1999, 57–65) seems to me to
be a further step away from plausibility. On plebeian associations of Iuppiter Libertas
and pagi, cf. Susini 1965.
116
For bibliography and brief discussion of this ware see Bispham 2000, 167; add now
Stanco 1994, 21–6, with Tavv. 1–7.
117
It is difficult to reconcile Brown’s 1980 description of Deposit A, and the material
from it dedicated to Hercules, with the much earlier discussion of the pottery (Taylor
1957). The significant pieces in the latter’s catalogue, which is almost exclusively
concerned with vessel shapes, are A21C, with an ‘H’ painted on it (= CIL I2 3584a),
A38, which reads ‘pocolom’ (the deity’s name is lost); and perhaps A1.
118
On Brown’s interpretation, and his underlying concerns, see Fentress 2000b, 23 f.
119
Brown 1980, 16 f. (and see section 1), Gargola 1995, 75. For Torelli 1988b, 128
‘erano rigorosamente seguite tutte le relative pratiche augurali’ (‘all the pertinent augural
practices were scrupulously followed’, my italics), listing the usual set of rituals, and using
the example of Cosa.
120
Taylor 2002, 80 sees this assemblage as an ordinary votive deposit, not commenting
on the date. Other supposed ‘mundi’, equally problematic, both in Latium: Artena (see
Lambrechts 1996, with reviews by Bispham, CR 1999, 306 f., and Morel 1999) and
Norba (Torelli 1988b, 134).
121
See also Scott 1988, 75 f., Stambaugh 1988, 255.
122
Including sima and cresting decoration: Scott, 1992, 94 (but see ibid. for two heads
of figures possibly from beam-end decorations from this series). Illustrations: Brown,
Richardson and Richardson, 1960, Pls. XVI–XXII, esp. XVIII for the antefixes; note
that some of the pieces attributed to the third century temple at 1960, 312–23, cannot
belong to it.
123
Even Taylor, who in a recent article casts doubt on the thesis that the variety of
terracottas on the arx (some of which might be domestic) necessarily entails a third-
century temple, admits that some of the terracottas sealed in construction contexts of
the ‘Capitolium’ might be from a third-century building (2002, 70 f.).
124
Scott 1992, 91 f., on the story and proposed locations of the temple, with Tav. II
(not enormously convincing); Brown 1980, 25; Stambaugh 1988, 258.

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125
Taylor is disposed, on the basis of his restudy of the terracottas, to remove the first
temple, i.e. the ‘temple of Iuppiter’, from the Cosan story completely. Yet all he has done
is move it.
126
Strazzulla 1977, 42 f., 1985, 98 f., is broadly critical of the excavators’ datings of all
the temple terracottas, arguing that some restoration work is as late as the first century
bc; for a more searching critique of Richardson’s dating of the terracotta series and the
art-historical principles of seriation underlying it, see Taylor 2002, esp. 61–70, 72 f.,
80.
127
Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 156 f. For Campanian terracottas as
a distinct tradition from the Etrusco-Italic: Koch 1912; papers in Bonghi 1990, focused
on Campania despite the title; Torelli 1999, 122; Minturnae as the boundary between
the predominant distributions of the two types: Torelli 1999, 128.
128
See also Richardson’s comment at Fentress 2000b, 13 n. 14.
129
Brown 1980, 26; Scott 1992, 92; Stambaugh 1988, 258.
130
Iuppiter Latiaris would be appropriate for worship in a high place like the Cosan
arx, given the location of his Latin sanctuary on Monte Cavo.
131
Scott 1992, 95 refers to ‘Hercules and Minerva/Roma’; loc. cit. for other antefix
fragments possibly belonging to the first temple: Silenus, a Maenad and a satyr. Some
antefixes (or at least the old moulds) reused on the new temple, others broken and used
as construction make-up: Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 154–7.
132
Taylor argues that Iuppiter’s paternity of both makes for ‘a tenuous identification
[sc. of Iuppiter as the deity of the first temple] given the promiscuous use of Hercules and
Minerva imagery throughout Italy in a wide variety of contexts’ (2002, 66).
133
The excavation of the area around the ‘Capitolium’ seems to have recognized only
two broad strata representing ancient deposition, cut by Medieval tombs (Brown, Rich-
ardson and Richardson 1960, 20–2, 206, Pl. LXX. 2); a third burnt stratum represented
the supposed collapse of the temple of Iuppiter. It would seem difficult to insist, on such
a crude stratigraphic basis, that the deposition in level I of terracottas originally from
the first temple (Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 151–7) represents material
which had collapsed from a secondary installation as functioning antefixes for the ‘Capi-
tolium’; see Scott 1992, 94 and Taylor 2002, 65, 73–7 for problems with the excavators’
stratification of the deposits on the arx.
134
Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 19 f., 208 f.; Brown 1980, 55; cf. Straz-
zulla 1985, 98, 99, who also talks (99) of ‘una tendenza … tipica della situazione cosana,
alla conservatività’ (‘a tendency … typical of the Cosan situation, toward conservatism’);
and Taylor 2002, 65.
135
On the phenomenon, see Glinister 2000.
136
Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 208 f., note that two types of clay fabric
are found in Hercules and Minerva antefixes associated with re-use on the ‘Capitolium’:
B seems to be associated with new production from old moulds, and A is ‘similar’ to,
but therefore, importantly, not the same as, those of antefixes from the third-century
temple.
137
Strazzulla 1985, 100, seems to think in terms of ideological continuity between
the two temples.
138
For earlier estimates of the date see Brown 1980, 47; Scott 1985b, 95, cf. Strazzulla
1985, 99. The porch and pronaos of the temple may have been remodelled shortly after
the ‘Capitolium’ was completed (Scott 1992, 97 f.), but see the doubts of Taylor, 2002,

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67 f., lowering the construction date to 170–160 bc, and arguing for a reconstruction
in the first quarter of the first century bc Scott, 1992, 94 f. suggests that both temples
D and B (in the forum) date to the first quarter of the second century, and are almost
contemporary with each other.
139
Brown 1980, 48 (especially the plaques above the columns; for him the antefixes,
sima and cresting have more affinity to ‘Etruscan’ types already used in the colony); Scott
1992, 94 f.: the decoration of temple D and temple B is stylistically related.
140
Brown 1980, 47–9: a frieze with dolphins and sea monsters, cf. Scott 1985b, 95:
the sea view, and three inscribed statuette bases from the arx; Torelli 1999, 62. The terra-
cotta pedimental decoration would allow Mater Matuta, but anatomical terracottas also
discovered are neutral. See Scott 1988, 76; Brown 1980, 49. Strazzulla, 1985, 98, charac-
terizes the attribution to Mater Matuta as made ‘sulla base di indizi piuttosto tenui’ (‘on
the basis of rather slender indications’); cf. Torelli 1999, 39 f.: alternatives of Fortuna and
Victoria (Torelli 1988b, 141, offered Iuno; ibid. for a Brownian summary of the Cosan
temples). On the cult of Mater Matuta, especially in Latium, Smith 2000.
141
Portunus: Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 142–7, 204 f., 330–2. Dated
c. 170 bc: Brown 1980, 49; cf. Brown and Scott 1985, 101; Stambaugh 1988, 258.
142
On the date see Scott, 1992, 96, discussing the evidence of coins sealed in various
construction phases of the building, suggesting that it was finished after 175 bc, but
before 150; cf. ibid. 97 (pedimental decoration may belong to the first half of the
century); Brown 1980, 51; Scott 1985b, 95, 1988, 76 (finished c. 160 bc); Strazzulla
1985, 98: mid-century, cf. now Taylor 2002, 61, 68. On the building itself see Brown,
Richardson and Richardson 1960, 48–109, 126–40; Brown 1980, 52–6; Taylor 2002,
68–77. Strazzulla, 1985, 98 f. stresses the temple’s size: it is one of the most significant
religious structures in the region.
143
At times Scott refers to the ‘Capitolium’ (1988, 75, 76, 77), but elsewhere to the
‘Capitolium-type’ (76). Torelli too (1999, 39) calls it both ‘most likely the Capitolium’,
and (1999, 56 n. 81) the ‘so-called Capitolium’; cf. Stambaugh 1988, 258 f. Taylor
(2002) refers to the Capitolium throughout.
144
e.g. Gargola 1995, 83; Barton 1995, 70, in a standard text-book, writes ‘the Capi-
tolium … has the expected triple cella’.
145
Brown cites Shoe 1965 in support of his argument on the mouldings: Shoe,
1965, 134, does indeed talk of the evocation of the Roman Capitolium by the podium
mouldings from the Cosan ‘Capitolium’, but this is nonsensical. Shoe herself (1965,
22) notes that we have no evidence for the appearance of the former. More significant,
but ignored by Brown, is her assertion that the Cosan mouldings recall those from the
Casalinaccio temple at the Latin colony of Ardea (1965, 83, 88).
146
A fragment showing a ferculum, a stretcher for a religious procession, has been
generally associated with this temple rather than temple D. Torelli 1999, 132 f., recon-
structs the pedimental group as showing a sacrifice in front of a divinity ( Jupiter or
Mars) celebrated at the end of the triumph, the ferculum being consistent with a pompa
triumphalis (‘triumphal procession’). For him this is an example of Latin ‘triumphal art’,
celebrating victories won by Latin allies in Rome’s wars (celebrated in local pompae). This
is rather speculative, although the unusual triple arch, monumentalizing one entrance to
the forum, with its modern concrete construction, looks very much to Roman models
and may be significant (Brown 1980, 42 f., 44; for the date (c. 170 bc): Scott 1985c, 96);
compare the representations of military success in Asia reproduced in an elite domus at

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Fregellae (Coarelli 1987, 130).

147
On the terracottas associated with this temple, see also Brown, Richardson and
Richardson 1960, 89 f., 206–84, 332–69, figs. 25–32; Strazzulla 1977, 41 f. More
recently discovered terracotta fragments compatible with this temple include a female
figure, the heads of a young man, and a bearded older man, and a female head: Scott
1992, 96 f., Tavv. VIIb, VIII, IXa and b. For the terracottas ascribed to this temple (old-
fashioned antefixes apart) as attuned to innovative second-century stylistic developments
in Latium and in other colonial contexts, and the possible use of Roman craftsmen:
Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 206–31, 332–69; Strazzulla 1985, 98 f.
148
Brown himself noted, 1980, 56, the abnormality of a Capitolium in a Latin context,
but sought to explain it in the light of Rome’s recent reinforcement of the colony: as we
shall see this date and context are significant.
149
Colonna 1989, 428 f., suggesting that this form of temple design is rather old, and
that its ultimate origins should be sought not in religious architecture, but in the earliest
atrium-houses. The Capitoline heresy runs deep and wide: the principal temple on the
main arx at Brundisium has been thought to be to the Capitoline cult (Lippolis and
Baldini Lippolis 1997, 314); the only reason for this seems to be a dedication on the
base of an imperial column on the waterfront to Iuppiter Optimus Maximus. Ardea and
Cosa: Shoe 1965, 83, 88.
150
Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 369–72; CB 679/680, CB 482/CC
877 on Argive Hercules. See also Scott 1988, 75, 1992, 93 on the Portus Herculis below
Monte Argentario; cf. Brown 1980, 56. Brown and Scott 1985, 101, suggest that the
early colony used the Portus Herculis with the Portus Cosanus coming into use only
later.
151
Scott 1988, 76.
152
The identification as Ganymede is not certain, however. Note also the three-cella
temple of Iuno Curitis at Falerii Veteres (Potter 1979, 100).
153
Despite Brown, Richardson and Richardson 1960, 22. Scott 1992, 93, notes the
presence of Minerva on third-century Roman coins, adding the possibility that the
Cosan Minerva might even be Roma. For him, the pairing of Minerva and Hercules
symbolizes the fusion of Roman and Latin.
154
Terracotta fragments of sows from temple B in the Forum used to be thought of
as deriving from copies of the Latin scrofa Laurentina (‘Laurentine sow’), and thus to
symbolize the Latin identity of the colony (Brown 1980, 31; Torelli 1999, 41). It has,
however, recently been suggested that the pigs belong to a different iconographic scheme
(see below). Torelli’s idea that the Latinity of Cosa was stressed as a counterpoint to
resentful Etruscan populations nearby is interesting.
155
See von Vaccano and von Freytag-Löringhoff 1982, 61–3, figs. 62–5; the Minerva
in fig. 63 has a torc, but in fig. 64 (a repair?) does not. The Hercules and Minerva
antefixes seem to have been replaced in c. 150 bc with new ones representing Bacchus
and Ariadne (von Vaccano and von Freytag-Löringhoff 1982, 67 f.).
156
Massa-Pairault 1985a, 119, 1985b, 139; contra von Freytag-Löringhoff 1992,
73. On the dating and interpretation of the various phases of terracottas see now von
Freytag-Löringhoff 1992, esp. 71 f.
157
1992. Minerva may have relevant Etruscan connections, and thus facilitate integra-
tion between colonists and indigenous inhabitants in this part of Italy: Group C of the
pedimental terracottas from the ‘Grande Tempio’ (large temple) at Luna has a female

140
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figure with an aegis across one shoulder, a torc around the neck, and the right breast bare
(Strazzulla 1992, 172, 174, Tav. IVa). Strazzulla herself suggests that the female figure
may be the wife of Telephus (1992, 178 f.); although Minerva is never bare-breasted, and
the aegis is not unique to her (appearing on images of Alexander on the early coin issues
of the Diadochoi), I find this interpretation less persuasive than the view that this may
be a local, Lunese, Minerva (1992, 174 f., 181). Telephus may be a vehicle for integra-
tion at Luna: Strazzulla 1992, 181–3, notes that he was in some versions the ancestor
of both Romans and Etruscans (Plut. Rom. 2, Lykophron Alex. 1242–5); she also draws
attention to the depiction of the Etruscan demon Vanth in a pedimental group from
the ‘Grande Tempio’, and argues that the temple’s decoration offered a shared language
open to Etruscan interlocutors, stressing the common descent and common enemies of
Romans and Etruscans, using ‘toni profondamente radicati nella più antica tradizione
locale’ (‘tones deeply rooted in the most ancient local tradition’). Terrenato 2001b, 61
(cf. 65) concludes from funerary epigraphy from Luna that there was a ‘massive and early
appearance of foreign elements, which should undoubtedly be linked with the creation
of the colony’.
158
On Hercle, the Etruscan counterpart of Herakles: Bayet 1926; Mastrocinque 1993.
Mastroncinque notes the labour of Hercle which appears in the fictile decoration of the
Minerva temple at Portonaccio at Veii (1993, 58).
159
Colonna 1985.
160
For the new temple on the eastern height, see Fentress 2000b, 14, with bibliog-
raphy; Taylor 2002, 80, cautious about the identification as a temple.
161
Proposed dates: early second century, finished towards 175 bc: Brown 1980, 38 f.;
Scott 1985c, 97: 150 bc; 1992, 95: first quarter of the century, not necessarily later than
Temple D; Taylor 2002, c. 175 bc.
162
On the terracottas from this temple, see also Strazzulla 1985, 99.
163
Torelli 1999, 39 f. (unconvincing on Camillus and the Cosan curia). See also Brown
1980, 31.
164
See Taylor 2002, 61 for the limited number of certain third-century structures at
Cosa; 2002, 69 for a pessimistic assessment of the early urban centre.
165
Scott 1988, 76 and n. 23.
166
Scott 1988, 76.
167
Torelli 1983, 243–5; the technique first used at Cosa from the middle of the second
century: ibid. 247.
168
Note that her figs. 100 and 96 should be reversed.
169
The name may have Latin overtones, recalling the Mons Albanus and Alba Longa
in Latium (Fucens being an epichoric adjective, distinguishing the two Albae). Torelli,
noting this (1999, 32 n. 142, 34 f., cf. Torelli 1988b, 135), suggests that ‘Albsi patre’ on
a bronze lamina found at Alba (ILLRP 42) refers to Iuppiter Latiaris, and is an example
of the Latinity of the cult activity of the colony; the parallels cited by Degrassi ad loc.
seem against such an interpretation, although it is impossible to exclude categorically
such ideological intertexts. It then becomes important to ask whether Pater Albensis
was not a local deity.
170
The pre-colonial wall trace: Mertens 1988, 101, cf. Liberatore 2001, 189; the walls
of the colony are its oldest feature, certainly post 300 bc. Third-century structures: the
comitium (perhaps very early in its first phase: Liberatore 2001, 190, 192, cf. Torelli
1988b, 136), an unpaved forum, a sacred area, as well as the orthogonal plan of the

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Edward Bispham

settlement and its internal terracing (and possibly the sewers). Commercial and artisan
activity can be postulated for the same period: note fourth- and third- century domestic
ceramics from wells and other deposits under the basilica (walls there may also be from
domestic structures): Liberatore 2001, 190 (although with the dangerous suggestion
of atria publica in this area). See generally Mertens 1988, 95 f. (note late fourth- or
early third-century Romano-Campanian coin), also 87, 90, 91, 101; Liberatore 2001,
190, 194–6. A cut across an internal terrace wall produced petites estampilles ceramics,
suggesting a date in the first half of the third century: Mertens 1988, 91–3; a coin of
Canusium dating to c. 300 was found in levelling material (brought from elsewhere)
in the forum (Mertens 1988, 94) pointing to the same conclusion; note the volume of
redeposited material from the first half of the third century: Mertens 1988, 101.
171
Note especially the antefix fragments found in the fill behind the polygonal
terracing wall under the basilica: Mertens 1988, 95 f.
172
Mertens 1988, 91.
173
Mertens 1988, 90; Livy 9.45.17. As Mertens points out, it is unlikely that the
Romans were the first to recognize the strategic potential of the site; see now Liberatore
2001, 186 f., 196 no. 9. Contra Torelli 1999, 32.
174
An indigenous temple might have stood on the highest of the three summits
around the plateau of Alba, now occupied by the abandoned village of Alba Vecchia.
Since this remains unexplored archaeologically, an important component of the colony’s
religious topography is lost to us. Mertens 1988, 97, suggests that this part of Alba, as the
arx, had its own wall circuit. Torelli (1999, 34 f.) argues that the temple of Pater Albensis
stood here; on the identification of this god, see n. 169 above.
175
Mertens 1988, 101.
176
The hilltop sanctuaries seem to be later; the preponderance of religious sites on high
ground, as against down in the centre of the colony, is striking (Torelli 1999, 35, noting
that there seems to have been no sacred building in the forum, a phenomenon which he
compares with the situation at Cosa and Paestum in the third century).
177
Mertens 1988, 104.
178
Early evidence from area of Hercules sacellum: Mertens 1988, 95; Liberatore
2001, 192. Torelli 1999, 35 mentions a bronze club as well. Note also two cups bearing
dedications to Hercules from foundation horizons at Porta di Massa (Liberatore 2001,
189 and fig. 8).
179
Now thought more likely to belong firmly to the third century, rather than being
late-third or early-second century: Mertens 1988, 95.
180
Mertens 1988, 98. The temple of S. Pietro faces out over the southern entrance to
the city and the Fucine basin.
181
Note, however, that Hercules seems rarely, if at all, to have shared his own sanctu-
aries with other deities, while he is often found in theirs: van Wonterghem 1992, 325.
182
It was, unlike the arx at Cosa, most unsuited to augural activity owing to the
obstructed lines of sight imposed by the topography of the site. This is not to say that
there was not some sort of augural platform in Alba Vecchia.
183
Mertens, 1988, 104, noting also (100) the presence of material suggesting commer-
cial relations with Campania and Apulia, especially in the first half of the third century.
On transhumance: van Wonterghem 1973; Corbier 1991; van Wonterghem 1992,
321 f., 327 f., 330 f. (on Hercules at Alba Fucens and its territory); Torelli 1993, 105–17;
Torelli 1999, 35 f. Torelli 1999, 35–9, links the forum pecuarium to the transhumance

142
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system running from Marsic territory to Latium along the Via Valeria, with interesting
comparisons with Samnium.
184
On salt, and the vital circulation of coastal salt in upland central Italy, see Torelli
1993, 1999, 36 n. 164; Bispham 2000, 160.
185
S. Pietro seems to be a third-century construction (Mertens 1969; Mertens, 1988,
98 f.; for the architectural terracottas, including plaques and potnia theron antefixes from
an as yet unlocated third temple: Barreca 1952, 234–6, Strazzulla 1981, 206, no. 28;
Torelli 1999, 126. Torelli (1999, 32 f., cf. Torelli 1988b, 135, Susini 1965, 148), plausibly
identifies the deity of S. Pietro as an Apollo similar to the Roman Apollo Medicus, on the
basis of a graffito reading ‘Apollinar’ from the temple, dating S. Pietro and Pettorino to
the first years of the third century. The pairs advanced by Torelli as possible occupants of
the Pettorino temple (1999, 34, cf. Torelli 1998b, 135) are speculative. The rare double
cella might lead us to suspect that an indigenous cult was being perpetuated here, in one
or both cases, under a Roman or Latin guise.
186
Susini 1965, 146 f. on Vesuinus, a possible theonym on a third-century BG
poculum.
187
Morel 1988, 57–60.
188
Morel 1988, 57 and n. 85, 58 f.; see Mangani 1973, 70 and Tav. XIII; also Stanco
1994, 24 and Tav. 6, 24–7, dating the type to c. 240–220 bc.
189
Morel 1988, 58.
190
Spanish example: Principal-Ponce 1998.
191
Morel 1988, 58 for initial characterization; for more recent work Pedroni 1992,
Principal-Ponce 1998; for the connection of this group, which enjoyed a limited distribu­
tion, with cultic dedications to Hercules, see Pedroni 1992, 584–8, Principal-Ponce
1998, 235, 237 f.
192
For the Ariminate material see Susini 1965, 147 and fig. 3; also Fontemaggi and
Piolanti 2000, 510 f., fig. 180 a–c, for discussion and images of some fragments of these
vessels. On the more unusual abbreviations, see Morel 1988, 58 f., suggesting that ‘HC’
at Ariminum may stand for Hercules Custos (for other possible resolutions see Susini
1965, 147, Franchi De Bellis 1995, 373), while at Paestum ‘HP’ and ‘HPA’ may stand
for ΗΡΗ, i.e. Hera.
193
Morel 1988, 58 f., cf. Principal-Ponce 1998, 237–9, amplifying Morel’s argument.
194
See further Susini 1965, 146; and 151 f. on Feronia’s popularity in NE Roman Italy,
linked to Apollo but also to liberti.
195
‘C. Manlios son of Ac[----]? / consul / on behalf of / the people / of Ariminum’. See
Cicala 1995; her relation of the text to the Gallic incursion of 236 bc is very attract­ive;
while she is correct to stress the communal aspect of the dedication, I am not sure that
a strong military sense can be read into the stress on the Ariminate populus in this text
(1995, 362 f.).
196
Diana is, of course, not named in the text, but one other example from the ‘Diana
assemblage’ from Nemi (ILLRP 75) is a dedication without a named dedicatee, which
nevertheless, made as it was by C. Aurelius, cos. 200, during his second praetorship
(201), is surely to the chief divinity of the place, Diana. For activity by a colonial consul
on behalf of the colony, compare ILLRP 169, from Beneventum, a dedication by
C. Falcilius L. f. ‘consol’, to (the significantly-named) Iuno Quiritis.
197
The nature and origin of this text, now lost, are obscure: Cicala 1995, 359. Susini
1965, 148, adds CIL XIV 4269 to the Diana dossier; see above, section 1, for CIL XI
361.
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Edward Bispham
198
Cicala goes further, and argues that it was Diana’s wild, extra-urban, aspect at Nemi
which gave her an inter-cultural value, and made her a suitable deity (along with Feronia)
for colonists dealing with non-Latin – indeed wild, non-Italian – peoples, in a strange
landscape, one which they were trying to transform, cultivate and civilize (1995,
358–63; note esp. 361 n. 19, citing the work of Brizzi). For Deana Divina in another
mid-Republican colony, Placentia, see CIL XI 1211 (Susini 1965, 148; the inscription
is pre-triumviral: Bandelli 1988, 111).
199
Susini 1965, 148 and 161 f.
200
Cf. Guidobaldi 2001, 90 for the cult of Apollo introduced by Roman settlers in
the ager Praetuttianus.
201
See Torelli 1993, 101, for the possible presence of Feronia at Narnia, a Latin colony
liminally situated, at the time of its foundation, on the borders of Umbrian and Roman
territory; she was also worshipped at Ariminum; and at Pietrasanta in the territory of
Luna (Coarelli 1987, 134 f., connecting her presence with the immigration of colonists
originating in Tarracina).
202
See on the sanctuary, where the sequence of votive deposition seems to be broken
during the second century bc, Mingazzini 1938, 684 f.; Guidobaldi 1988, 126; Arthur
1991, 46; Trota 1989, 11 f.; Torelli 1993, 102 f.
203
Torelli 1999, 42. Note the stamp impressed on a votive vase found at the sanctuary,
and suggestive of the ties between Marica and Hercules: CIL I2 2880, 7.
204
It was, together with the tabernae round the forum, struck again in 191 bc (Livy
36.37.3). The bidental and fulgur inscription found between the temple of Iuppiter and
Temple A may be associated with the later strike (Guidobaldi 1988, 128 f.). Guidobaldi
and Pesando (1989, 41) note the interesting synchronism between the two prodigies
at Minturnae and the two attempts by a number of colonies, especially Ostia, to
defend their claims to freedom from military service (Bispham 2000, 165 f., 172 f.): it
is tempting to see the prodigies as reported in the context of a shared colonial politics
of resistance to Roman demands. If so the striking of the temple of Iuppiter is doubly
significant.
205
Lippolis and Baldini Lippolis 1997, 311–13; and 314 for the possible third-century
cult building on the arx, perhaps the same building whose Corinthian capitals show clear
Tarentine influence, another instance of Torellian duttilità (1997, 317).
206
Bispham 2000, 162, 175 n. 142, with reference to earlier discussions; for the archaic
period Torelli 1993, 91–108, on Hercules’ presence at a number of coastal sites, together
with a nexus of female deities, presiding over international exchange, as well as that of salt
and livestock at the termini of transhumance routes; Plácido 1993, 73–80, for analogous
manifestations of Hercules in south-west Spain.
207
Note the temple of Diana at the Latin colony of Norba (Torelli 1988b, 134, insists
this is Aventine Diana, just as Iuno Lucina and Iuno Moneta on other eminences of the
city evoke the Roman arx and Esquiline). At the Roman colony of Luna, Apollo was
one of the deities to whom the ‘Grande Tempio’ was dedicated (Strazzulla 1992, 167 f.).
Finally, is it too fanciful to draw any inference from the name of the island of Dianium
off Cosa (Brown 1980, 5)?
208
Note Susini 1965, 147 f., on the importance of the cult of Hercules in Latin
colonies (noting the archaic dedications from Hatria – CIL IX 5052–4, and Spoletium
– CIL XI 7867), as perhaps the only ‘exemple d’une correspondance de cultes répétée’
(‘example of a repeated correspondance of cults’) within the Latin colonial pantheon

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(1965, 147), also suggesting that Hercules’ popularity shows the central Italian origins
of many colonists; Morel 1988, 59 f., and bibliography cited there.
209
Giangiulio 1983, and more speculatively, Giangiulio 1993; Leigh 2000, 126 f.; for
Herakles’ cult as an integrative force in colonial contexts across the Mediterranean, see
Plácido 1993, 70 f., 79 f.
210
Connected with Roman colonization by Coarelli, 1987, 126, Cicala, 1995, 361 and
n. 19 – this is very plausible at least as far as the transformation of the rural landscape by
colonization is concerned.
211
See Susini 1965, 146, where, as well as the postulation of a pre-Roman cult stratum,
a possible pre-colonial date is suggested for the beginnings of the sanctuary (cf. Bandelli
1988, 111); Torelli 1999, 29, Coarelli 2000. The existence of a lucus at Pisaurum is
pertinently questioned by Betts, 2003, 138–44.
212
Guidobaldi and Pesando (1989, 40) suggest that these cippi were originally set up
together in a single area.
213
Note also that Strazzulla (1992, 170) suggests that his presence at Luna may be
explained by the ‘frontier’ location of that colony.
214
See further Biondo 1988.
215
Morel 1988, 59; Principal-Ponce 1998, 238 f., for the intersection of colonization
with the interests of recently-empowered commercial interests as expressed through the
cult of Hercules and associated vase production, including amphorae with ‘HERC’ or
similar stamped on the handles (e.g. CIL I2 3507).
216
D.H. 1.40–4. Scott 1988, 75, 1992, 93, draws attention to this passage. The
general context of Dionysios’ narrative, the literary parallels for, and variants of,
Herakles’ journey with the cattle of Geryon, can all be seen as paradeigmatic for colonial
movements and their ‘prehistory’: Plácido 1993, 76–8 (in Italy and Sicily). Note also
Leigh 2000, 126 f., esp. 126 n. 10: Herakles ‘marching along the coast encodes the specific
experience of the colonist’; better, it encodes the experience of one axis of movement for
colonist and native alike.
217
This is an old story, cf. Prometheus Unbound fr. 199 Nauck.
218
Capedeville, 1995, 97–146; see Thucydides 6.2.2 on the Ligues and displacement
of populations.
219
On roads and colonization, see Coarelli 1988.
220
On the importance of the cult of Hercules in central Apennine Italy, see (a well-
known example among many) the Agnone tables (Vetter 1953, no. 147); Salmon 1967,
170 f.; van Wonterghem 1973; Di Niro 1977; Mattiocco and van Wonterghem 1989;
van Wonterghem 1992; Torelli 1993, 105–17; Leigh 2000; Guidobaldi 2001, 89 on
the Praetuttii. Of the 296 ‘Sabellic’ bronzes listed in Colonna 1970, some 207 on
my reckoning are certainly of the ‘Ercole in assalto’ (Hercules attacking) type, to say
nothing of other Hercules figures. On the Ligurians in Samnium see Patterson 1988. For
Hercules as ‘imported’ into the central Apennines from Etruria, see Devoto 1967, 198,
Torelli 1993, 108 f.; for a Roman origin, Susini 1965, 147; and for an Italiote derivation
via Italic mercenaries, Salmon 1967, 65, Torelli 1993, 109; a sensible overview in van
Wonterghem 1992, 321–3.
221
Speculation about the identity of Dionysos’ source is probably futile, but the
Euhemerizing tinge of the narrative (Plácido 1993, 78), and the date of the intensifica-
tion of Roman interest in Liguria (the majority of Ligurian triumphs fall between 181
and 155 bc) make Cassius Hemina an interesting possibility (Beck and Walter 2001,

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Edward Bispham

243 f. for his Euhemerizing interests).

222
See van Wonterghem 1992, 323, 335, for Hercules as a polyvalent deity.
223
As Nicholas Purcell points out to me, my analysis is limited in that my focus on
Iuppiter is made at the expense of a discussion of the roles played by Iuno and Minerva
in colonization, consideration of which might inform us, among other things, of colonial
gender relations. I have said a little about Minerva above; as for Iuno, she seems a rela-
tively common presence in Latin colonies, but not in a Capitoline context (where she is
Iuno Regina, Barton 1982, 260): note the Temple of Iuno Moneta at Signia, dating from
the fifth century, as its terracottas show (Coarelli 1982, 177 f., Torelli 1988b, 132); the
temples of Iuno Lucina and Moneta at Norba: Torelli 1988b, 132, and n. 196 above, for
Iuno Quiritis at Beneventum.
224
Note that when first excavated in the nineteenth century, the ‘Grande Tempio’ on
the edge of Luna, which has three cellae, was thought to be the Capitolium, an identifica-
tion which persisted for much of the twentieth century; it is probably dedicated to the
goddess Luna (Strazzulla 1992, 162 f., with bibliography); Apollo figures centrally in
the main pedimental group, and was probably worshipped there too. On the terracottas
from the Capitolium see Forte 1992; and on those from the ‘Grande Tempio’ Strazzulla
1992 (ibid. 162 for the context).
225
Cf. Curti 2001, 20, writing of a change between the third and second centuries
from a ‘situation based on local communities (and reinvented local identities), in favour
of movement towards a national status’ (my italics), referring specifically to the eclipse
of Latin colonies by Roman. For a rather different picture of the relationship between
Rome and her allies, and the value of the Roman citizenship, see Mouritsen 1998,
87–108.
226
Torelli 1983, 243–5, 247. Nevertheless, where influences were felt and acted upon,
they often come directly from the Hellenistic East, and were not mediated through
Rome.
227
Torelli 1983, 244.
228
On the need for Roman economic aid as well as architectural models in Roman
colonies: Guidobaldi 1988, 131 f.
229
Guidobaldi 1988, 132. In the next year Livy records a debate about whether to
found at Aquileia a Latin or a Roman colony (like the large Roman colonies voted for
Mutina, Parma and Saturnia that year): Livy 39.55.5, 7–9. A Latin colony was founded
in the end, but it was possibly the last of its kind (see Vell. Pat. 1.15.2, and above n. 87,
on Luca).
230
Torelli 1983, 246 f., stresses the often very traditional form of these building
programmes in Italy as a whole, with little concession to Hellenistic fashions: the new
projects perpetuated older civic mentalities and structures.
231
Torelli 1983, 244, 246 f., noting especially the tituli Mummiani (Mummius inscrip-
tions), which show the duration of this process: some places were still being assisted in
the 140s, through manubial money deriving from the sack of Corinth in 146; Livy Ep.
Oxy. 53 (143/1 bc): ‘[S]igna statu<a>s tabulas Corinth[ias L. M]ummius / distribuit
circa oppida et Rom[am ornavit]’ (‘L. Mummius distributed statues of men and gods
and paintings from Corinth around the towns, and decorated Rome’). ILLRP 321–2
are earlier examples. These benefactions were obviously important parts of communal
identity: at Parma the titulus Mummianus (CIL I2 629) seems to have been re-inscribed
in the late first century bc.

146
 Coloniam deducere: how Roman was Roman colonization … ?
232
Cosa’s basilica is the oldest outside Rome, built c. 150 (cf. Brown 1980, 56–8).
The triple arch, leading into the forum, is later than the Roman arches (of Stertinius and
Scipio Africanus): Torelli 1983, 245.
233
Torelli 1983, 244; Torelli 1988b, 130, 136, 142, 151 f.; Guidobaldi 1988, 129.
Torelli further claims (1999, 128, following Andrén 1940, 483–95 and Strazzulla 1981,
197, no. 30) that while Etrusco-Latin models are followed in the terracottas of the urban
temples, those of the extra-mural sanctuary of Marica show Campanian influence.
234
Sherwin-White 1973, 85, who also (ibid.) notes earlier censorial locationes affecting
colonies and municipia: Livy 39.44.6, 40.51.1–3.
235
On the passage, and possible supplements or emendations see Torelli 1983, 243 f.,
Guidobaldi 1988, 129–32, Guidobaldi and Pesando 1989, 40–5 (following Jal’s Budé
text); contrast Liv. 40.5.7.
236
(5) censores vias sternendas silice in urbe, glarea extra urbem substruendas margin-
andasque primi omnium locaverunt, pontesque multis locis faciendos; (6) et scaenam
aedilibus praetoribus praebendam; <et> carceres in circo, et ova ad no<ta.> curriculis
numerand<…>dam et metas trans<… das> et caveas ferreas pe<r quas bestiae> intromit-
terentur <…> feriis in monte Albano consulibus. (7) et clivum Capitolium silice sternendum
curaverunt, et porticum ab aede Saturni in Capitolium ad senaculum ac super id curiam,
(8) et extra portam Trigeminam emporium lapide straverunt stipitibusque saepserunt, et
porticum Aemiliam reficiendam curarunt, gradibusque ascensum ab Tiberi in emporium
fecerunt. (9) et intra eandem portam in Auentinum porticum silice straverunt, et +
eo publico + ab aede Veneris fecerunt. (10) iidem Calatiae et Auximi muros faciendos
locaverunt; venditisque ibi publicis locis, pecuniam quae redacta erat tabernis utrique foro
circumdandis consumpserunt. (11) et alter ex iis Fulvius Flaccus – nam Postumius nihil
nisi senatus Romani populive iussu se locaturum <…> – ipsorum pecunia Iovis aedem
Pisauri et Fundis et Po<t>entiae etiam aquam adducen<d>am, et Pisauri viam silice
ster<n>e<ndam>, (12) et Sinuessae + mac<…> aviariae +, in his et clo<acas et mur>um
circumducen<dum …> et forum porticibus tabernisque claudendum et Ianos tres faciendos.
(13) haec ab uno censore opera locata cum magna gratia colonorum.
237
Cf. Scott 1985c, 96; Strazzulla 1985, 99; Zanker 2000, 36, on the modernity of
the Cosan basilica; for Zanker this is a very Roman form of building – it was also highly
adaptable.
238
In 171 the Latin colony of Aquileia had to ask for the Senate’s help in building its
city walls, and that in a zone of doubtful security: Liv, 43. 1. 5.
239
See generally Torelli 1988b, 151. The three arches may recall the three in the Forum
Romanum, the ianus summus, medius and imus (‘highest, middle and lowest arch’), see
Guidobaldi and Pesando 1989, 42 n. 34; alternatively, a triple arch like that leading into
the forum at Cosa may be meant.
240
See Guidobaldi 1988, 132 f., Guidobaldi and Pesando 1989, 43–6, on Cato Agr.
135, and other indications of Minturnian prosperity in the second century. I do not
agree with the minimalist view of Torelli (1983, 246 f., 249) who sees Roman inter-
vention in the colonies as not modernizing them within a Hellenistic idiom to any
great degree, but manifesting itself in traditional forms and techniques, with Cosa the
exception proving the rule.
241
See on this theme in Roman literature Edwards 1996 , chap. 3. esp. 82–8. Note the
swearing of oaths by Iuppiter Capitolinus: Plautus Curc. 268 f., and cf. also Trin. 83–7.
242
Cf. Bourgeaud 1987, but placing the origin of the stories earlier, in the fourth to

147
Edward Bispham

third centuries.
243
See Purcell 1990 and Williams 2001b, 94–7, on the uniformity of patterning of the
landscape of the Cisalpina in the second century, and the shared traditions and outlook
which allowed different Roman magistrates to engineer such similar outcomes; coloni-
zation was a key part of this process. Standardization of colonies, both physically and
conceptually, from the beginning of the second century: Torelli 1988b, 146–8.
244
Torelli (1999, 39 f., 56) sees a shift from the sole predominance of Iuppiter to
a Capitoline model as coming later, following the supposed grant of Roman citizenship
to magistrates of Latin colonies. The brilliant, but unproven, theory of Tibiletti (1953)
places this concession after the suppression of the revolt of Fregellae in 125; from this
moment, argues Torelli, we see religious change reflecting new political ideologies;
against Tibiletti’s argument, see now Mouritsen 1998, 99–108.
245
See Salmon 1969, 71–4, recognizing but brushing aside the evidential problem;
Sherwin-White 1973, 76, 78, and 82 n. 3, 84, noting the peculiarity of the size; Guido-
baldi and Pesando 1989, 36, 43, Gargola 1995, 56, Zanker 2000, 27 etc.; Galsterer
1976, 43–4, 59–61 on Ostia; Torelli 1988b, 128, notes that 300 is the figure ‘in the
cases known to us’, but then (cf. 131, 148) throws caution to the winds by deriving this
from a traditional ‘Romulean’ population structure based on three tribes (300 divisible
by 3).
246
The creation of the canonical list of thirty Latin colonies (as seen in the passage of
Livy discussed in section 2 above) must be connected to the story of the thirty colonies
of Alba Longa; but at what era this story was elaborated is unclear: see De Cazanove
2000, 74 f. In any event, there is no evidence for a date before the late third century; see
also Bispham 2000, 165 f. for the existence of an ‘official’, geographically organized, list
of Roman citizen colonies by 207 bc.
247
A more balanced view of the Velleian evidence: Sherwin-White 1973, 293.
248
Carter 1995, 40, ‘Almost as important in the history of Roman architecture is the
function performed by the capital in providing models for the ‘little Romes’ which the
newly founded colonies like Cosa and Alba Fucens constituted’ (referring primarily to
the curia-comitium complex).
249
Carafa 1998; Humm 1999; Fentress 2000b, 22 f.; Patterson 2000, 7, 14 f.; Libera-
tore 2001, 192.
250
On Latin colonial comitia see on Aquileia: Bertacchi 1989, 99 f.; Alba Fucens:
Liberatore 2001, 192 f.; Cosa: Brown 1980, 22–4; Paestum: Greco 1988, 83; all except
Aquileia have third-century phases. Note also the lex Osca from Bantia (Crawford 1996
I, no. 13, l. 21); this law, thought to derive from a (perhaps third-century) prototype
from the Latin colony of Venusia, allows for the flogging of the incensus (the man who
has avoided the census) in the comitium. Note also Zanker (2000, 36): comitia, appar-
ently ubiquitous in mid-republican Latin colonies, became obsolete by the end of the
Republic (also on the marginal long-term position of the curia in the development of
colonial urban form). Note finally the imperial Marsyas statue from Alba Fucens.
251
Ortalli 1995, 475–80; 2000, 501; see also Robert 1993, a dog sacrifice beneath
a gate of the Latin colony of Paestum.
252
Liberatore 2001, 189 f. A bovine statuette from Porta di Massa might comfort the
Romulists.
253
M. Antonius at Casilinum, 44 bc: Cic. Att. 14.20, 21, Phil. 2.100–4 (a colony in an
existing town); Imp. Caesar 40 and 29–7 bc: Crawford 1974 I, 529 f., no. 525; Grueber

148
 Coloniam deducere: how Roman was Roman colonization … ?

1910, II, 17, no. 4363; the lex Ursonensis (Crawford 1996 I, no. 26) chap. 73, also refers
to the plough having been drawn around the site.
254
See Salmon 1969, 13, for Roman colonization as state-organized.
255
See Fentress 2000b, 19, on Megara Hyblaia and Olynthos.
256
Such a view finds some points of engagement with the plea for giving of due weight
to negotiation (a very woolly term unless carefully used) between Roman and Italian
elites, made by Terrenato 2001a. Nevertheless, I find myself, when the chips are down,
in great sympathy with the position of Curti (2001, 24) : ‘it would be interesting to see
if modern colonized peoples would accept the term “debate” as a description of their
relationship with colonial powers’.

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1953 Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum. Italia fasc. 22, Napoli, Museo Nazionale. Fasc.
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2001 Die Religion der Römer, Munich.
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1954 ‘Roman expansion and Roman colonization in Italy’, Phoenix 8, 63–75.
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1969 Roman Colonization under the Republic, Harmondsworth.
Sanesi, L.
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1968 Studia Enniana, London.
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 5

Colonization AND IDENTITY

IN REPUBLICAN ITALY

Guy Bradley

Introduction
This chapter investigates the role ethnic identity played in Roman Repub-
lican colonization. It is written in the belief that our understanding of
colonization procedures should take account of recent studies showing the
complexity of identity in early Rome. If such studies are right to suggest that
Rome was an ‘open city’ in the archaic period with a polyethnic make-up,
how did this affect Rome’s treatment of conquered ethnic groups involved
in colonization schemes?
Our focus is on the Latin colonies founded in areas of Italy conquered by
the Roman state. The importance of the role that colonization played in the
creation of the Roman empire has long been appreciated. It made possible
the demographic expansion of the Roman state; it was a way for Rome to
dominate conquered territory; and it was also incidentally a process that
spread Roman influence in colonized areas, as these cities used Latin as their
language and formed models of Roman culture.1 There is an established
scholarly consensus on many aspects of colonization in the Republican
period. Salmon, in the standard work on the subject in English, argued that
in the mid-Republic colonies were essentially military in function.2 The
predominantly Roman origin of the settlers in earlier colonies was a vital
element in their success: they acted as bastions of Roman control in hostile
territory. Only with the second century did their primary purpose become
the resettlement of landless Roman citizens.
However, recent scholarship has begun to recognize the extent to which
many of our images of Republican colonization were constructed by later
Roman authors. A central text is a speech of Hadrian related by Aulus
Gellius (NA 16.13.8–9), describing colonies as copies and images of the
Roman people.3 The archaeology of colonies has frequently been interpreted
in this light. Frank Brown suggested that the layout of the Latin colony at
Cosa in Etruria (established in 273) was created using a foundation ritual

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reputedly employed by Romulus in planning Rome.4 The city was then

equipped within a few decades of the foundation with a temple of Jupiter
on its Arx, a forum and a comitium, all in the image of the mother city. But
re-examination of the evidence has caused much of this to be questioned.
Torelli pointed out the late and antiquarian nature of the sources for Roman
foundation rites.5 Brown’s interpretation of the archaeology of Cosa has been
reassessed by Fentress, who suggests that the street plan actually dates to the
town’s refoundation in 197.6 The new layout incorporated larger houses for
the town’s elite. Brown’s desire to see the original settlement as egalitarian,
which may have been influenced by the ideals of modern American coloniza-
tion movements, had led him to interpret the large aristocratic houses that
dominated the forum as public buildings. In fact, most of the city’s public
buildings, such as the Capitolium, were not built until after 197, and the
whole creation of the urban infrastructure seems linked to the reinforcement
of the colony at this point.
Recent work on ancient Greece has also illuminated the anachronistic
nature of the literary evidence for colonization in the archaic period (eighth
to sixth century).7 Scholars have argued that the literary record was substan-
tially constructed and reworked in the classical period. The archaeology of
early colonization has shown that the first foundations exemplified by (but
not restricted to) Pithecusae were of a very different nature to the elaborate
cities of the classical period. Most early colonies show the same sort of mixed
material culture that occurs at Pithecusae, and so show no firm evidence for
the intervention or interest of poleis from mainland Greece (if we can talk of
poleis as early as the eighth century). The archaeological evidence points to
a more gradual process of settlement than later myths of individual ‘founders’
might suggest, and such myths are now understood to tell us more about the
societies in which they were recounted than those to which they suppos-
edly relate. The growth of sites like Pithecusae in the eighth century must
be closely linked to trade and migration, part of a highly interconnected
Mediterranean situation where individuals and groups were continually on
the move.8 These early Greek settlements abroad had much more profound
and complex relationships with the indigenous populations than was once
thought, and also prove to be much more diverse than the ‘standardized’
foundations of the classical period. Osborne regards only the colonies of the
fifth and fourth centuries as comparable to those founded by Rome,9 and
the establishment of Latin colonies in Italy was not on the whole closely
connected to maritime communications. But his method has a lot to offer
studies of Roman colonization, especially in the archaic period, where there is
evidence that many Roman ‘colonies’ were not the state-controlled exercises
that the Romans later believed them to be.

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Sources
Ancient literary records of colonization, even in the early Republic, often
have a strong imprint of reliability, given by Livy in bald notices that are likely
to have derived from official records.10 For instance at Livy 2.21.7 the refoun-
dation of Signia in 495 is listed along with the establishment of twenty-one
voting tribes and the dedication of the temple of Mercury. Our sources also
sometimes provide the names of the triumviri responsible for the setting up
of a colony, as at Antium in 467 (discussed below) or at Saticula in Samnium
in 313 (Festus 458). Oakley states, rightly in my opinion, that ‘there is no
reason to reject these notices’.11 Festus’ detailed reference to the foundation of
a colony at Saticula also shows that some details and records of foundations
were omitted by Livy (to say nothing of the sections of his work known only
through epitomes). There are some disagreements between the accounts of
Livy and Velleius Paterculus, who inserted an excursus on colonization in
his brief history of Rome (1.14–15), but the substantial correlation between
these two and other sources helps to reinforce the impression that there was
a consistent record kept by the state of colonies founded.12
But alongside the general reliability of records of colonial foundations
(where we have them), there are the problems imposed by the consist-
ently anachronistic outlook of the sources.13 Late Republican and imperial
sources show a very poor understanding of early colonial situations. Their
conceptions led them wherever possible to see colonization movements
in terms of the organized sending-out of self-contained units of settlers
orientated around an urban centre, the model that was most familiar to
them.14 An example is the supposed colonization of Fidene at the time of
Romulus: Dionysius of Halicarnassus (2.53.4) describes it as a garrison of
300 men, presumably modelling it on mid-Republican citizen colonies,
whereas Plutarch (Life of Romulus 23.6) records that it had 2500 settlers,
typical of later Latin colonies, and even provides a foundation date (the
Ides of April).15 By the late Republic a developed ideology of colonization
had arisen, in which colonization was seen as an ordered, state-controlled
process which played a vital part in the success of the Roman empire.
Our sources are inevitably influenced by this type of hindsight. Cicero,
for instance, famously saw colonies as propugnacula imperii, bulwarks of
empire, but was the function of colonies the same when this empire did not
exist, and when Rome was one of many competing towns in Latium?16 We
often have to rely on Livy and other writers conveying information about
early forms of colonization that they did not understand. Here, one of the
strengths of Livy in comparison with Dionysius of Halicarnassus is that
he tends to alter material less, and often simply tacks his own rationalizing
interpretation onto events.

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Guy Bradley

We need therefore to take care above all to avoid seeing colonies in an

anachronistic light, and to distinguish between types of report. Whilst it is
reasonable to accept most notices of colonial foundations (at least from the
beginning of the Republic), it is necessary to be much more cautious about
ancient interpretations and preconceptions. This is a position much easier to
describe in theory than to apply in practice, as ideology and preconceptions
to some extent inform everything that our sources wrote. It is particularly
a problem with views of indigenous populations, where there is a danger that
Roman liberalism with citizenship in early colonies was anachronistically
retrojected by late Republican and imperial sources to the archaic period.17
Archaeological, epigraphic and numismatic material provides a different
perspective from the often tendentious or confused picture of the literary
sources. This material must be handled with care, and caution adopted when
using one type of material to interpret another. We have seen above the
dangers of interpreting the archaeological evidence from Cosa in the light
of literary evidence, in this case opinions expressed in the speech of a non-
contemporary (Hadrian). But used as evidence in their own right, these non-
literary sources can provide a much more neutral perspective.

Roman identity and citizenship

I want to begin by looking at what we can discern about Roman identity
and citizenship in the early periods of Roman history. This is necessary to
understand the context within which early Roman colonization took place.
It is well known that the myths of Roman origins stress the openness of the
city.18 For instance, it is said that Romulus built up a body of citizens through
the creation of an asylum on the Capitol, where fugitives from surrounding
territories were welcomed (Livy 1.8.5–6). The Rape of the Sabine women
provided these citizens with wives, but provoked a war with the Sabines. The
war between the two groups ended with their agreement to live together in
peace, under the dual leadership of Romulus and Titus Tatius (Livy 1.9–13).
Many of Rome’s kings were reputedly outsiders. Numa was invited from
Sabinum to rule the city; Tarquinius Priscus was of half-Greek parentage,
had an Etruscan wife and migrated to Rome from Tarquinii. In one version,
Servius Tullius was a slave born in the palace to a Latin woman captured
in war (Livy 1.38.5). Such stories must have played a role in the Roman
construction of their own self-image, which stressed the mixed origins of
many early Roman heroes, and the Roman people as a whole.
For the late monarchic and early Republican period there is evidence of
a more historical nature for inter-community movement.19 We can point
to early Republican figures like Coriolanus, who left Rome to command
a Volscian army against his mother country.20 The founder of the Claudian

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gens, Attus Clausus, reputedly fled the Sabine town of Regillum in 504 with
a large number of dependents (Livy 2.16.3–5). He was made a patrician by
the new regime at Rome, and secured grants of land for his clients.21 Such
stories are difficult to dismiss as fabrications and receive support from other
types of source material. The inscription known as the Lapis Satricanus,
found in the wall of a temple at Satricum in southern Latium, records
a dedication to Mars by the suodales, the followers of Poplios Valesios around
500.22 This is of interest both because the group define themselves in terms
of their relationship with a leader figure rather than membership of a state,
and because the name might be that of Publius Valerius, a prominent figure
in the early Republic, who would therefore seem to be operating well outside
the confines of Roman territory.23
Other evidence shows that this phenomenon was common to Etruria and
other neighbouring districts as well. The Etruscan hero Mastarna, whom the
Emperor Claudius identified as moving from Etruria to Rome where he took
up the kingship as Servius Tullius (ILS 212), also features in the frescoes
of the François Tomb in Vulci. He is portrayed in an adventure with the
Vibennae brothers from Vulci, where they are overcoming various opponents,
one of whom is Roman. Livy has several interesting records of armies in
opposition to Rome being led by commanders from different communities,
just as Coriolanus was supposed to have led the Volsci. These include an
Aequian called Cluilius in charge of the Volsci at Ardea in 443 (4.9.12) and
a Fundanian called Vitruvius Vaccus leading resistance at Privernum in 330
(8.19.4). The latter is said to have been a ‘man of distinction (vir clarus) not
only in his home city, but in Rome as well’, where he owned a house on the
Palatine.24 Epigraphic evidence from Etruscan cities records the presence
of names that must belong to assimilated, high-status immigrants, such as
rutile hipukrate (Rutilus Hippokrates – a Latin praenomen added to a Greek
gentilial) at Tarquinii and tite latine (Titus Latinius) at Veii.25
Such transfers and operations of individuals away from their place of origin
are strange and confusing to our late Republican sources, who as a result
often try to rationalize. So Tarquinius Priscus is characterized as unable to
succeed at Tarquinii because of his background, and yet when he moved to
Rome could aspire to the kingship. Obviously it is not in itself surprising
that individuals could move from place to place in the archaic period. The
important feature is that these individuals are able to preserve their social
status in their new communities. Apparently unhindered by any ethnic
baggage, they merged with the elite and might obtain high office: Coriolanus
led the Volscian army; Attus Clausus joined the Roman senate. Similar stories
may lie behind the early consuls listed in the Fasti with Etruscan names or
with ethnic cognomina such as Sabinus or Tuscus (Etruscan).26

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This horizontal social mobility has been identified by Ampolo as char-

acteristic of Etruscan and Roman societies in the archaic period (seventh
to fifth centuries).27 Together with the image of an open society propagated
by later Romans, it suggests that a situation existed where individual ethnic
identities were not central to behaviour, and where state barriers were under-
developed by later standards.28 This must be related to another peculiar
feature of Roman society, the apparent openness of the citizenship.29 Greek
observers remarked on the extraordinary tendency of the Romans to grant
freed slaves Roman citizenship.30 The origins of such a practice seem likely to
lie in a period when movement between highly stratified societies was easy
for the elite, but the lower orders of society gained little protection from
being citizens of a state. Freedmen are mentioned in the Twelve Tables of 450
(V, 8), and the principle of manumission was presumably well established by
this date. Only with the rise of the plebeian movement, and the assertion of
citizen rights associated with the outlawing of debt-bondage in the fourth
century, did Roman citizenship begin to be a valuable commodity.
Livy suggests that the extension of Roman citizenship to other peoples
was not welcomed in the late fourth century, and in the Hannibalic War the
offer of citizenship might even be rejected.31 It is not until the expansion of
Roman power in the second century that the attractiveness of Roman citi-
zenship seems to have increased.32 Conquered Italian peoples, such as the
Campanians of Capua, were frequently incorporated into the citizen body in
the fourth and third centuries, through the imposition of civitas sine suffragio.
This practice continues until at least the first few decades of the third century
when the eastern Sabine area was conquered by M.’ Curius Dentatus and
partially enfranchised. The porous and inexclusive nature of Roman citizen-
ship contrasts strongly with the tight restrictions on access to citizenship
imposed in many classical Greek states. In archaic Rome political and social
authority was monopolized by the Patricians, and social status seems to have
been of far more importance than citizenship. It is therefore unsurprising
that the comparatively valueless commodity of Roman citizenship could be
extended to slaves and conquered enemies.
This feature of Roman society was also reflected in religious practice:
Roman religion had ancient institutions for incorporating foreign deities
into its pantheon, such as the Sybilline Oracles, books of religious advice,
or the practice of evocatio, the calling out of a foreign deity from a besieged
city.33 This wide range of evidence for the openness to outsiders of Roman
society is symptomatic of a distinctive Roman mentality. It is tempting to
call it ‘archaic’, but there are signs that it persists throughout Roman history.
In some periods, such as the second century bc, political concerns about the
consequences of such policies arose, and there may always to some extent

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have been a tension between those favouring expansion of the state and those
resisting it: famous episodes of debate include the disputes leading up to the
Social War, and Claudius’ successful attempt to persuade the Senate to allow
Gauls from Gallia Comata to join its ranks. Like earlier Roman politicians
promoting the extension of citizenship, Claudius explicitly claimed to be
acting in accordance with traditional practice (ILS 212), and the precedents
of earlier mythical and historical incorporations provided a model to which
he could appeal.

The character of early Roman colonization

Early Roman colonization in Latium should be seen in the context of
a developing state identity at Rome, and perhaps a fairly loose conception of
ethnic difference. What is immediately apparent is the diversity of coloniza-
tion activities that are recorded in our literary sources. Roman colonies are
often said to have involved indigenous populations, such as the Rutilians
at Ardea (4.11).34 Colonies established by Rome are frequently portrayed
as turning against it: Antium is probably the best-known example, which
I will discuss in more detail, but it is also the case for Circeii and Velitrae.35
Oakley has noted that this is often surprising to Livy: for instance, at 8.14.5
he details the particularly harsh punishment of Velitrae in 338, because it had
often rebelled despite being made up of Roman citizens. It is also interesting
that the opponents of the Romans are presented as founding colonies of
their own: the Aequi colonise Bola (4.49), the Antiates re-establish Satricum
(7.27), a city which had for a time been a Roman colony.36
The history of Antium, on the coast of Latium to the south of Rome,
combines many of these interesting features. We are told its colonization was
first suggested in 467 by the consul Quintus Fabius, who aimed to settle the
strife between the plebeians and patricians that had arisen in that year (Livy
3.1.5–7, D.H. 9.59.1–2). The territory had been conquered the year before
under the leadership of Titus Quinctius, and he became the leader of the
colonial triumvirs. That the triumvirs were all Roman shows that foundation
initiatives were not, as Salmon thought, the preserve of the Latin League.37
The composition of the colony, like that reported for many others in this
era, included the conquered population, in this case Volscians: our sources
add what looks like an unnecessary rationalising interpretation, that this was
undertaken because there were insufficient Romans.38 Antium is presented as
the Volscian capital by the 380s in book six of Livy. In 385 a large Volscian
force gathered in the Pomptine district, who were aided by Latins, Hernici,
and Roman colonists from Circeii and Velitrae (Livy 6.12.6). On being taken
prisoner by the Romans these men were forced to admit the full involvement
of their respective states, which suggests that it was also possible for them

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to operate outside their city’s jurisdiction. In 347 or 346 Livy records the
Antiates sending out a Volscian colony to Satricum (7.27.2). After the Latin
defeat in 338, a Roman colony was again sent to Antium, with the extraordi-
nary qualification that the Antiates might again enroll themselves as colonists
(Livy 8.14.8: ut Antiatibus permitteretur, si et ipsi adscribi coloni vellent).
This surprising episode cannot have been an annalistic invention, and is
supported by the reference to a complaint in 317 from unspecified Antiates,
probably the unincorporated part of the indigenous population, that they
were living without a fixed constitution or magistrates (Livy 9.20.10). The
Senate appointed patrons from the colony to draw up the required laws,
who probably incorporated the complainants into the colony, or arranged
for them to be administered from it.39 This example, to which others could
be added, strongly suggests that the Romans had not developed a set policy
of excluding natives from colonies.
Alternative types of ‘colonization’, not firmly under state control, also
seem to have existed in the archaic period.40 Colonization was closely
connected to warfare. Land usually had to be conquered before being settled.
Much warfare seemed to have taken place outside the control of archaic state
authorities. Prominent individuals such as Appius Herdonius, the brothers
Vibennae, Mastarna, and Publius Valerius are attested as undertaking
military operations independently, with their own war bands.41 They have
been described as condotierri, drawing an analogy with mediaeval warlords,
who were sometimes successful in establishing themselves as dynastic leaders
of Italian communes. Private military operations in the archaic period might
also be undertaken by gentes, supra-family groups. This is clear from the war
waged by the gens Fabia on Veii in 477 (Livy 2.48–50). The story of Attus
Clausus, referred to above, shows how whole gentile groups might move
and resettle.
The nature of the Roman state in the archaic period makes it worth
asking under whose control early colonization operations were undertaken.
Our sources describe the kings founding colonies, such as Ostia by Ancus
Marcius (Livy 1.33.9). But the considerable power of the Senate over mid-
Republican colonization must be a later development. The Senate per se may
not have been a particularly influential body until the lex Ovinia was passed
in the late fourth century.42 In the early Republic the situation seems more
akin to the monarchy, with the initiative resting with powerful individuals.
Colonial triumvirs, some of whose names seem to have been genuinely
remembered from this period, must have been in a very powerful position,
given the absence of guiding senatorial power. It seems to have been the right
of the men who conquered the land to settle it, and the right of the successful
general to be responsible for its distribution. He could expect to occupy

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the foremost position on the triumviral commission: Titus Quinctius, for

example, led the triumvirate founding the colony at Antium in 467.43 There is
not a great deal of difference between this type of state-sanctioned operation
and the activities of powerful condotierri such as Publius Valerius, who, if
correctly identified as Publius Valerius Publicola, reputedly founded a colony
at Sigliuria, probably Signia.44
Thus in the archaic period colonization could be a private operation,
a coniuratio in the term used by Càssola, in which a war band might seize
land as well as cattle, slaves and other types of booty. A different type of
private land siezure is attested in the mid-Republic, what Bayet termed
‘armed secession’.45 He noted that the Roman army stationed in Capua in 342
reputedly hatched a plot to capture the city in the same way that Samnites
had some 80 years earlier (Livy 7.38). In 282 just such a plot was carried out
by the Roman legion sent to garrison Rhegion; the city was not recaptured
until 270, and the Campanian garrison gained a dominant position like
that of the Mamertini who took over Messana on Sicily. Bayet offers two
interesting observations on these episodes. The Capua sedition develops into
a secession, which is ultimately said by some writers to have won privileges
for the plebs: Livy dutifully records these at 7.42.1–2, and expresses some
surprise that this was possible. In addition, Servius (ad Aen. 1.12) records
that colonies could be founded by secession (ex secessione), which were to be
distinguished from those founded by public agreement (ex consensu publico).
There would thus seem to be some justification in seeing this as another unof-
ficial way of establishing a colony, which like the archaic coniuratio, left its
traces in the historical record.
Anthropologists often focus on the tendency of early state societies to
undergo fission, perhaps what we are seeing with Bayet’s ‘secession’.46 It is
only with the establishment of durable state structures that this tendency is
controlled, and perhaps channelled into a form for the benefit of the state.
As well as the Roman cases, some distant reflection of this may be found in
the Italic myths of the ‘Sacred Spring’, where part of the population (those
born in a designated year) migrated to form their own community elsewhere.
Whilst these myths serve as ethnic foundation stories, and must be fictional-
ized, ideas of such practices may stem from the regular fission of pre-state
social groups.47

Social and economic aspects of early colonization

The historical tradition frequently portrays colonization in the fifth and early
fourth century as the result of plebeian agitation.48 Salmon completely denied
the historicity of these episodes, seeing them as a result of the contamination
of the annalistic record in the period after the Gracchi, when discussion of

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land distributions became hugely controversial.49 Although admitting that

priestly records were likely to have preserved reports of colonial founda-
tions, he rejected the idea that they could include traces of the controversies
that led to these actions. He instead argued that early- and mid-Republican
foundations should be seen as primarily of military importance.50
The difficulties of asserting the value of the annalistic record for this type
of information are formidable. But the problem with Salmon’s approach is
not just that it involves the wholesale rejection of a central element of the
annalistic account for the early Republic, but also that it substitutes for it
a version dictated at best by the hindsight of Roman authors of the late
Republic such as Cicero, who saw colonies as propugnacula imperii (at least
when it suited his legal argument).51 This version may indeed be substantially
correct, but we should also take account of other indications in our sources.
The link between colonization and the Struggle of the Orders is made
explicit even for quite late periods in the literary accounts. Livy records, for
instance, that the foundation of Cales in 334 was designed to anticipate the
desires of the plebs (8.16.13). Cales was the first Latin colony to be founded
outside Latium, and it inaugurated what is often seen as the golden age of
Latin colonization. This period corresponds with the end of debt-bondage
(nexum), a form of labour which Finley suggested was at the heart of the
Struggle of the Orders.52 Nexum was abolished in 326, but was probably
already on the wane by this period. Several notices in Livy suggest that
chattel slavery, which must have provided a more convenient alternative
labour source for the rich, substantially increased in the fourth century.53 Livy
reports that all the population of the great Etruscan city of Veii was enslaved
in 396 on its capture (5.22.1): there was presumably a market for the captives.
In 357 manumissions reached a high enough level to make it worth imposing
a 5% tax on the value of manumitted slaves (Livy 7.16.7–8).54 In 296 the
availability of freedmen encouraged the authorities to recruit them into the
army as an emergency measure (Livy 10.21.3–4).
These developments have an interesting relationship with the ideal of the
small citizen farmer, of which the story of the Roman general Cincinnatus,
called from the plough to save the state in 458 (Livy 3.26.7–12), is perhaps
the best example. The success of the plebeian movement in establishing the
illegality of using citizens as debt-bondsmen may have played a part in the
creation of this ideology, and it was presumably this sort of ideal that the
colonization schemes were putting into practice.55
Livy records agitation for land distribution far less often in the mid-
Republic as the cause of colonization. This could be due to the increasing
availability of dry notices of colonial schemes, and the decline in annalistic
speculation; but perhaps there is also no longer the same desire amongst the

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plebs to be assigned new land. Livy (10.21.10) reports difficulties in finding

settlers for Minturnae and Sinuessa in 296. The plebs reputedly feared they
would have to be a perpetual outpost in hostile territory rather than settlers
on the land (quia in stationem se prope perpetuam infestae regionis, non in
agros mitti rebantur).56 Brunt asserted that any record of the feelings of the
plebs at this time must be seen as annalistic interpretation.57 But I think it
entirely possible that difficulties with recruitment for colonies at this time
may have been authentically remembered.58 The links between social conflict
and colonization recorded by Livy and Dionysius in the fifth and early fourth
century genuinely reflect the situation in this period. It may therefore be
misleading to emphasize the military role of colonization at the expense of its
socio-economic function. As well as changing in function over time, colonies
probably meant different things to different sectors of Roman society.

Indigenous populations in mid-Republican colonies

The late fourth century in many ways sees the end of these unusual coloni-
zation practices.59 The process of colonization changed after 338 with the
crushing of the Latin revolt against Rome and the reorganization of Latium
under Roman control. Much of Latium and Campania was now part of the
Roman state. Colonies began to be founded much further afield in Italy, in
conjunction with the expansion of Roman territory. The colonists in Latin
colonies were given Latin status, which now ceased to have a direct connec-
tion with Latium. As befits strongholds in recently conquered territory, Latin
colonies were self-governing cities who could organize their own defence.
Their independence is also apparent from the coinage they emitted. The
break with earlier practice has been emphasized by Salmon, who sees 338 as
a crucial turning point when Rome took on the responsibility of founding
colonies alone, unlike the previous foundations by the Latin League. Rome
had, in Salmon’s view, become ‘wary of this communal kind of colonization’
as the new Latin colonies created tended to side with the existing Latin
states, and led the revolt in 340.60 But Cornell has shown that we need not
assume that earlier colonial foundations were solely the responsibility of the
Latin league and that the decisions were perhaps mainly taken by Rome.61
Whatever the earlier role of the Latin League, Rome became the only
authority founding colonies from 338.62
Did the conquest of Italy outside of Latium from 338 to the 260s greatly
accentuate ethnic hostility, prohibiting mixtures of colonists and indigenous
populations? Brunt affirmed that colonial populations in the mid-Republic
were predominantly Roman or Latin: ‘for reasons of security natives were not
generally admitted to local citizenship or to residence within the walls of the
early colonies’.63 Furthermore, he claimed that the details of early Republican

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colonial foundations are unreliable, and Livy and Dionysius were probably
influenced by the enfranchisement of Italy after the Social War and the
colonization practices of Caesar and Augustus;64 this led them to retroject
liberality with the citizenship into the past. Brunt suggested that although
the record is poor for the mid-Republic, we can look to ‘intrinsic probabili-
ties’.65 The surveyor Hyginus (178–9L) says that the ‘ancients’ often placed
the city on high ground because of the fear of attack. Instances of strong
indigenous resistance to the establishment of Latin colonies are known, such
as that by the Aequi against Alba Fucens and by the Marsi against Carseoli
(Livy 10.1.7, 10.3.2). Livy also sometimes attests the genocidal slaughter of
the earlier occupants of a colonial area, such as that at Luceria in 318 (Livy
9.26.1–5).66 Brunt added ‘No doubt these annalistic reports are as suspect
as those [on plebeian agitation], but at least they correspond to natural
expectations. The mutual hatred which characterized the relations of Sullan
colonists and the Italians whose lands they had taken over might well have
been exceeded in earlier times, when the colonists were men of alien race
and language.’
There is certainly evidence for hostility between colonists and indigenous
populations. Land had to be confiscated from defeated Italian populations
to be redistributed to the new settlers. The literary evidence cited by Brunt
also receives independent support from the archaeological survey of the ager
Cosanus and the Albegna valley in Etruria. In the territory where the Latin
colony of Cosa was founded in 273 bc few fourth-century sites seem to have
survived the Roman conquest. Survey evidence does not reveal the ethnic
identity of farm owners, and it was difficult for the surveyors to date sites
accurately to the third century bc.67 But there does seem to be a real contrast
between the territory of the colony and more distant areas, such as that around
Telamon to the north and in the upper Albegna valley, where there was much
more continuity of pre-existing settlement. Celuzza has suggested that new
sites appearing outside the immediate hinterland of the colony, on the left
bank of the middle Albegna valley, may be the result of the forced displace-
ment of the indigenous population from the colonial territory.68 Whether this
amounts to ‘ethnic cleansing’ could be questioned when we have such a poor
idea of the motivation or makeup of the colony, which could technically
include other Etruscans (e.g. from Veii or Caere) as Romans.69 Nevertheless
the evidence does suggest that the foundation of the colony led to the displace-
ment of most of the pre-existing population in its territory.
But this is not necessarily a typical case. Torelli has already pointed out
the great contrast between the situation at Cosa and that at Paestum, both
founded in 273.70 The colony at Cosa was established on an unoccupied
site, whereas the colonization of Paestum involved the dispatch of colonists

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to a large and prosperous city (Greek Poseidonia). The trajectories of the

two colonies were consequently different. At Paestum the archaeological
record shows that the physical installation of the colony undoubtedly had
a substantial impact on the organization of the town, increasing its size from
around seventy to one hundred and twenty hectares.71 The Roman period saw
the creation of a new forum and comitium-curia complex, superceding the
old Greek assembly place, the ekklēsiastērion, which had continued to be used
through the Lucanian period. However, the speed and extent of the change
is controversial, and elsewhere in this volume M. Crawford has argued that
the reordering of the community on Roman lines was both slower and less
profound than has previously been presented. The eastern part of the town
may have been open before the colonization, suggesting that the Latin colony
was physically added to the city, rather than directly replacing it. What is clear
from the archaeological evidence is that Paestum must have continued to have
a massive Lucanian and probably also Greek element to the population.72
Paestum has a complex earlier history, having begun as a Greek colony and
then passing under the political control of the Lucanians around 400. It was
alleged by Aristoxenus of Tarentum, writing around 300, that the people of
Poseidonia were completely barbarized, becoming in his words ‘Tyrrhenians
or Romans’; they had changed their speech and other practices, and in his
time reputedly celebrated only one Greek festival (Athen. 14.632a). However,
it is striking that the major Greek temples of the city largely continued in use
during the Lucanian and Roman periods. There is other evidence that the
city’s Greek character remained: unlike all other Latin colonies, and like its
Greek neighbours, Paestum continued to mint coinage into the early imperial
period; ambassadors from Paestum are attested by Livy (22.36.9) as presenting
the Roman senate with wealth in the form of golden bowls in 216, just as an
embassy from Greek Neapolis had done the year before.73 It now seems that
the city underwent a gradual change through the Greek, Lucanian and Roman
periods, and it is possible that Aristoxenus was making a deliberate point
about Lucanian attempts to pass themselves off as Greek.
Another interesting example is Ariminum, founded in 268 at the south
eastern point of the Po valley. A pair of notices in Strabo imply that the earlier
Etruscan and Umbrian populations of this area were incorporated into the
Roman colonies sent to the region. He notes that ‘Ariminum is a settlement of
the Umbrians, just as Ravenna is, although each of them has received Roman
colonists’ (Strabo 5.1.11). Strabo may be following an earlier source, such as
Polybius.74 We have some other types of source material to correlate with what
he says. The continuous use of the extra-urban sanctuary at Villa Ruffi in the
colony’s hinterland is attested by material including archaic Etruscan bronzes,
red figure pottery and Roman marble statues.75 An interesting picture also

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emerges from coinage. The issues of Ariminum and Hadria, another colony
further south on the Adriactic coast, were based on a non-Roman weight
standard of 350–400 g shared with the Italic Vestini. Both these colonies,
along with Luceria and Venusia in Apulia, used decimal divisions of weight,
as opposed to the duodecimal Roman system.76 The exact significance of
such standards is difficult to discern, but it seems reasonable to suppose that
a substantial local element in their populations influenced the choice.77
It has been argued that Ariminum is a special case because the Umbrians
could be relied upon to support the Romans against the alien Gauls.78
But some Umbrians and some Gauls, perhaps Senones, had allied against
Rome at Sentinum just thirty years earlier. So the Umbrians are unlikely
to have seemed much more trustworthy allies than Gauls. To my mind the
exceptional feature of this northern Italian situation is that we have explicit
testimony on the ethnic composition of colonies, something that we largely
lack for central Italy, perhaps because ethnically mixed colonies were seen as
unremarkable in a central Italian context.
Other evidence directly attests the presence of non-Latin or non-Roman
elements in some colonies, although it can be difficult to decide if they are
remnants of the indigenous population or later migrants to the colony. In
Aesernia a resident group of Samnites (Samnites inquolae) is recorded on an
inscription of the second century.79 They are a collegiate group with magistri,
who oversaw a dedication to Venus. According to La Regina these Samnites
must have been part of the indigenous population of the area, incorpo-
rated into the colony on its foundation with the inferior status of incolae
(normally resident aliens). Degrassi suggested that these Samnites were of
Latin status, attached to the colony by a process of attributio. In contrast,
Coarelli has argued that they must have been more recent immigrants, part
of a massive movement of peoples that took place in the second century from
the Apennine uplands into Latin colonies on the fringes of Samnium such as
Fregellae (Livy 41.8.6–12, cf. 32.2.6–7 for infiltrators at Narnia in Umbria).
The organized nature of the group suggests that they had lived in Aesernia for
some time, but it is ultimately impossible to be certain whether their presence
went back to the foundation of the colony.
Nomenclature can also be of some help. The Oscan name Dasius belonged
to a member of the colony at Brundisium well respected enough to be placed
by the Romans in charge of a stronghold against Hannibal in northern
Italy. This was in 218, some 26 years after Latin colonists had been sent to
Brundisium, a Messapian city ‘rich in historical traditions’.80 Dasius must be
of local, Messapian origin; yet he was serving in a position of responsibility
that would only be entrusted to a member of the local elite. This strongly
implies that members of the local aristocracy had been included in the colony

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with full status. Other non-Romans have been identified, again on the basis
of their names, in the colonies of Beneventum (Oscan names), Paestum
(Oscan and Etruscan), and Venusia.81
More evidence comes from colonies founded after the Hannibalic War.
In fact, Càssola argued that it was only in the second century that Latin and
Roman colonies started to include allies, and then only on a piecemeal basis.
This was because joining a colony had become undesirable for Romans.
Indigenous populations would, in his view, have always been treated on an
inferior basis. The first example of the complete incorporation of the indig-
enous population was the anomalous case of Carteia in Spain, made up of
Roman freedmen and indigenous women, and designated a Latin colony
by the Senate in 171 (Livy 43.3.1–4). Other cases from this period include
the three hundred Roman settlers added to the Greek city of Dichaearchia
in 194, which in the new guise of Roman Puteoli retained its cultural
character.82 The reinforcement of Cosa in 197 drew on all Italians who had
not gone over to Hannibal (Livy 39.55). And we happen to know that the
poet Ennius, another Messapian from Rudiae, gained Roman citizenship
from his inclusion in a Roman colony (either of Potentia or Pisaurum). This
is unlikely to be a special concession to Ennius, and must mean that allies
were enrolled in at least one of these colonies in 184.83
The presence of non-Romans in northern Italian colonies has also
been widely accepted, though the evidence is not clear cut. A passage of
Cicero describing the kinsmen of Piso from Placentia as ‘breeches-wearing’
(i.e. clothed in Gallic fashion), has been cited as evidence of their Gallic
character.84 But he is clearly not a neutral witness in this case, and is aiming
to slander his opponent. Gabba notes the evidence for indigenous accolae,
i.e. Gallic neighbours, living in close proximity to Cisalpine colonies, though
references to them in Livy (21.39.5; 28.11.10; 37.46.10) are not explicit over
their direct attribution to the colonies.85
What is more certain is that the co-existence of colonists and local inhab-
itants was often not on an equal basis. Colonies at least in the second century
bc were founded as hierachical societies, not egalitarian communities. We
know that plots of differential size were given to colonists in foundations
such as Copia, where equites received 40 iugera and pedites 20 (Livy 35.9.7),
and Aquileia, where 50 iugera was assigned to 3000 pedites, 100 to centuri-
ones, and 140 to equites (Livy 40.34.2). Gabba argued that indigenous popu-
lations would be useful as a labour force for the ruling elite of colonies, who
would not work the land themselves. Some of these populations may have
been allotted land as part of the third class of the colony.86 The classification
of groups like the Samnites in Aesernia as incolae implies they had a distinct
and undoubtedly inferior status to ordinary colonists.

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From this evidence it seems likely that substantial numbers of the indig-
enous population were incorporated into Latin colonies.87 In many cases
they were in a subordinate position, at least initially, in relation to colonists
from Rome and other Roman areas. But in a few documented cases, perhaps
typical of a wider trend, locals entered the colonial elite.88 So the situation
seems more complex than a general exclusion of natives, despite Brunt’s
‘natural expectations’. The example of Dasius of Brundisium and the situation
at Paestum both suggest that the practice of incorporating non-Romans into
colonies went back before the Hannibalic War. Salmon makes the interesting
observation that as a result of the settlement in 338, Roman territory already
encompassed other peoples such as Volscians at Antium and Velitrae, and
the Oscan-speaking Campanians of Capua and Cumae.89 They would be
as eligible for colonization schemes as inhabitants of Rome, implying that
ethnically diverse colonial populations were possible, even if recruitment was
restricted to Roman citizens. Non-Roman ethnicity does not always seem to
have been a bar to incorporation, and the status of incorporated individuals
may have been more important than their ethnic identity.
In fact, there is plenty of evidence that ethnic composition was no
guarantee of a city’s security or of loyalty to the Roman state. Our sources
represent the Roman state as almost splitting apart in the Struggle of the
Orders, and the secessions of the plebs as in many ways breakaway states. The
early colonies of Circeii and Setia sided with the Latins in 340 (Livy 8.3–6):
this needs to be explained not in terms of their ethnic make-up, but rather
by their contemporary political interests. Roman legions posed threats to
Capua, and carried out the seizure of Rhegion.
The most interesting cases are the rebellions of the Latin colonies of
Fregellae and Venusia against Rome in 125 and in 91. Both rebellions were
motivated primarily by the desire of their inhabitants for Roman citizenship.
But as on neither occasion were they joined by any other Latin colonies,
scholars have been tempted to connect their actions to their ethnic compo-
sition.90 Salmon, for instance, argued that these revolts were the result of
the strong ‘alien influence’ of local Oscan-speaking populations who had
infiltrated these towns.91 There is good evidence for the immigration of large
numbers of Samnites and Paeligni into Fregellae in the second century.92 But
as Mouritsen points out, it is implausible that the inhabitants of Fregellae
would have revolted in 125 without the prospect of support.93 This was surely
expected from other Latin colonies, and the Latin commentator Asconius
records that the destruction of this city oppressed all the allies of the Latin
name, not the Oscan peoples of the central Apennines.94 Furthermore, the
names of colonists at Fregellae testify to the mixed origins of the town’s
aristocracy, thought to remain substantially loyal in the revolt, and the loyal

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colonists subsequently settled in Fabrateria Nova include some with Oscan

names.95 Venusia may, on its foundation, have included many people from the
indigenous population.96 But its decision to join the allies in the Social War
must have been largely determined by its military position, surrounded by
anti-Roman forces.97 The political and military context in which a commu-
nity found itself normally played a much more decisive role in its decisions
than its ethnic makeup, although the latter could contribute to the former.

Later views of colonies

How were these origins viewed in the late Republic and early Empire? We
know that some colonies commemorated their foundation, probably as a way
of stressing their Romanness, which other ex-allied cities were not able to
do.98 Cicero (Pro Sestio 131) tells us that at Brundisium the day on which
the colony was created was celebrated each year. An inscription from Puteoli
is dated ‘ninety years after the establishment of the colony’ (CIL X 1781)
despite the original Romans in the colony having been heavily outnumbered
by Greeks.99 Livy seems to have thought of colonies as wholly Roman in
composition (27.9.11).
However, this evidence has to be compared with other material which
shows that the inhabitants of some colonies might trace the history of their
city back beyond its colonization. This seems to be the case for Interamna
Nahars in Umbria, which a local inscription records was founded in 673.
Elsewhere I have argued that the city became a Latin colony in the early
third century. This is the most plausible explanation of the different types
of evidence for the city in the Republican period, despite the lack of literary
evidence for its colonization.100 If this interpretation is right, it would suggest
that when colonies constructed their past, they might regard a colonial influx
as simply one stage in their history, rather than the formative moment. The
choice of this date in Interamna, whether genuine memory or invented
tradition, must be a sign of local belief in the importance of the early (and
perhaps pre-colonial) settlement and suggests that many of the indigenous
inhabitants had been incorporated in the colonial settlement.
A similarly flexible attitude to colonial history is expressed by Strabo, who
describes Magna Graecia as completely barbarized, except for Tarentum,
Rhegium, and Neapolis. These are surprising choices to pick as standard-
bearers of Greek culture in Italy, as Tarentum had received a Roman colony
in the late second century and Rhegium was not only seized by the Roman
legion which had been sent to garrison it in the early third century (and
which killed most of the population in the process, according to Strabo)
but had also been colonized by veterans in the late Republic. Other ancient
authors stressed the integrative nature of colonies. In his famous excursus,

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Velleius Paterculus weaves together extensions of Roman citizenship in Italy

with colonial foundations. Appian’s introduction to the Civil Wars (1.7)
describes colonies as often being founded on the sites of existing towns,
and noted that ‘this was the alternative they devised to garrisons’. And in
the Augustan list of the towns of Italy given by Pliny in his Natural History,
most colonies of the third and second centuries are simply classed as oppida,
irrespective of their different origins from indigenous Italic centres.

Conclusion
We have sought to untangle ethnicity from colonization. Modern precon-
ceptions encourage us to view Roman colonies in an ethnic light, but Rome
itself was a polyethnic state, perhaps from its earliest origins, and the diverse
forms of early colonization, which were often not under state control, meant
that the role played by ethnicity was much more complex than we might
imagine. There seems good reason to think that the nature of colonization
in the archaic period meant that the resident population was often included
in colonies. In fact, the indecisive nature of ethnic conceptions in the archaic
period probably meant that such inclusions were not originally the anathema
they appear to us. The diversity of early colonization and its difference from
later practice were very difficult for late Republican and Augustan annalists
to understand, given their view, informed by hindsight, of the orderly and
inevitable nature of the Roman conquest of Italy. Whilst it is important to
appreciate the anachronism inherent in the sources, our response should not
be a simple dismissal of their evidence. Rather, we should use the informa-
tion of primary sources when it is not obviously invented along late Repub-
lican lines, or when it is supported by comparative parallels. This evidence
suggests we should see colonization as a process that developed slowly over
time, perhaps beginning as private aristocratic operations or as expeditions
led by the king, and in the archaic period encompassing demographic migra-
tions and armed captures of cities and land. Although the sources freely
describe the settlements that resulted as coloniae, this will often have been an
anachronistic term for them.
The different types of archaic colonization were only slowly standardized
in the middle Republic, a period which probably saw the gradual creation
of an ideology of colonization. This ideology affected both the nature of
colonization, which began to involve the foundation of whole cities as
ideal communities (hierarchical rather than egalitarian in nature), and the
historiography of the process, as an idealized view of past colonization was
developed. It does not seem at all apparent that every foundation from 338
was predominantly military. The situation is more complex than a simple
need for bastions in the mid-Republic, and socio-economic foundations in

178
 Colonization and identity in Republican Italy

the second century. I would suggest that demographic pressure on land, and
social conflicts within Rome meant that colonization had a combination
of motives from the start of the Republic.101 The absorption of indigenous
populations into colonies was not uncommon. While some colonies included
few or no natives (such as Cosa), the ethnic make-up of colonies was not
a consistent concern of the Roman authorities and is not therefore a decisive
consideration in their foundation. Some happened to be where locals were
annihilated, others where locals persisted.
The status of included indigenous populations often remains obscure,
and in many cases they are likely to have occupied inferior positions. But the
mental context of archaic Republican colonization suggests that full inclusion
was more likely than a modern mindset would lead us to expect, and there
is clearly a continuity in the archaic ethnic mentality that promoted the
absorption of foreign peoples. The frequent openness of colonies should not
be seen as a sign of Roman generosity, as Greek and Roman authors of the
Augustan period tended to portray it, but rather of a hard-headed evaluation
of self-interest.102 This mentality is entirely compatible with, and inherent in
the operation of Roman imperialism. At exactly the time that some Italians
were being included in Roman colonization schemes, many others must have
been working farms in the Roman campagna as slaves.

Acknowledgements
Thanks to Ed Bispham, Michael Crawford, Emmanuele Curti, Fay Glinister, Anton
Powell, and other members of audiences at Oxford, Glasgow and London for comments
and suggestions. All dates are bc unless otherwise noted.

Notes
1
Cf. Torelli 1999 for a more active view of Roman policy in this area.
2
1969, 15.
3
Quae tamen condicio, cum sit magis obnoxia et minus libera, potior tamen et praesta-
bilior existimatur propter amplitudinem maiestatemque populi Romani, cuius istae coloniae
quasi effigies parvae simulacraque esse quaedam videntur … (‘This condition [of colonies],
although it is more exposed to control and less free, is nevertheless thought preferable
and superior because of the greatness and majesty of the Roman people, of whom those
colonies seem to be miniatures, as it were, and in a way copies’ [trans. adapted from
Loeb]). Gellius’ use of the present tense shows that coloniae of Hadrian’s own day are
being referred to, which were considerably different from the Latin colonies of the mid-
Republic (cf. Bispham 2000, 157–8 and in this volume, contra Salmon 1969, 18; see
also Zanker 2000, 41).
4
Brown 1980, 16–17.
5
Torelli 1999, 15.

179
Guy Bradley
6
Fentress 2000, 17–18.
7
Wilson 1997; Osborne 1998, rejecting the term ‘colonization’; Whitley 2001,
124–7 for a more conservative approach.
8
Horden and Purcell 2000, 399.
9
1998.
10
Oakley 1997, 62.
11
1997, 53; contra Càssola 1988, 6, 16.
12
Although the ‘parlous state of Velleius’ text’ (Salmon 1969, 17) poses problems, and
even ‘archival’ material might occasionally be invented (Oakley 1997, 38–9).
13
Stressed by Càssola 1988, although to my mind he overstates the case. Cf. Cornell
1991, 58 seeing colonization itself as a process based on an anachronistic view of the
past.
14
See, for instance, Servius, Aen 1.12: sane veteres colonias ita definiunt: colonia est
coetus eorum hominum qui universi deducti sunt in locum certum aedificiis munitum,
quem certo iure obtinerent (‘Indeed previous scholars define colonies thus: a colony is
a body of those men who have been led out as a group to a fixed destination, provided
with buildings, a place which they were to possess on fixed terms’).
15
Bayet 1938, 113 n. 6.
16
Cic. De Lege Agraria 2.73; Pro Font. 13; further discussed below.
17
Càssola 1988, 5–6; Brunt 1971, 538–9.
18
Momigliano 1984; Cornell 1995, 60.
19
Cornell 1995, 143–5, 157–9.
20
Livy 2.33–40; Cornell 2003.
21
Torelli 1999, 17 suggests the Veturii may be another gens who transfer to Rome, this
time from Praeneste in 499.
22
Stibbe 1980.
23
Hermon 1999 thinks that Valerius established a military colony at Satricum with
a ver sacrum (‘a sacred spring’); cf. Torelli 1999, 16–17.
24
Cic. Dom. 101; Oakley 1998, 607.
25
Ampolo 1976–7, 337–9, 324 with other examples; Cornell 1995, 158.
26
Ampolo 1981; Cornell 1997, 10 citing the consuls Post. Cominius Auruncus (501),
Appius Claudius Sabinus (495), T. Sicinius Sabinus and C. Aquillius Tuscus (both in
487); the latter has the same gentilial name as an Avile Acvilnas known from archaic
Etruscan inscriptions at Ischia di Castro (near Vulci) and Veii (Pallottino 1992, 7);
Torelli 1999, 17.
27
Ampolo 1976–7.
28
See Ampolo 1976–7, 343: ‘in età arcaica conta più il ghenos dell’ethnos, il nomen
gentile più del nomen in senso etnico’; Cornell, 1997; Spivey 1997, 19 notes the ‘tran-
scendence of social status over ethnicity in the ancient Mediterranean’.
29
Cornell 1991, 62–3; Giardina 1997, 5–6.
30
SIG 543 (an inscription of a letter of Philip V of Macedon to the city of Larissa in
217); D.H. 1.9.4.
31
Livy 9.43 (306), Livy 9.45 (304).
32
This has recently been doubted by Mouritsen 1998; my view is set out in Bradley
2002.
33
North 1976; Beard et al. 1998, 34–5, 61–3. Note, however, the interesting contrast
offered by many Greek states, e.g. Sparta, where their exclusiveness of citizenship

180
 Colonization and identity in Republican Italy

was accompanied by submission to external religious authority (a point I owe to A.

Powell).
34
Torelli 1999, 20–2, 23–4 discusses the archaeological evidence from the colony.
35
Oakley 1997, 508–9. He lists the following other examples (at 343): Livy 6.12.6,
17.7–8, 21.3; 8.3.9; 8.14.5.
36
For an unusual later example, when Gauls attempted to found a town (oppidum)
near the future site of Aquileia in 186 bc, see Livy 39.22.6, 45.6, 54.6.
37
Oakley 1997, 343.
38
Cornell 1995, 302, seeing this as a reinforcement of the record’s historicity.
39
For this interpretation see Oakley 1998, 565–6; on the identity of the complainants,
see also Sherwin-White 1973, 81.
40
Cornell 1995, 144, 308–9; Crawford 1995; Hermon 1999, 2001; cf. Coarelli 1990,
Torelli, 1999, 16–17.
41
Cornell 1988, 94–5; Torelli 1999, 16 for the link with colonization. The evidence
for these individuals is cited in the section above.
42
Cornell 2000 for full discussion, using the evidence of Festus 290L s.v. Praeteriti
senatores.
43
Càssola 1988, 15–17 for these principles. He believes the names of the triumvirate
at Antium to be invented; but see above, and Oakley 1997, 52–3. Càssola also notes
the case of Venusia (291), where L. Postumius Megellus was unjustly excluded from the
triumviral commission (D.H. 17–18.5.1–2).
44
Plutarch, Publicola 16, with Torelli 1999, 17.
45
1938.
46
e.g. Service 1975.
47
Dench 1995, 206 for fictions; Hermon 2001, 75–99, explicitly links the sacred
spring with colonization movements.
48
e.g. Livy 3.1.4–5, 4.47.6, 4.49.6, 6.21.4; D.H. 9.59.1 (colonies); Livy 4.48.1–4,
6.11.8, 6.21.4 (viritane or unspecified agrarian proposals). Cf. Oakley 1993, 21–2;
Patterson in this volume.
49
Salmon 1969, 115 (and n. 203). Cf. Brunt 1971, 538–40.
50
Salmon 1969, 15.
51
Cicero uses the phrase in De Lege Agraria 2.73, contrasting the usefulness of ancient
colonies to the safety of the state with the ill-thought-out settlements that would result
from Rullus’ agrarian bill; and Pro Font. 13 on Narbo Martius, which provided witnesses
in support of Fonteius’ defence.
52
Finley 1981.
53
Cornell 1995, 333, 393.
54
Oakley 1998, 181–2 on the historicity of this notice.
55
Cf. Gabba and Pasquinucci 1979, 29; Cornell 1991, 58; Gabba 1988, 21.
56
Cf. Livy 9.26.4 for similar sentiments about the unattractiveness of distant Luceria,
amongst aggressive peoples (infestas gentes).
57
Cf. Càssola 1988, 9–11; Patterson, this volume.
58
Note that Luceria, Minturnae and Sinuessa were nevertheless founded.
59
Coarelli 1992.
60
Salmon 1969, 45.
61
1995, 302–4.
62
The process of colonial foundation is examined by Gargola 1995.

181
Guy Bradley
63
Brunt 1971, 540. For an opposing view, see, for example, Gabba 1988, 21. On
Brunt’s agenda, dictated by his interpretation of the Augustan census figures, see
Broadhead 2002, 28.
64
For further discussion of the possible influence of late Republican colonization on
Roman historiography, see Patterson in this volume.
65
Brunt 1971, 539.
66
M. Crawford has suggested to me that the massacre of enemies was not necessarily
something that the Romans would be ashamed of in this period: claims of genocide were
often, to our eyes, curiously exaggerated, perhaps with the aim of securing a triumph.
67
Fentress in Carandini et al. 2002, 62.
68
Celuzza in Carandini et al. 2002, 108–10, including, at 109, discussion of the
evidence for limited continuity of the indigenous population at nearby Orbetello.
69
For the phrase, see Fentress 2000, 12–13.
70
1999, 43; cf. Celuzza in Carandini et al. 2002, 105.
71
Greco 1988, 82.
72
Cf. Torelli, 1999, 45.
73
Crawford, 1985, 71–2, and this vol.
74
Pasquinucci 1988, 56.
75
 Zuffa 1971; Fontemaggi and Piolanti 1995, 532–3.
76
Crawford 1985, 15.
77
Cf. Crawford 1985, 43–5.
78
Brunt 1971, 540.
79
La Regina 1970–1, 452, cf. Gabba 1994, 186, CIL I2 3201 with Degrassi’s commen-
tary; Coarelli 1991, 178–9. A dedication to Iuno Populona at Luceria indicates the
presence of a similar group of Samnites incolae there, according to Torelli 1996, 38.
80
Gabba 1958, 100.
81
Beneventum: Torelli 2002, 77; Paestum: Torelli 1999, 76, Crawford, this volume;
Venusia: ILLRP 690–2, with Salmon 1967, 316, n. 3 and 1969, n. 184.
82
Brunt 1971, 540.
83
Livy 39.44.10 for triumvirs; Cic. Brut. 20.79; Richardson 1980, 4; Càssola 1988, 12
for Ennius as indicative of the wider incorporation of allies.
84
Cic. In Pis. 53; Bernardi 1973, 66 n. 2; Salmon 1969, n. 65.
85
Gabba 1994, 52, 186; Celuzza in Carandini et al. 2002, 110.
86
Gabba and Pasquinucci 1979, 34; 1994, 186. Note also the evidence for different
sizes of urban plots at Cosa after the reinforcement of 197 (Fentress 2000, 17–18), where
allies were included (Livy 33.24.8).
87
Cf. the conclusion of Cornell (1989, 388), based on demographic arguments.
88
The certainty of Càssola (1988, 5–6) that these populations were always of lower
status is misplaced.
89
1969, n. 65. Note also Livy’s reference to Etruscans from Caere serving in the
Roman army in 302 (10.4.9).
90
Despite this explanation featuring in no ancient source.
91
1969, 117; cf. Salmon 1967, 316, 343, 357.
92
Livy 41.8.6–12, recording the migration of 4000 Samnite and Paelignian families
to Fregellae before 177; cf. Livy 32.2.6–7 on Narnia, where representatives of the colony
complain of the infiltration of outsiders, who passed themselves off as colonists. Coarelli
1991, outlines the archaeological evidence for changes in Fregellae in the mid-second

182
 Colonization and identity in Republican Italy

century, and argues (at 183) that the changing ethnic make-up of the colony did have an
impact on the rebellion and its suppression.
93
Mouritsen 1998, 118–19.
94
Cf. Stockton 1979, 97.
95
Rawson 1998, 72.
96
D.H. 17–18.5.2; Torelli 1999, 94, 116; disputed by Brunt 1971, 56 and Bernardi
1973, 75 n. 65, suggesting that the number of colonists (20,000) may have been trans-
mitted wrongly.
97
Mouritsen 1998, 161 n. 26.
98
Laurence 1998, 104.
99
Foundation dates are also known for Saticula (Festus 458L), Placentia (Asconius,
Pis. 3C) and Bononia (Livy 37.57.7); see Gargola 1995, 73.
100
Bradley 2000b; for doubts about Interamna’s colonial status, see Fora 2002.
101
Cf. Càssola 1988, 14.
102
Cf. Mattingly 1992, 50, on ‘racially enlightened (though highly elitist) assimilation’
of North African tribal elites, a policy operating on ‘pragmatism, not altruism’, and often
‘exploitative and cynical’.

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 6

Colonization and historiography:

the Roman Republic

John R. Patterson

In the years between the ‘Latin War’ of 341–338 and the end of the second
century bc, the Romans established some sixty colonies in Italy.1 These
varied extensively in the circumstances of their foundation, their physical
location and appearance, and their constitutional status. Some were citizen
or so-called ‘Roman’ colonies, typically small in scale and located in mili-
tarily sensitive positions, whose inhabitants maintained their Roman citi-
zenship despite being established in a community far from Rome. Others
were ‘Latin’ colonies, often further away still, whose occupants did not
possess Roman citizenship; the grants of land they received were, however,
frequently extensive in scale. The literary tradition also records about twenty
colonial foundations established in the regal period or earlier in the Republic,
a similar number may have been set up by Sulla, and over fifty colonies were
founded (or re-founded) by Caesar, the triumvirs, and by Augustus in the
early years of his principate, making a total of some 150 colonial settlements
in Italy by the end of the first century.2
The importance of these colonies within the history of Rome – and indeed
that of Italy more generally – can hardly be overestimated. They served as
military strongpoints in hostile territory, helped to defend Roman rule in
Italy from external enemies and internal resistance, and rewarded veterans;
they acted as models for civic life, and vehicles for the spread of Roman
material culture, contributing to the eventual integration of the populations
of Rome and Italy; they provided an opportunity for Romans, Latins and
allies in difficult circumstances to gain economic and social advancement.
Their long-term demographic and cultural impact was very significant, as
tens of thousands of Romans and Italians moved substantial distances to
join colonies, or were evicted to make way for the colonists.3 Furthermore,
the whole issue of the establishment of colonies was in itself a major subject
of contention in the political life of Rome, particularly in the late second
and first centuries. Latin colonies possessed public spaces designed to reflect

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John R. Patterson

those of Rome, with temples, forum, comitium and senate-house;4 under the
Empire colonies were seen as having a particularly distinguished status, ‘on
account of the greatness and majesty of the Roman people, of which these
colonies appear to be likenesses and miniature images (quasi effigies parvae
simulacraque)’.5 The towns were often laid out in a regular grid-plan format,6
and their territory divided up between the settlers by means of centuriation
into square or rectangular blocks, or strips known as strigae and scamna.7
Both the urban and the rural landscapes of Italy were thus affected to a very
significant extent by the establishment of colonies; some of these centres, by
virtue of their strategically important locations and the natural resources of
their territories, continue to be major cities even now – Piacenza, Cremona,
Modena and Bologna in the north of Italy, Benevento and Brindisi in the
south, for example.
Over the past half-century, our knowledge of republican colonization
has increased substantially, largely due to the contribution of archaeology:
important fieldwork has taken place at Cosa,8 at Alba Fucens,9 at Paestum,10
at Fregellae,11 and around Interamna,12 to take only a few examples.13 The
archaeology of Roman and Latin colonies is indeed one of the few cases in
which we can plausibly claim to be able to use archaeology to cast light on
histoire événementielle (to use Braudel’s term), given that the establishment
of a colony can be dated to a specific year, and even in some cases a specific
day – 5 August 244 at Brundisium,14 31 May 218 at Placentia,15 and 28
December 189 at Bononia16 – even more so when the destruction or aban-
donment of a colony can be securely dated, as notably in the case of the sack
of Fregellae in 125.17
These precise chronologies of course derive from the literary record for
colonization – preserved largely in Livy’s History, which is complemented
by a list of foundations provided by Velleius Paterculus and some informa-
tion from Diodorus, Cicero and other writers.18 The foundation of Saticula
in 313, for example, is not mentioned in Livy but is known from a passage
in Festus.19 This evidence in turn is assumed to derive largely from the work
of earlier annalists and from official records of the Roman state, while it
seems likely that in antiquity there also existed histories specifically focusing
on colonization, of which only tantalizing fragmentary indications now
survive, for example in Asconius’ account of the foundation of Placentia.20
Putting together the literary and archaeological sources can be a particularly
fruitful way of approaching colonial settlement, but in order to establish
the chronology of colonial foundations without being misled into circular
arguments, a careful analysis of the literary as well as the archaeological data
is essential. The study of the literary record of the early and mid-Republic as
a whole presents challenging methodological problems, of course,21 and the

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issues surrounding colonization are no exception; a particular problem here

is that the foundation of colonies was a technique employed by the Romans
across a lengthy period of time, to respond to a variety of political, military
and economic concerns, and the nature of the colonies themselves is bound
to have varied significantly as a result.22 All the more reason to look carefully
at the historiographical contexts in which accounts of colonization occur.
Introducing his book Roman Colonization under the Republic, published
in 1969, E.T. Salmon commented: ‘So much has been said about this great
Roman institution in the past that anyone who writes about it today is
hardly likely to shed a blinding new light on it, much less to revolutionize
traditional conceptions of it. He can, however, seek to collate what is known
or guessed about the colonies, provide an up-to-date synthesis, describe
their vicissitudes and men’s changing attitudes towards them, appraise their
varying purpose and importance, and perhaps suggest some new approaches
to several old problems.’ 23 His observations are still apt. This chapter aims
to ‘describe men’s changing attitudes to the colonies’, and in the process
‘appraise their varied purpose and importance’, by examining the different
narrative contexts in which ancient authors, Livy in particular, discuss the
phenomenon of colonization, and by exploring the changing ways in which
colonies and colonists are portrayed in literary accounts. In particular, it
will focus on two types of problem which are attested as having arisen in
connection with the establishment of colonies: difficulties in recruiting
colonists, and opposition and resistance to their foundation on the part of
local populations.

Colonization in historiographical context

Central to ancient (and indeed many modern) depictions of colonization is
the idea that the colonies formed components in a military strategy.24 Cicero
himself observed that ‘our ancestors set up colonies in appropriate places in
such a way as to protect them against even the suspicion of danger, so that
they resembled fortifications of empire (propugnacula imperii) more than
they did towns of Italy’.25 In the same way, Siculus Flaccus commented that
the Romans established colonies ‘either to control the previous populations
of the towns, or to resist the attacks of enemies’.26 Analysis of the location
and chronology of colonial foundations and their relationship with the
roadbuilding projects undertaken by the Roman state in the mid-Republic
does indeed seem to suggest coherent planning.27 For example, the sequence
of colonial foundations at the time of Rome’s struggle with the Samnites
in the second half of the fourth century bc – beginning with Cales in 334
and Fregellae in 328, and continuing with Luceria (on the eastern side of
Samnite territory) in 314 and Interamna in 312 – can be seen as an attempt

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to surround the Samnite territory with colonies, and protect the Campanian
plain. They can also be linked with the construction of the Via Appia
between Rome and Capua in 312, and the earlier construction of the Via
Latina, which is convincingly argued by Coarelli to have taken place in the
330s or 320s (see Fig. 1). To the east of the city, the building of the Via Valeria
by the censor M. Valerius Maximus in 307 predates only by a few years the
foundation of Alba Fucens (303) and Carseoli (298) in the territory of the
Aequi. If we accept the traditional date of 241 for the construction of the Via
Aurelia along the coast of Etruria, this can similarly be linked with the estab-
lishment of citizen colonies at Alsium (247) and Fregenae (245) and perhaps
in broader terms to those of the preceding years at Cosa (273), Castrum
Novum (264) and Pyrgi (mid-third century, perhaps also 264).28 All these
settlements can be seen to contribute to the fortification of the coast north of
Rome against Carthaginian attack (see Fig. 2). Likewise, the establishment of
Beneventum in 268 and Aesernia in 263 can be seen as a response to Samnite
participation in Pyrrhus’ campaigns against Rome, again contributing to the
isolation of Samnium. A similar narrative and analysis can be constructed
for the series of colonial foundations in northern Italy in the early second
century.29 Placentia and Cremona, originally founded in 218, were reinforced
in 190, and Bononia was established in 189. The Via Aemilia, which ran
along the southern edge of the Po plain, connected Placentia and Bononia

Fig. 1. Southern Italy.

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Fig. 2. Central Italy.

Fig. 3. Northern Italy.

with Ariminum in 187;30 citizen colonies were established at Mutina and

Parma in 183, to control access to the Apennine valleys and guard against
incursions by the Ligurians who occupied them. With the defeat of the
Ligures Apuani, and their mass deportation into Samnium in 180, Luna
was established in 177 near the Tyrrhenian coast; over a fifteen-year period,
we can see the Romans establishing their control of the region with the
suppression first of the Gauls and then the Ligurians, and the building of
roads and colonies was a central part of that strategy (see Fig. 3).

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Examining the membership of the commissions responsible for founding

colonies in this period also proves instructive: there appears to be a connec-
tion between the military risks associated with the location where a colony
was to be established, and the seniority of the commissioners appointed to
lead it out. Only consulars and ex-praetors participated in the commissions
for the establishment of Cremona, Placentia and Aquileia, while more junior
magistrates were involved in founding smaller colonies in the more peaceful
south. We might compare the increasing use of consular commanders as the
wars in Spain became a cause of concern to the Roman Senate in the latter
half of the second century.31 There also seems to have been a link between
a general’s role in the conquest of a territory and his participation in the
commission responsible for the distribution of that land to veterans and
other settlers.32
However, an alternative tradition about the motivation behind colonial
settlement can also be detected; passages in the literary record stress the
importance of colonization as a means of relieving poverty among the poor
at Rome by allowing the redistribution of land. Appian, for example, while
acknowledging the military importance of colonization, also alludes to the
way in which conquest led to the acquisition and exploitation of land. ‘The
Romans, as they took control of Italy piece by piece through warfare, took
part of the Italians’ land and either founded new towns or recruited colonists
from their own people to occupy those towns which already existed. Their
intention was to use them instead of fortifications (ἀντὶ φρουρίων); the culti-
vated part of the land they had captured on each occasion they distributed to
settlers, sold or leased out.’33
The idea that the establishment of colonies for military purposes could be
combined with the distribution of land to settlers, and with the leasing or sale
of public land, thus identifying what seems to be an economic motive and
consequence for colonization, is echoed in numerous passages in Livy. One of
the most interesting of these is his account of the establishment of a colony at
Antium in 467. According to Livy, T. Aemilius, consul in that year, proposed
to institute a bill for the distribution of land, and gained the support of
the tribunes of the plebs, but in the process attracted the opposition of the
possessores (occupiers) and many of the patricians, who complained that the
princeps civitatis (leading citizen, meaning the consul) was making himself
popularis at the expense of others. Aemilius’ colleague as consul, Q. Fabius
(who was also notable as the only survivor of the disastrous defeat of the
Fabii by the Veientes at the battle of the Cremera) resolved the tension by
proposing the establishment of a colony on land taken the previous year from
the Volscians. ‘In this way, the plebs would acquire land without the possessores
complaining, and there would be concord within the state.’34 Livy goes on to

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observe, however, that when the members of the plebs were invited to register
for the new colony, so few persons enrolled that Volscian colonists were asked
to join the community: ‘the rest of the people preferred demanding land at
Rome to receiving it elsewhere’.35 Dionysius of Halicarnassus tells the story
in similar terms, though he explains in a slightly different way the reluctance
of the plebeians to join the colony: ‘the division of the land did not please the
masses and the poor at Rome who considered that they were being banished
from their fatherland’.36
The episode of the colony at Antium effectively illustrates many of the
problems involved in dealing with first-century accounts of colonial settle-
ment in the early and mid-Republic. Scepticism about the story has been
expressed by modern scholars from various angles.37 The tradition (reported
in Livy and Dionysius) that Antium revolted only a few years later suggests
that if a colony was in reality established there, its impact was insignificant.38
Salmon believes that the information provided by Livy and Dionysius may
in fact relate to the establishment of the citizen colony known to have been
founded at Antium in 338.39 The leading role of Q. Fabius within the story
in restoring concordia to the state – as other members of his gens had done40 –
might also arouse suspicion, fitting into an admiring view of the Fabii which
may be traced back to family traditions propagated in the work of the third-
century bc historian Fabius Pictor;41 and the reference to concordia might
also suggest that the story echoes the careers of the Gracchi. On the other
hand, the fact that the names of the triumviri who established the colony, Ti.
Quinctius, A. Verginius and P. Furius (L. Furius, according to Dionysius),
are recorded in the surviving literary tradition, like those of later colonial
foundations,42 induces cautious optimism, while Cornell sees the sources’
misunderstanding of the need to recruit local inhabitants for the colony as an
indication that the tradition may in fact be correct.43 In any case, we should
remember that there may well have been significant differences between what
was understood as a ‘colony ‘ in the second or first centuries and the reality of
what was involved in the establishment of a ‘colonial’ settlement in the fifth
century. Just as the warfare of the early Republic may typically have consisted
of semi-independent initiatives by groups such as the Fabii (at the Cremera)
and the ‘suodales of Poplios Valesios’ attested at Satricum,44 so it is likely that
fifth-century ‘colonization’ may have involved the small-scale occupations of
territory by individual families and their supporters rather than co-ordinated
and centralized operations undertaken by the Roman state.45
In this context, however, the issue of whether or not a colony was estab-
lished at Antium in 467 is of less importance than the way in which Livy and
Dionysius choose to present the story. The linkage of colonial settlement,
distribution of land, and the long-term political tensions between rich and

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poor at Rome which constituted the ‘struggle of the orders’ is one which
recurs in many episodes in Livy, and not only in the earliest books, which we
might imagine to have been most open to his own inventiveness or that of his
annalistic predecessors. For example, in the account Livy gives of the foun-
dation of Satricum in 385, the historian describes the Senate as a ‘voluntary
benefactor’(largitor voluntarius, perhaps with the additional sense of ‘giver
of bribes’), seeing the establishment of the colony as a response to popular
protest after the imprisonment of Marcus Manlius, who had made himself
dangerously popular with the plebs as a result of his campaigns on their
behalf against debt and usury. As an attempt to placate the plebeians, this
was however portrayed as unsuccessful: the 2.5 iugera of land allocated to
the settlers was perceived as being too meagre, and accepting it ‘seen as the
reward for betraying Manlius’.46 Likewise, the establishment of Cales in 334
is similarly described by Livy in terms of benefaction: ‘[the consuls] proposed
that a colony be established at Cales, in order that they should anticipate the
desire of the plebs by doing them an act of generosity (beneficium)’.47
Closely related to this tradition is the notion that colonies had a role in
increasing Roman (or Italian) manpower. Livy reports that in 393, the Senate
decreed that seven iugera of land in the territory of Veii should be allocated
to each of the plebeians – not just heads of families – ‘in order that with
the hope of this incentive before them, they might be willing to bring up
children’.48
Much later, when in 209, during the course of the Second Punic War,
twelve of Rome’s colonies complained that they were unable to provide
soldiers and money for the Roman forces, Livy portrays the consuls addressing
the representatives of the delinquent colonies and reminding them that they
‘were not Capuans or Tarentines, but men of Rome, where they had grown
up, and from where they had been sent into colonies and into land captured
in war in order to increase their race’. 49 We have to see ‘increasing their race’
as possible only within the context of increased holdings of land allocated
to colonists that made larger families viable, and the social and economic
advancement which the membership of a colony could bring about.50 Appian,
sketching the background to the Gracchan land crisis, similarly explains that
the motive for renting out public land was ‘to increase the population of the
Italian race’.51
Ogilvie, in his commentary on Livy’s account of the foundation of
Antium, rightly observed that many of the words and phrases used – princeps
civitatis for example, and of course popularis – recall the language of first-
century politics.52 The repeated references to class struggle at Rome, and
concerns about the problems of access to land in explaining the foundations
of colonies, might simply be seen as retrojections of political conflict over

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colonization in the age of the Gracchi in particular, when we know that

a desire to relieve the impoverishment of the Roman peasantry was a factor
motivating land distribution schemes – just as so many of Livy’s descriptions
of political struggle in early Rome appear to recall the concerns of second- or
first-century politics. The use of language recalling the late Republic does not
in itself mean that the episodes recounted are invented, though – Romans of
the second or first century bc would quite naturally have used the political
language of their own times to conceptualize and describe events of earlier
times. ‘Land and debt were constant issues in political struggle in the Greco-
Roman world’, as Cornell justly observed.53
In fact, there are good reasons for taking seriously the repeated linkage,
in literary accounts, of colonial foundations with attempts to improve the
conditions of the plebs at Rome even before the later second century. Cornell
and Oakley, for example, have demonstrated that during the period between
the 380s and 340s when no colonial foundations are attested (presumably
because of the increasingly strained relations between the Romans and their
Latin allies in the period leading up to the Latin War), there is a dramatic
increase in the number of Livy’s references to the sufferings of the plebs as
a result of debt-bondage and usury, and to the efforts made to alleviate that
suffering. Indeed the problem of debt was a major theme of his account
of the activities of M. Manlius. There is a prima facie case for arguing that
the suspension of colonization did indeed have deleterious effects on the
economic condition of the people of Rome; conversely, the abolition of
debt-bondage in 326 or 313 takes place at a time when colonies were again
being founded in significant numbers, and the number of chattel slaves
available at Rome was increasing as a result of successful military activity in
Italy.54 Livy himself made the link: in his account of the year 300, referring
to the recent establishment of Sora and Alba Fucens, to which some 10,000
colonists altogether had been sent, he observed that ‘the removal of a great
number to colonies quietened the plebs at Rome’.55 Comparative optimism
about the reliability of the account of colonial foundations in Livy is justified,
at least from the fourth century onwards: the standardization of the material
presented in the (usually brief ) references, which frequently include mention
of the number of colonists, the quantity of land allocated to the settlers,
and the names of the triumvirs responsible for the creation of the colony,
suggests that the material may have been taken from authoritative Roman
records,56 while it is also possible that the names of the triumvirs founding
the community, like the date of its original establishment, may also have
been commemorated locally, since their descendents might serve as heredi-
tary patrons of the colony.57 It has been noted that in Livy’s narrative these
records begin to appear more consistently in this standardized format, similar

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to that characteristic of his later books, from the foundation of Cales in 334
onwards.58
The fourth form of narrative in which colonization can be contextualised,
beyond those relating to military strategy, relieving poverty and increasing
manpower, is that of the spread of Roman citizenship, both within and
beyond the confines of Italy. Here the key text is the excursus on colonization
at the end of book 1 of Velleius’ History of Rome, which covers the period
from before the Trojan War to the destruction of Corinth and Carthage in
146. The events of this year are seen by Velleius (as previously by Sallust)59 as
a significant turning point in the history of Rome, in that they removed the
fear of external enemies and exposed the city to the detrimental influence
of eastern luxuria.60 At this point Velleius provides two excursuses, one on
ancient literature and (more importantly in this context) a second on the
colonies founded by the Senate from 390 onwards.61 This account is notable
not only for the fact that it omits what Velleius terms ‘the military colonies’
(presumably those established for the veterans of Sulla, Caesar, the triumvirs
and Augustus), but also fails to draw a distinction between the Latin and
citizen colonies, and combines the foundation of these colonies with discus-
sion of other occasions on which the Roman citizenship in its various forms
was extended to the peoples of Italy.62
As Gabba has underlined, this theme ties in well with Velleius’ own
personal interests and concerns. Velleius tells us himself that he was the great-
great-grandson of Minatius Magius of Aeclanum, who recruited a legion
among the Hirpini to help the Roman cause in the Social War, and in that
conflict attacked the rebel cities of Herculaneum, Pompeii and Compsa; in
recognition of this the Romans made him a special grant of their citizenship,
and appointed his sons praetor. Minatius Magius’ own great-grandfather,
Decius Magius of Capua, had similarly remained loyal to the Roman cause
when his city went over to the side of Hannibal in the Second Punic War.63
Velleius can be seen to have a particular interest in (and sympathy for)
those Italians who gained citizenship through loyalty to Rome, and it is not
surprising, therefore, that his account of the Social War concentrates on
the Italians’ enthusiasm for acquiring the Roman citizenship, their frustra-
tion at being denied it, and the justice of their case, given that it was in this
very context that Minatius Magius gained distinction and honour from the
Romans. Whether or not we share Velleius’ analysis of the origins of the
Social War, there is clearly a coherence between his position on this issue and
his highlighting of the question of citizenship in the excursus on coloniza-
tion, which occurs at such a crucial point in his narrative.64
In this way we can see four possible explanatory frameworks in which
Rome’s programme of colonization can be set, relating to the different

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purposes to which colonies were put at different times, but also reflecting
three of the main series of events around which the story of the Roman
Republic can be structured by a historian – Rome’s conquest of Italy, the
Struggle of the Orders, and the spread of Roman citizenship to the peoples
of Italy. The somewhat formulaic accounts of colonies given by Livy (and
Dionysius) do, however, leave many questions unanswered, and it is clear
that many important features of colonization are obscured or neglected
in their narratives. For example, examination of epigraphic and prosopo-
graphical data suggests that local populations could play a significant role in
the affairs of Latin colonies, as well as the Roman or Latin settlers;65 religious
and mythological associations could be exploited to consolidate the loyalty
of the indigenous elites, as at Luceria, where the town’s legendary associa-
tions with Diomedes, and the Romans’ Trojan origins, coalesced in worship
at the town’s sanctuary of Athena Ilias.66 Archaeological investigation has
similarly revealed the potential for diversity even within the category of
Latin colonies: the contrast between Cosa, established on a rocky outcrop in
Etruria, and Paestum, within the existing urban centre of Poseidonia, both in
273, is a striking one.67 Likewise, the substantial estates known to have been
allocated to higher-status participants in Latin colonies mean that these
would have had much more complex and variegated agricultural economies
– and indeed urban lifestyles – than the traditional portrayals of small-scale
subsistence agriculture in egalitarian colonies would suggest.68 In creating
a new Latin colony the Romans were establishing a community on the hier-
archical model of their own city, which necessitated creating a wealthy elite
who could serve as local senators, as well as a body of plebeians.69
Two particular problems connected with the establishment of colonies
under the Republic do however recur in the literary sources, namely the diffi-
culties periodically experienced by the Romans in recruiting colonists, and
the hostility to colonies (and colonists) which manifests itself particularly in
the first century.

Problems with colonization (1): recruitment difficulties

Livy’s account of the foundation of Antium in 467 illustrates one of the
central paradoxes involved in narratives of colonization. On the one hand
the establishment of colonies was seen as motivated by popular enthusiasm,
and by the desire of the elite to gain popular support; on the other, it was
apparently not always easy to persuade people to join them. Livy in this case
disapprovingly explains recruitment difficulties in terms of the plebeians’
‘preference for demanding land at Rome to receiving it elsewhere’. The
difficulty in finding recruits for colonies surfaces in later chronological
contexts too.

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In his account of the foundation of the colony at Luceria in 314, Livy

describes how there was a feeling at Rome that it would be better to destroy
the town (which had betrayed its Roman garrison to the enemy) rather than
‘banish citizens so far from home among such hostile peoples’.70 This feared
lack of enthusiasm is manifested a few years later when the triumviri respon-
sible for recruiting colonists to go to the new citizen colonies of Minturnae
and Sinuessa apparently found it difficult to recruit those who would enrol
‘because they thought that they were being sent not to settle in the fields, but
to serve almost as a permanent garrison in a hostile district’.71
In Livy’s narrative, then, the factor that chiefly attracts recruits to the
colonies is seen as the provision of land; the dangers of living in an isolated
outpost surrounded by Rome’s enemies serves as a countervailing negative.
The idea of the Roman People’s concern for their counterparts in such
isolated communities is illustrated by Livy’s account of a Roman attack on
Sora in 315, which ‘having killed its Roman colonists had gone over to the
Samnites’.72 As has often been noticed, there is a problem here, since the
establishment of a colony at Sora seems in fact to have taken place 12 years
later, in 303.73 The Romans killed in the Soran revolt are thus more likely to
have been members of a garrison than formal colonists, but what is important
is the fact that they are portrayed by Livy as colonists. In 314 the Romans
defeated the Samnites and besieged Sora, which they eventually captured
with the aid of a deserter. 225 individual Sorans who were deemed to be
responsible for the rebellion and the massacre of the ‘colonists’ were taken
to Rome, beaten and beheaded in the Forum ‘to the great joy of the plebs’,
according to Livy, ‘who were particularly concerned that wherever numbers
of the people were sent into colonies they should be kept safe’.74
Involvement in a colonial settlement, therefore, was portrayed on the one
hand as being attractive to the plebs (by virtue of the generous grants of land
available) but on the other hazardous because of the military risks involved,
especially where the location in question was a small-scale citizen colony.
Brunt aptly noted in this context that ‘there can have been no authentic
evidence about the feelings of Roman plebeians c. 300 bc’,75 still less (we
might add) for the mid-fifth century. Besides, this sort of information was
(we may imagine) much less likely to be commemorated in the colonies
themselves than more creditable aspects of their history. While it is quite
comprehensible that people would have been fearful of the risks involved
in joining a colony in these circumstances, it is harder to accept, given the
extensive problems of debt and poverty outlined above, that there would
have been widespread resistance to involvement in colonial settlement at
this time. Colonization was one of the few ways in which those at Rome
below the elite could participate in the rewards of conquest.76 It is more likely

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that the perception of popular resistance to participating in colonization is

derived from the particular circumstances of the (much better documented)
early second century bc, when there are repeated references to difficulties in
recruiting colonists for settlements in both northern and southern Italy. This
trend emerges in the 190s in particular. In 193, for example, Livy observes
that the 3000 infantry and 300 cavalry sent to establish a Latin colony
at Thurii represented a small number in proportion to the extent of the
land occupied; as a result one third of the territory was reserved for future
recruits.77
Several explanations may be offered for the comparative lack of enthu-
siasm for colonial settlement in the early second century (though it should
be kept in mind that substantial numbers of people did still take part in
colonization in this period).78 It may be that the manpower shortage in the
years following the Hannibalic war may in part be behind this reluctance.
Thurii could hardly be thought to be in dangerous territory militarily – it
was in the territory once occupied by the famously wealthy Sybaris, and the
name Copia (‘abundance’) given to the colony may to a certain extent have
reflected reality as well as aspiration. Nevertheless, and despite the alloca-
tion of comparatively generous tracts of land to the colonists – 20 iugera for
pedites and 40 for equites – the problem persisted. In 190 it was decided to
create two new colonies as well as to send reinforcements to Cremona and
Placentia, which had suffered the misfortune of being founded just before
Hannibal’s invasion of Italy, and had borne the brunt of attacks by his forces
and those of the Gauls.79 However, only one of these new colonies, Bononia,
was actually founded (in 189), despite exceptionally generous grants of land
of 70 iugera for equites and 50 each for other colonists.80 Aquileia (perhaps
the last of the Latin colonies, unless we consider Luca to have had that
status)81 was established in 181. Here too the grant for pedites was 50 iugera,
while 100 iugera were allocated to centurions and 140 to equites.82
Evidently the generous allocation of land in these cases was thought
necessary to entice colonists to take up residence in areas which had only
recently been captured from the Gauls. That fear of the local populations was
reasonable is illustrated not only by the sufferings of Placentia and Cremona
a generation before, but also by the attacks on the territory of Bononia by
the Ligurians in 187, soon after the establishment of the city,83 and a further
assault on the territory of Mutina ten years later which led to the capture
of that colony.84 It may also, however, have been intended to compensate
the participants for the loss of their Roman citizenship – which, we might
imagine, is likely to have been a particular concern to the more affluent
members of the communities, who were best placed to exploit its advantages.
That the citizenship issue was important is suggested by the fact that several

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colonies established in the 180s – Potentia, Pisaurum, Saturnia, Mutina

and Parma – were of the citizen type, although the large numbers of settlers
involved at these sites made them much more analogous to Latin colonies
than to the traditional maritime citizen colonies of 300 settlers. The choice
of the citizen type of colony also meant that manpower under direct Roman
command would not have been reduced (as it was where substantial numbers
of Romans were sent to Latin colonies).
After the establishment of Luna in 177 there seems to be a significant gap
in the list of colonies, with the possible exception of Auximum, if we date
the establishment of that colony to 157 rather than to the more convincing
128.85 Why this should be is not entirely clear; presumably the end of signifi-
cant levels of campaigning in the Italian peninsula, and the defeat of the
Ligurians in particular, must have been one important factor. The apparent
difficulties in recruiting colonists willing to leave Rome for new lives at the
extreme north or south of Italy, as we have seen, will have been another.
Perhaps the economic vibrancy of Rome, and the employment possibilities
available as the city was enriched by the wealth brought in from conquests in
the East, made staying a more attractive prospect than leaving.86 In political
terms, it is possible that traditionalist senators were concerned (however
unjustifiable this may have been in reality) about the excessive influence the
founders of colonies might be thought to acquire in their role as patrons
of substantial new communities.87 M. Aemilius Lepidus, for example, was
founding commissioner of three northern colonies in these years, Mutina,
Parma and Luna, as well as building the Via Aemilia. The later 180s was
a period of heightened political competition at Rome, reflected by a clutch
of laws relating to luxury, ambitus, and iteration of office, and so the more
general political context too may provide a context for this anxiety, and help
to explain the absence of colonization in the years which followed.88

Problems with colonization (2): resistance and opposition

Colonization reappears in the historical record in relation to the Gracchan
land-distribution schemes or as an alternative to these, and in the context of
provision of land for veterans from the armies of Marius, Sulla, Caesar or the
triumvirs. The portrayal of the procedure and impact of these later coloniza-
tion schemes is substantially different from that of early and mid-Republican
colonization. The focus of attention in accounts of the colonization of this
earlier period had been on the military expansion of Rome, popular demands
for land distribution, efforts to increase manpower, and the extension of
the Roman citizenship. Now the emphasis in literary accounts of later
colonization is very much on the destructive effect of the colonial process,
and its disruptive impact on existing landowners and the neighbours of the

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colonists. Henceforth the main political problem was not so much an unwill-
ingness to join colonies, but resistance and opposition to their establishment,
both locally and in Rome. Indeed, colonization in first century Italy arguably
provides one of the few cases from classical antiquity where the voice of the
dispossessed emerges more clearly than that of the colonists.89
A sense of the disruptiveness involved in colonial settlement is echoed
in Livy’s accounts of the colonization process in Italy of the early and mid-
Republic, and it is clear that he would have been aware of it from personal
experience. Around 30 bc, Ateste, a town whose territory lay adjacent to
that of Livy’s own home town of Patavium, received a substantial contingent
of Octavian’s veterans, and the fact that many commemorate themselves as
Actiaci suggests that these had served in the victorious army at the battle
of Actium.90 Although it seems that the tombstone of Salvius Sempronius
of Legio XI, one of these Actiaci, which was found at Padova, was brought
to that city at some point after his death,91 it is highly likely that numerous
refugees displaced by the colonization process would have migrated from
Ateste to Patavium, the nearest major city.
Livy frequently refers to the way in which the establishment of colonies
was perceived by Rome’s neighbours and rivals as an aggressive act – for
example, the Samnites are presented as regarding the foundation of Fregellae
in the valley of the Liri as not only an injury but an insult: in addition to
being established in territory they viewed as theirs, it had been given the
name of a settlement they themselves had destroyed.92 Similarly in 303 the
Aequi, ‘outraged that a colony (i.e. Alba Fucens) had been established like
a citadel within their lands attacked it with all their force.’ 93 Livy reports that
the following year, the Marsi also used force to resist the establishment of
Carseoli (though there is evidently some confusion here, since Carseoli was
founded in 298).94 These attacks by Rome’s enemies on colonial settlements
could of course then be used to help justify Rome’s continuing aggression.
Livy also refers on several occasions to the earlier status of territories taken
over as colonies in Livy’s narrative. The location of Fregellae, for example,
is (implausibly) described as ‘formerly the territory of the people of Signia,
and subsequently of the Volsci’;95 the territory of Vibo, established in what
is now Calabria, in 192, was referred to as ‘land most recently belonging to
the Bruttii; the Bruttii had taken it from the Greeks’.96 Likewise, the territory
in which Bononia was founded in 189 was described as ‘formerly belonging
to the Boii’.97 These descriptions might possibly be taken as intended to play
down the disruptive impact of the new colonies, in that the areas in question
had already changed hands several times, and in the case of Fregellae to imply
an (invented) historical claim on its territory, but the formulaic nature of
the references is such that Livy may rather simply have intended to inform

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his reader about the geographical and ethnographical background to the

establishment of the colonies.98
In the second century, the impact of new colonies on their neighbours,
Rome’s allies, became a matter of increasing concern. Livy reports that in
180 the people of Pisa offered land to Rome in order to establish a colony
(which may have been Luca or Luna), presumably to help protect them
from the depredations of the Ligurians just to the north,99 with whom they
had a history of hostility.100 Only a few years later, in 168, however, we hear
of a dispute between Pisa and Luna over the status of land which had been
allocated to the (citizen) colony at Luna, but which the Pisans claimed was
theirs. The Senate responded by establishing a commission of five to review
the evidence and come to a decision.101
The two episodes illustrate the problematic nature of colonial settlement
not only for the would-be settlers, but for their neighbours too. While
the Ligurians were considered a threat, the Pisans were happy to welcome
colonists into their territory; with the advent of peace in this part of Italy,
however, disputes over land and resources became a more important concern.
Furthermore, since the Italian allies now contributed over half of the forces
under Roman command, and sometimes substantially more, their political
and military importance was substantial; alienating them was risky for the
Romans, as the events of the Social War were eventually to prove.102 Concern
about the impact of colonial settlement thus increased in direct proportion to
the political influence and military importance of those most affected by it.
Negative portrayals can be seen increasingly to characterize the depiction
of colonies and colonists from the latter part of the second century onwards.
This is particularly true in the case of the land-reforms of Ti. Gracchus in
133 bc, which had the primary aim of reviving the peasantry and increasing
the number of men available for military service, by redistributing illegally
occupied public land across Italy. Although it appears that the main benefi-
ciaries were landless Romans, it is likely that as with earlier colonization
schemes some Italians received land too: it would have been in the interest
of the Romans to reinforce allied as well as Roman military manpower.103
Agrarian legislation was perennially controversial,104 and Gracchus’ initiative
predictably attracted strong opposition within the political class at Rome,
in particular due to the strategy he adopted to achieve the success of his
proposal. Appian comments that by this measure Gracchus alienated not
only wealthy Romans, but also allies. The latter complained of the disruption
caused by the re-surveying and re-allocation of land, and enlisted the help of
Scipio Aemilianus to draw attention to their grievances.105 It is striking that
the efforts of Tiberius’ brother Gaius to solve the land problem some ten years
later involved the creation of colonies – at Tarentum, Scolacium and even

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overseas at Carthage – as well as the more widespread individual settlements

on the model Tiberius had initiated.106 Presumably one perceived advantage
of Gaius’ solution would be that it would alienate only the residents of a few
communities (some of which were overseas), rather than causing the more
general resentment to which Appian refers as a consequence of Tiberius’
initiatives.107
It is with the establishment of colonies for veterans of the dictator Sulla
that the most hostile picture of colonization begins to appear. Cicero, in 63,
speaks of ‘the land distributed by Sulla, further extended by certain individ-
uals, which aroused such hostility that it cannot withstand the protest raised
by one single true and brave tribune of the people’,108 while in his account of
the year 46 Appian describes how Julius Caesar sought to purchase land for
distribution to his soldiers and to use public land ‘not like Sulla who took
land away from the owners and by settling those who were given it alongside
those who were evicted, made them eternal enemies of each other’.109 Much
of this enmity seems to have been associated with the high-handed way in
which confiscated land was taken from previous owners for distribution to
Sulla’s soldiers: serious long-term problems were caused by the establishment
of these colonies.110
At Pompeii, for example, the years following Sulla’s dictatorship were
characterized by severe antagonism between the colonists and the original
inhabitants of the town.111 Likewise, we know of long-term divisions in
Etruscan towns where Sullan settlement took place: Pliny records that
the people of Arretium were divided into Veteres and Fidentiores (i.e. the
original inhabitants and the colonists), and those of nearby Clusium into
Veteres and Novi; both of these towns are known to have received Sullan
colonies.112 The upheavals caused by the Sullan colonial settlements also
appear to have contributed to the widespread unrest in Etruria in the 70s and
60s which culminated in Manlius’ uprising in collaboration with Catiline
in 63 – both colonists and the dispossessed were said to have supported
Catiline’s rebellion.113 In the years that followed Sulla’s death, the colonist
became seen as a problematic and ambiguous figure, tarnished by associa-
tion with the dictator.114 Cicero, who wanted to avoid offending the Sullan
colonists, but at the same time sought to discourage the Roman plebs from
sympathizing with Catiline and his associates, observed that ‘from colonies
which Sulla founded, which I know to be entirely composed of excellent
citizens and extremely brave men, there are however some settlers who have
behaved arrogantly and extravagantly as a result of their unexpected and
sudden acquisition of wealth’.115
In the same way, when Cicero addressed the People on the subject of
Rullus’ land bill early in 63, he had to tread delicately. Before the popular

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John R. Patterson

assembly he wanted to play down the attraction of the colonial settle-

ments which could be available if the bill were passed, and from which the
Roman plebs might potentially benefit, instead listing the attractions of life
at Rome.116 ‘Romans, if you listen to me, hold on to your influence, your
freedom, your votes, your dignity, your city, your forum, your games, your
festival days, and all your other advantages, unless of course you prefer to
leave these benefits and the splendour of the state behind, and be settled in
the deserts of Sipontum or the unhealthy swamps of Salapia with Rullus as
your leader.’ 117 Both towns mentioned were located on the coast of Daunia.
The former, established as a citizen colony in 194, had to be reinforced only
a few years later, after it was discovered to be in a state of abandonment;118
while the latter was originally founded in a notoriously pestilential district
and had to be moved to a more salubrious location with the approval of the
Senate and People of Rome.119
At the same time, there are indications that those who participated in
colonies were not held in high esteem. Seeking to excite opposition against
him in the popular assembly, Cicero claims that Rullus told the Senate that
the population of Rome should be ‘drained off ’, and so, he suggests, equates
them with sentina (‘dregs’). His own speech in the Senate on the subject,
however, refers to Rullus’ colonists as egentes atque improbi (destitute and
delinquent).120 A similar idea emerges in Cicero’s Pro Caecina, when he
discusses the question of how Roman citizens can give up their citizenship
in order to join Latin colonies, and argues that this is done either of the
individual’s free will ‘or in order to avoid a legal penalty’,121 again suggesting
that colonists could be seen (in some quarters anyway) as disreputable or
even criminal.
Negative views of colonization can be identified most clearly in the case
of the narratives of triumviral colonies, which were implemented with
particular brutality and little regard for local sensibilities. In 43, eighteen of
the most prosperous towns in Italy were selected for veteran settlement by the
triumvirs, and colonies were set up there following the battle of Philippi.122
Their establishment frequently involved not only the allocation of substantial
quantities of land within an urban territory to legionary veterans, but also the
transfer of extensive tracts of property in adjacent territories to the control of
the new colony, as happened for example at Beneventum (which took land
from the neighbouring towns of Ligures Baebiani and Caudium)123 and at
Cremona, where the territory was extended at the expense of neighbouring
Brixia and Mantua.124 Numerous accounts survive, both in historical narra-
tives and in the poetry of the 30s, of the disruption that resulted from the
arrival of the new colonists. Dio describes how fighting broke out across Italy
between the newly arrived veterans and the existing landowners: ‘one side

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was superior by virtue of its military equipment and its experience in war,
the other was stronger in terms of numbers and the tactic of throwing objects
down from the roofs’.125
Such scenes happened all over Italy. Vergil’s first Eclogue, like the ninth,
paints a pathetic picture of peasants being forced to leave their farms to
make way for incoming soldiers; the way the countryside is described seems
to suggest a dramatic setting in southern Italy. ‘Shall an impious soldier hold
these well-cultivated fallow fields? What barbarian these crops?’126 Vergil
is said to have lost his family estate when part of the territory of Mantua
was assigned to the colonists at Cremona, hence ‘Mantua, alas too close to
unhappy Cremona’.127 Likewise, Propertius refers to the loss of his estates
to the ‘grim surveying-rod’,128 while Horace depicts the sad lot of Ofellus,
who has lost his land to Umbrenus, a colonist, and become a tenant on his
former farm.129 Horace too seems to have lost family property at this time.130
The protests even reached the city of Rome itself: ‘young men, old men,
and women with their children came together to Rome, to the Forum and
the temples, lamenting that they had committed no crime for which they,
who were Italians, should be removed from their lands and hearths like
those conquered in war’.131 An indirect indication of the disruptiveness and
unpopularity of the triumviral settlements is the care taken by Augustus as
princeps with his own settlement schemes, which appear to have been more
limited in scale than those of the triumvirs. In the Res Gestae he stresses that
lands allocated to veterans were paid for, rather than confiscated.132
Colonies of the early and mid-Republic were no doubt also extremely
unpopular with the local populations – the impact of Roman conquest in
the territory of Vulci and the establishment of Cosa were evidently disas-
trous for the indigenous communities, for example133 – but their voice was
(and is) largely silent. A speech which Appian puts into the mouth of Brutus
after the murder of Caesar neatly illustrates the Roman view. ‘When our
ancestors defeated their enemies, they did not take all their land from them,
but divided it up and settled former soldiers on part of it, who would act as
guards over those that had been defeated. If the captured land was not suffi-
cient they added public land or bought more. In this way the People estab-
lished you in colonies without causing grief to anyone (ἀλύπως ἅπασι).’ 134
Opposition to the colonial schemes of the first century was, however, much
more vocal and influential. The way in which colonization was conceptual-
ized changed, too: as we have seen, Velleius ends his account of colonization
at the end of the second century, with the advent of what he terms coloniae
militares (military colonies) which he clearly regards as different in nature to
traditional colonies, though it is likely that many of the colonies established
in the mid-Republic were also in fact largely populated by men who had been

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serving as soldiers. Veteran colonies attracted fierce opposition both locally

and at Rome. Earlier colonial settlements, as Appian notes, had tended to be
located on conquered land, or that which had been acquired by the Roman
state as ager publicus; problems arose when this public land had for many
years been farmed and informally or illegally occupied, whether as part of
large estates or as common lands exploited by the local peasantry. By the
beginning of the first century, however, it is unlikely that there was much
public land left for allocation, so if colonies were to be established in Italy,
this would largely have to be at the expense of the current occupants. From
the point of view of the founders of the colonies, however, it was important
that the veterans were settled in the peninsula, so that they could provide
political support – and, if the need arose, physical support – for those
who had set up their community.135 The confiscation of land was only the
beginning of the troubles for those who lived in communities designated for
colonization. Tensions tended to persist for years afterwards; as the colonists
were settled together, and were frequently members of the same military unit,
they had a strong collective identity, and we can easily envisage how they
might intimidate the other local inhabitants. Horace recalls from his youth
the bullying behaviour of the sons of centurions in his home town of Venusia:
as this was a town which did not have colonial status in the mid-first century
bc, the impact of the veterans on communities which did become colonies
must have been correspondingly more significant.136
In Rome, too, the establishment of colonies was unpopular, for a variety
of reasons, with a broad sweep of political opinion. The wealthy feared the
disruption to landed property that would result, and the risks posed to
political stability by veterans loyal to their former commander; the urban
plebs might support colonial schemes which might benefit themselves, but
the more affluent elements in the popular assemblies were unlikely to be
enthusiastic. Those who had most to gain, the veterans themselves, were in
this period largely marginalized from political life at Rome – recruited in the
main from the Italian countryside and spending many years serving overseas,
they participated only infrequently in assemblies or political meetings
(though when they did present themselves in Rome their impact could be
substantial).137 It was only when the state was in the control of a powerful
individual or individuals – Sulla, Caesar, the triumvirs – that large-scale
colonial settlement could effectively be implemented in Italy. Colonization
in the peninsula thus came to be associated with the evils of dictatorship and
one-man rule, a perception Augustus and his successors were naturally keen
to play down.

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Conclusion
The colonial process, like the image of the colonist himself, was thus
ambiguous and complex in terms of the way it was presented both by politi-
cians and by historians. Colonies could be portrayed as agrarian initiatives, if
those proposing them wished to be seen as helping the plebs; alternatively they
could be presented as predominantly military in character. Colonists them-
selves could be seen as heroic individuals whose contribution to the propug-
nacula imperii served to defend the Roman state and expand its frontiers;
at the same time colonies could be considered as a means for allowing the
poor of the city and its environs to escape from poverty, and exchange debt
and oppression for social and economic advancement elsewhere. Given that
either or both justifications could be used for the establishment of a colony
depending whether the proposer or historian wanted to be seen as a supporter
of the plebs or an adherent of traditional militaristic expansionism, it is often
difficult for us to decide which motivation predominated on a particular
occasion, but we can be sure that both agrarian and military consequences
resulted from colonial initiatives.
The colonies of the mid-Republic had a significant social and political
role, in that although they allowed economic advancement for the partici-
pants, this was at the cost of their political rights either in theory (when they
joined Latin colonies) or in practice (when they joined the more distant
citizen communities). The arrangement had the benefit for the Roman state
of allowing social mobility while at the same time avoiding any disruption
of the political order at Rome, since although the beneficiaries of colonial
schemes became wealthier as a result, the hierarchies in the city were unlikely
to be affected to any significant extent.138 New citizen colonies would poten-
tially increase the numbers of assidui available to serve in the Roman army;
new Latin colonies would also provide contingents to serve with Rome’s
forces, with the additional benefit that these would be self-financing. The
importance of colonization in contributing to political stability at Rome
can be illustrated by the close conjunction between problems of debt and
the absence of colonization in the fourth century, and also in the second
half of the second, when the absence of colonial settlement, together with
more general economic and political tensions, can be seen as a contributory
factor in the destabilizing of Roman society which led to the upheavals of
the Gracchan era.
With the revival of colonization in the 120s, however, colonies came to be
seen as contributing to Rome’s problems rather than as a solution to them.
Colonial settlements began increasingly to impinge on communities or indi-
viduals with varying degrees of influence within the Roman political system.
While it was clearly unproblematic to establish colonies in territory under

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the control of Rome’s enemies (and this could even be helpful if it provoked
a violent reaction from them), settlement which impinged on Rome’s Italian
allies posed problems even in the second century, as we have seen in the
case of Pisa and Luna. The more the Italian peninsula was politically and
militarily integrated, the more problematic the creation of colonies in Italy
became; this was especially the case after the Social War, when the whole of
Italy acquired the franchise. In practice, the extent to which different areas
of Italy were effectively integrated into Rome’s political structures – formal
and informal – in the years which followed varied considerably, and this had
the effect that those places with close links to the Roman elite – Volaterra for
instance, as Terrenato has recently illustrated139 – were able to ward off the
damaging effects of colonization more effectively than those without such
privileged access to the powerful; the sense of grievance this generated was
a major factor behind the widespread upheavals in Italy during the 60s.140
Violence was another way in which the less fortunate could make their voices
heard. In the process, the figure of the colonist became more ambiguous still
– an upstanding soldier on the one hand, a threat to civic order on the other.
The process was to culminate with the atrocities of the triumviral period and
Augustus’ eventual abolition of colonial settlement for veterans in favour of
cash donatives. Thereafter colonization in Italy was largely seen as a means of
responding to urban crisis, reversing demographic decline, and demonstrating
imperial favour and generosity.141 The main impetus of colonial settlement
was now transferred to the provinces, where the combination of romanized
lifestyles and high-handed behaviour towards local populations continued to
alienate and attract the peoples of the empire in equal measure.142

Acknowledgements:
A version of this paper was delivered at a seminar in Oxford in May 2000 and it also
owes much to ideas put forward in discussion at the conference on colonization held at
the Institute of Classical Studies in June 1998. I am very grateful to John-Paul Wilson
and Guy Bradley, and to Ed Bispham, Fergus Millar and Mark Pobjoy for the invitations
to speak in London and Oxford respectively, and to members of the audience on both
occasions. Thanks are due in particular to Andrew Lintott for guidance on colonial
foundation dates, to Michael Crawford, Guy Bradley, and Anton Powell for comments
on earlier drafts of the paper, and to Jason Lucas for help with the maps.

Notes
1
All dates are bc unless otherwise noted; references to ancient authors follow the
conventions used in the third edition of the Oxford Classical Dictionary (1996). For
useful handlists of Roman and Latin colonies, see Salmon 1969 at 110 and 158–64,

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 Colonization and historiography: the Roman Republic

and Coarelli 1992, 27.

2
For the phenomenon of colonization under the Republic in general see Salmon
1969; Sherwin-White 1973, 76–80; Galsterer 1976, 41–64; Brunt 1987, esp. 190–8,
294–344, 538–44; Coarelli 1992; and the articles collected in Dialoghi di Archeologia
3.6.2 (1988). For the Caesarian, triumviral and Augustan colonies, see Keppie 1983.
Gargola 1995 focuses in particular on the procedures involved in the setting up of
a colony.
3
Crawford 1996; Torelli 1999, 123–7; Scheidel 2004.
4
Richardson, L. 1957; Gros and Torelli 1988, 134–44; Mouritsen 2004, 37–40.
5
Gell. NA 16.13.8–9.
6
Castagnoli 1956, 81–103; Ward-Perkins 1974, 27–9; Gros and Torelli 1988,
127–47; Owens 1991, 94–120; Zanker 2000, 25–7.
7
Bradford 1957, 145–216; Dilke 1971, 142–9; Misurare la terra 1983; Chouquer et
al. 1987; Campbell 2000.
8
For a synthetic account of the excavations, see Brown 1980, and for a recent
overview of the republican phases at the site (with a full bibliography) Fentress 2000.
9
For a synthesis, see Mertens 1981.
10
For an overview of the Roman phases of the site, see Pedley 1990; Torelli 1988;
Torelli 1999, 43–88.
11
See Crawford and Keppie 1984; Crawford, Keppie and Vercnocke 1985; Coarelli
1986; Coarelli and Monti 1998.
12
Hayes and Wightman 1984.
13
For further discussion of the archaeology of colonization in Italy, with further
bibliographical detail, see Curti, Dench and Patterson 1996, 173–5.
14
Cic. Att. 4.1.4; Vell. Pat. 1.14.8.
15
Asc. Pis. 2–3C.
16
Livy 37.57.7. On foundation rituals see Gargola 1995, 72–82.
17
Crawford and Keppie 1984, 23–4.
18
Salmon 1969, 17.
19
Festus Gloss. Lat. 458L.
20
Asc. Pis. 2–3C, with Crawford 1995.
21
The methodological issues are valuably laid out in a series of publications by T.J.
Cornell and T.P. Wiseman: Wiseman 1979; Cornell 1982; Wiseman 1983; Cornell
1995, 16–18; Wiseman 1996.
22
Càssola 1988, 5.
23
Salmon 1969, 11.
24
e.g. Salmon 1969, 15.
25
Leg. Agr. 2.73.
26
De Cond. Agr. 135L.
27
Salmon 1969, 84; Coarelli 1988.
28
Harris 1971, 148–9.
29
Salmon 1969, 101–9.
30
Wiseman 1970, 126–8.
31
Gargola 1995, 63; Richardson, J.S. 1986, 149–55.
32
Càssola 1988, 15–17.
33
App. B. Civ. 1.7.
34
Livy 3.1.5.

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John R. Patterson
35
Livy 3.1.7.
36
D.H. Ant. Rom. 9.59.2.
37
Càssola 1988, 6.
38
Livy 3.23, D.H. Ant. Rom. 10.21; see Coarelli 1982, 292.
39
Salmon 1969, 42, and n. 115; for the colony in 338, see Livy 8.14.8.
40
e.g. Livy 2.48.1 where Kaeso Fabius, cos. 479, brings about concordia between patri-
cians and plebeians.
41
Ogilvie 1965, 359; Wiseman 1979, 24–5; Oakley 1997, 29–30.
42
Ogilvie 1965, 393; see also Càssola 1988, 16.
43
Cornell 1995, 302.
44
For the activities of such ‘condottieri’, see Cornell 1995, 143–5.
45
Càssola 1988, 17; Torelli 1999, 16–18; Bispham 2000, 161.
46
Livy 6.16.7.
47
Livy 8.16.13.
48
Livy 5.30.8.
49
Livy 27.9.11.
50
Brunt 1987, 142.
51
App. B. Civ. 1.7.
52
Ogilvie 1965, 392.
53
Cornell 1989, 324.
54
Oakley 1993, 18–22; Cornell 1989, 323–4; 1995, 330–3; 393–4.
55
Livy 10.6.2.
56
Oakley 1997, 52–3, 62.
57
Badian 1958, 162–3.
58
Oakley 1998, 586–7.
59
Sall. Cat. 10–11.
60
Lintott 1972, 627.
61
 Vell. Pat. 1.14–18.
62
Gabba 1973, 347–60; see also Woodman 1975, 9.
63
 Vell. Pat. 2.16.2–3 with Livy 23.7.4–10.13; on Velleius’ ancestors see Sumner 1970,
257–61.
64
Mouritsen 1998, 10.
65
La Regina 1970–1, 453 discusses the Samnites inquolae (‘resident Samnites’) at
Aesernia; see also Torelli 1999, 2–4 on the involvement of local elites more generally.
66
Torelli 1999, 94–7.
67
Curti et al. 1996, 173; Torelli 1999, 43.
68
Gabba and Pasquinucci 1979, 19–21; Fentress 2000, 17–20.
69
Gabba 1988.
70
Livy 9.26.4.
71
Livy 10.21.10: see Guidobaldi 1988; 1989, 36.
72
Livy 9.23.2.
73
Livy 10.1.2. See Salmon 1967, 235; Oakley 1984, ad loc.; Càssola 1988, 6.
74
Livy 9.24. On whether colonies and garrisons can meaningfully be distinguished in
the Mid-Republic, see Crawford 1995, 191.
75
Brunt 1987, 192.
76
Gabba 1988, 19; Cassola 1988, 9–11.
77
Livy 35.9.7–9.

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 Colonization and historiography: the Roman Republic
78
Hopkins 1978, 57.
79
Livy 37.46.9–11; 47.1–2.
80
Livy 37.57.7–8.
81
Toynbee 1965, 2, 533–40; Coarelli 1985–7.
82
Livy 40.34.2.
83
Livy 39.2.5.
84
Livy 41.14.2.
85
 Vell. Pat. 1.15.3 with Salmon 1963, 3–13. Some caution is appropriate, however,
since the apparent gap in colonization largely coincides with that between the breaking
off of Livy’s text and the beginning of Appian’s B. Civ. See Tibiletti 1950, 232–4,
Coarelli 1977, 2.
86
See Coarelli 1977 for an account of the exceptionally high level of public building
in the city of Rome in this period.
87
Badian 1958, 162–3; Salmon 1969, 112–13.
88
Patterson 2000, 48–51.
89
I am grateful to Guy Bradley for this observation.
90
Keppie 1971; 1983, 111–12, 195–201.
91
CIL V 2839; see Bassignano 1997, 118.
92
Livy 8.23.7.
93
Livy 10.1.7.
94
Livy 10.3.2.
95
Livy 8.22.2.
96
Livy 35.40.6.
97
Livy 37.57.8.
98
See Oakley 1998, 624–5; compare Clarke 1999, 269–70 on similar passages in
Strabo’s account of Italy.
99
Livy 40.43.1.
100
Strabo 5.2.5.
101
Livy 45.13.10. See Gargola 1995, 98–9.
102
Ilari 1974, 171–3; Brunt 1987, 677–86; Mouritsen 1998, 44–5.
103
Richardson, J.S. 1980. For a recent summary of the debate, with further biblio­
graphy, see Mouritsen 1998, 15–17.
104
Livy 2.41.3.
105
App. B. Civ. 1.18–19.
106
App. B. Civ. 1.24; Plut. C. Gracch. 5–6.
107
Gargola 1995, 148, 165.
108
Cic. Leg. Agr. 2.70.
109
App. B. Civ. 2.94.
110
On Sullan colonies in general, see Brunt 1987, 300–12.
111
Cic. Sull. 60–2 with Berry 1996, 250–7; see also Wiseman 1977.
112
Plin. HN 3.52; see Harris 1971, 259–67 on Sulla’s colonies in Etruria, and Keppie
1983, 102.
113
Sall. Cat. 28; Cic. Mur. 49 with Harris 1971, 289–92.
114
Harris 1971, 269.
115
Cic. Cat. 2.20; see also Sall. Cat. 28.4.
116
Millar 1998, 101–5.
117
Leg. Agr. 2.71.

213
John R. Patterson
118
Livy 34.45.3, 39.23.3.
119
 Vitr. De Arch. 1.4.12; see Gabba 1994, 119–22.
120
Leg. Agr. 1.22.
121
Caecin. 98.
122
App. B. Civ. 4.3; see Keppie 1983, 60–1.
123
Keppie 1983, 158–9.
124
Keppie 1983, 190–2.
125
Dio Cass. 48.9.4.
126
Ecl. 1.70–1; see Keppie 1981; DuQuesnay 1981, 38.
127
Ecl. 9.28; see Serv. Life of Virgil, 22H.
128
Prop. 4.1.130.
129
Hor. Sat. 2.2.112–36.
130
Hor. Epist. 2.2.50–2.
131
App. B. Civ. 5.12.
132
RG 16 with Chouquer et al. 1987, 255 and Keppie 1983, 82, who however notes
the limitations placed on our knowledge by the nature of the evidence available for the
Augustan period.
133
Fentress 2000, 12–13.
134
App. B. Civ. 2.140.
135
Hopkins 1971, 70; Brunt 1987, 301.
136
Sat. 1.6.72–3 with Keppie 1983, 104.
137
Astin 1989, 174–85; Patterson 2000, 70.
138
The role of colonization as a route to social mobility is discussed in Càssola 1988;
Patterson 1993.
139
Terrenato 1998, 106.
140
Stewart 1995.
141
Keppie 1984, 105–7.
142
Levick 1967, 1–6; Millett 1999. See especially Tac. Ann. 14.31 for provincial
resentment of the colonists at Camulodunum.

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218
 Index

Modern town names are in brackets. Numbers in italics refer to illustrations.

Abdera 8 Ara Maxima 115

accolae 175 Ardea 82, 90, 100, 139 n. 145, 165, 167
Achaians 28, 30, 32, 33, 34, 35, 48, 50, 52 n. 1 Argos 28
Aemilius Lepidus, M. 202 Ariminum 73, 86–91, 93, 108–10, 113, 117,
Aemilius, T., cos 467 194 124, 125, 173–4, 193
Aeneid 116 Aristoxenus 59–60, 173
Aequi 105–6, 107, 165, 167, 172, 192, 203 Arretium 205
aerarium 66 arx 74, 78, 93, 124, 162
Aesernia 131 n. 57, 133 n. 81, 174, 175, 192, Asconius 81–2, 126, 176, 190
212 n. 65 Ashmolean Museum 1, 13
Aetolians 29 Asklepieion, Asclepieion 63, 66
Agathe 8 Assos 8
ager Gallicus 77, 90, 115 Astyochea 40
ager publicus 208 asylum, established by Romulus 164
Aiolians 28, 30 Ateste 203
Akragas 8 Athena 37, 63, 65
Alba Fucens 78, 82, 87, 102–3, 105–8, 113, 115, Athena Ilias 137 n. 113, 199
117, 124, 172, 190, 192, 197, 203 Athenians 28, 29, 31, 32, 35, 45
Alba Longa 141 n. 169, 148 n. 246 Athens 47
Alban mount 120, 141 n. 169 attributio 174
Alkidas 48 Attus Clausus 164–5, 168
Alsium 192 auguracula 96, 98, 111
Amasis, Egyptian pharoah 3, 9 Augustus 73, 105, 172, 189, 207, 208, 210
Ambracia 47 Aulus Gellius 75, 77–9, 80, 161, 190
Amisus 8 Auximum 120, 121, 202
Amphipolis 45, 47 Aziris 7, 8, 9
Ampolo, C. 166
Anaktorion 47 Bandelli, G. 77
Anaxandrides 49 Bantia 148 n. 250
Ancus Marcius 168 Barca 3
Antium 163, 167–8, 169, 176, 194–5, 196, 199 Battos 10, 43, 44, 46, 47
apoikia, term of 26, 28–9, 84 Battos II 3, 9
Apollo 105, 109–10, 113, 114, 115; see also Battos III 10
Delphic oracle Bayet, J. 169
Apollonia in Illyria 8, 13, 47–8 Beneventum 88–90, 91, 101, 143 n. 196, 175,
Apollonia in Libya 7, 8, 11 192, 206
Apollo Medicus 107–8 Berenice (Benghazi) 1, 4
Apollonia Pontica 8, 9 Black Corcyra 8
Appian 178, 194, 196, 207–8 Black Sea 9, 34
Appius Herdonius 168 Boardman, J. 7, 10, 11
Apries, Egyptian pharoah 3, 9 Bocchoris scarab 10
Aquileia 81, 124, 132 n. 65, 146 n. 229, 147 Boii 203
n. 238, 175, 181 n. 36, 194, 201 Bola 167
Aquinum 108 Bononia (Bologna) 129 n. 19, 183 n. 99, 190,

219
Index

192, 201, 203 colonia Genetiva see Urso

Brasidas 45, 47 colonia, term of xii–xiii, 26, 29, 81–5, 123
Braudel, F. 134 n. 82, 190 colonialism xii–xiii, 26, 41, 51
Brentesion 29, 65, 91, 113, 129 n. 29, 140 colonies
n. 149, 174–5, 176, 177, 190 foundation dates xii, 7–9, 46, 131 n. 50, 163,
Brentus 29 177, 190
Brixia 206 founders of xii, xv, 37, 41, 43–8, 50, 74, 79,
Brown, F. 77, 78, 95–105, 121, 124, 125, 161–2 125, 126, 162, 202, 208; see also oikists,
Brundisium see Brentesion triumviri
Brunt, P.A. 171, 172, 176, 200 Latin, refuse troop demands 82, 103, 196
Bruttii 203 Latin status 75, 81–5, 89, 92, 171, 189;
burials 1, 34, 44–8, 60–1, 65 Twelve Colonies 89
military purpose of xiv, 77, 81, 83, 85, 119,
Caere 90, 123, 172, 182 n. 89 126, 161, 170, 171, 177, 178–9, 189, 191–4,
Calatia 120, 121 204, 209
Cales 82, 87–8, 90–2, 108, 170, 191, 196 presence of indigenous populations xii, 25, 26,
Camarina 8 34, 41, 64–5, 91, 102–3, 106–7, 108, 114,
Campania xv n. 1, 60, 64, 90, 91, 116, 171, 192, 135–6 n. 103, 140 n. 157, 162, 164, 167–8,
see also Capua 171–7, 179, 195, 199, 204, 207; see also
Capitolia 66, 74, 93–112, 117–22, 162, 164 ethnic cleansing
Capua, Campanians xii, 60, 82–3, 90, 166, 169, socio-economic motives xiv, 25–6, 34, 74, 77,
176, 192, 196, 198 126, 169–71, 178–9, 191, 194–8, 209
carcer 66, 78, 130 n. 34 veteran xv, 74, 177, 189, 194, 198, 202–10;
Carchedonians 49 see also colonists, Sullan
Carseoli 82, 172, 192, 203 colonists
Carteia 132 n. 61, 175 numbers of 13, 122–3, 132 n. 65, 183 n. 96,
Carthage 89, 118, 122, 123, 198, 205; see also 197, 201, 202
Phoenicians origins of 10–13, 41, 59–61, 64–5, 82, 91,
Casilinum 124 135–6 n. 103, 140 n. 157, 144 n. 208, 161,
Casmenae 8 167–8, 171–7, 178, 189, 196
Càssola, F. 169, 175 recruitment difficulties 170–1, 199–202
Castor see Dioscuri Sullan 93, 172, 205
Castrum Novum 192 colonization
Catiline 205 ages of 27–35
Caudium 206 historiography of 25–57, 78–85, 163–4, 178,
centuriation xv, 65, 100, 125, 190 189–214
ceramics see pottery Mycenaeans 30
Ceres 63, 72 n. 78, 103–4, 109, 114 Roman, recruitment difficulties 170–1,
Chersonese 45 202–10
Chionis, Olympic victor 10 Roman, resistance to 172, 200, 202–8, 210
Cicero, M. Tullius xii, 81, 85, 133 n. 67, 163, comitia 66–7, 74, 78, 96, 106, 107, 124, 162,
170, 175, 190, 191, 205–6 173, 190; see also ekklesiasterion
Cincinnatus 170 Concordia 103
Cincius Alimentus 119 coniuratio 169
Circeii 82, 167, 176 Conon 28
citizen farmer, ideal of 77, 85, 170 consuls see magistrates
citizenship, Roman 74, 119, 164–7, 172, 175, Copia see Thurii
176, 178, 189, 198, 199, 201–2, 206 Cora 100
Claudius Quadrigarius 82, 167 Corcyra 8
Claudius, emperor 165 Corinth 8, 13, 28, 34, 35, 47, 50, 146 n. 231,
Cleomenes 48–9 198
Cluilius, Aequian general 165 Coriolanus 164, 165
Clusium 205 Corsica xv n. 2, 123
Cnidus 8 Cosa 71 n. 56, 74, 78, 87, 95–105, 108, 112–13,
Coarelli, F. 76, 77, 107, 110–11, 174, 192 114, 117, 120, 121, 124, 125, 161–2, 164,
coinage 3, 60, 61, 64, 65, 67, 87, 91, 99, 106, 172, 175, 179, 190, 192, 199, 207
124, 125, 171, 173–4 Crawford, M.H. 77, 81, 82, 173

220
 Index

Cremera 194, 195 Fabius, Q., cos 467 167, 194, 195
Cremona 190, 192, 194, 201, 206, 207 Fabrateria Nova 177
Cretans 10, 28, 29–30, 42 Falerii 101
Crielaard, J.P. 36 Faunus 116
cult of founder xv, 44–8, 63, 66 Fentress, L. 77, 125, 162
Curius Dentatus, M.’ 166 Feronia 111, 114
Cyclopes 37–9 Festus 126, 181, 190
Cyrene, Cyrenaica 1–18, 43, 44, 46, 47 Fidene 163
Fides 114
Damagon 48 Finley, M. 36
Dasius 174, 176 Foce del Sele 64, 67
Daunia 92, 206 Forrest, W.G. 50
De Angelis, F. 26 Fortuna 66, 101
deductio 74, 88 foundation ritual 74–5, 95, 124–5, 161
Defradas, J. 49 François tomb 165
Degrassi, A. 174 freedmen 114, 132 n. 61, 166, 170, 175
Delian League 32 Fregellae 83, 94, 108, 113, 139 n. 146, 174,
Delphi, Delphic oracle 3, 9, 10, 25, 41, 42, 44, 176–7, 190, 191, 203
45, 48–51, 109, 115 Fregenae 192
Demand, N. 37 Fulvius Flaccus, Q. 120–1
Demeter 7, 8, 11, 12, 61, 63 Fundi 120, 121
Demonax of Mantinea 10
Dennis, G. 1 Gabba, E. 77, 175, 198
Diana 73, 108, 109, 110, 113, 114, 115 Ganymede 100, 101
Diana Nemorensis 109 Gauls 89, 109, 115, 122, 132 n. 65, 167, 174,
Dicte 29 193, 201
Diomedes 29, 137 n. 113, 199 Gela 8
Dionysius of Halicarnassus 115–17, 163, 172, Gierth, L. 50
195 Gracchus, C. 83, 123, 195, 204–5
Dioscuri 67, 93, 114 Gracchus, Ti. 195, 204
Divi Novesedes 114 Graham, A. J. 35, 37, 43
dogs 124, 125, 148 n. 251 Graviscae 119
Dolonkoi 45 Gylakeia 48
Dorians 10, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 38
Dorieus xii, 48–9 Hadrian 129 n. 26, 161
Dougherty, C. 37, 39, 41–2, 44 Hagnon 45, 47
Duillius, K. 88 Hama 10
Hannibal 174, 175, 198, 201
Egypt 3, 9, 13 Heraclea 67
ekklesiasterion 47, 59, 60, 63, 65, 173 Herakleia in Trachis 48
Elaios 8 Herakleidai 28, 31
emporia xii, 34 Herakles, Hercules 28, 29, 30, 40, 46, 64, 93,
Emporiae 8 95–104, 106–7, 108–10, 113–18, 125
Ennius 175 Hercules Salarius 107
Ephyra 40 Hercules Tutor 115
Epidamnus 47 Hermonassa 8
Eporedia 82 Herodotus 3, 45,
ethnic cleansing 103, 128 n. 17, 172 herōon see cult of founder
ethnos, role in colonization 33 Himera 135 n. 101
Etruscans xiii, 10, 60, 64, 91, 101, 102, 103, Homer 35–43, 44
164, 165, 170, 172, 173, 182 n. 89 Horace 207, 208
Euboians 34, 39 Horden, P. and Purcell. N. xiv, 76
Euesperides xiii, 1–23 houses 3, 4–6, 13, 78, 162, 165
Evander 75, 116 Hyria 60
evocatio 166
Ialysos 40
Fabius Pictor 119, 122, 195 Iapygians 30

221
Index

Iapyx 30 Lindos 40
Ilion, Troy 28, 95, 102 Lloyd, J. 3
Interamna Lirenas 82, 108, 190, 191 Luca 134 n. 87, 201, 204
Interamna Nahars 177 Lucanians 59–72, 173
Ionia 9 Luceria 60, 91, 172, 174, 181 n. 56, 182 n. 79,
Ionians 28–9, 30, 32, 38, 48 191, 199, 200
Iphigenia 99 Luna 93, 118, 133, 193, 202, 204, 210
Is of Helike 47 Lydians 30
Italy, conception of 89, 90, 134 n. 89 Lykaon 29
Iuno see Juno
Iuppiter see Jupiter Macae 49
magistrates 61, 73, 88–9, 109, 165, 168, 194
Jones, B. 3, 6 Malkin, I. 36, 39, 42, 43, 45, 47, 48, 50, 51
Julius Caesar, C. 172, 205, 208 Mamertini 84, 132 n. 65, 169
Juno 114 see also Capitolia Manlius 205
Juno Moneta 100 Manlius, M. 196
Jupiter Anxur 110–11, 117 Mantua 206, 207
Jupiter Latiaris 96, 97, 101, 117 Marica 111–12, 114
Jupiter Optimus Maximus 117–22, 162 Mars 139 n. 46, 165
Marsi 107, 172, 203
Kakos 115–16 Marsyas, statue of 61, 148 n. 250
Kallinos 50 Massalia 8, 9
Kameiros 40 Mastarna 165, 168
kings xii, xv, 43, 45, 48–9, 109, 164, 168, 178 Mater Matuta 99, 101, 103, 113, 114
Klazomenai 8 Megara Hyblaia 34, 46, 74
Kolaios the Samian 10 Megara, Nisaean 34
Kolophon 30, 50 Melos 28, 53 n. 23
Korobios, Cretan fisherman 10 Menestheus 28
Kroton 28, 30 Mercury 67, 163
Kypselid dynasty 48 Mercury Felix 114
Messana see Messene
La Regina, A. 174 Messapians 29, 60, 65, 91, 113, 174, 175
Lacedaemonians see Sparta Messene, Messana 28, 84, 169
Lamis, grave of 46 Metapontion 114
land division Methymna 8
Greek 37, 43 Midea 41
Roman see centuriation Miletos 8
size of plots 76, 123, 129 n. 19, 175, 182 n. 86, Miltiades of Athens 45
199, 201 Minerva 64, 65, 94, 97–8, 100–4; see also
Lapis Satricanus 165 Capitolia
Latin League 109, 167, 171 Minturnae 87, 108, 111–13, 114, 117, 120,
Latium xiv, 90, 108, 163, 167, 171 121, 171, 200
Lato 4 mobility xi, xiv, 129 n. 18, 136 n. 103, 166, 174
Lavinium 94 Monte Bibele 90
Lebro 114 Morgan, K. 33, 50
Leon 48 Morris, I. xi, 35–6, 85–6
Leukas 47 Mummius, L. 146 n. 231
lex agraria 111 bc 84 mundus 75, 95, 125
lex Julia 90 bc 81, 82 municipia 78–9, 81, 105, 121
lex Ovinia 168 Mutina 193, 201, 202
Libera 104 Myrmekion 8, 9
Liberalia 94 myth xiv–xv, 29–31, 36, 38, 40–2, 49–51, 75,
Libya, Libyans xii, 1–18, 49 100, 102, 103, 113, 114–17, 162, 164, 169,
Ligures Baebiani 116, 206 199
Ligurians 116, 193, 201, 202, 204
Likymnios 40–1 Narnia 82, 144 n. 201, 174
Lindian temple chronicle 10 Naukratis 8, 9, 13

222
 Index

Nausithous 37, 43 108–9, 124

Neapolis 64, 67, 173, 179 Chian 11
Nemi see Diana Nemorensis Corinthian 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Nepet 82 Cycladic 3
Neptune 61, 63, 99 East Greek 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 10, 13
nexum, debt-bondage 166, 170, 197 Laconian 3, 7, 11, 13
nomen Latinum 74 red figure 173
Numa 164 trade 10–13
Nymphaion 8, 9 Praeneste 180 n. 21
Privernum 165
Odessos 8, 9 Ptolemais 7, 9
oikist xii, 25, 26, 27, 37, 39, 41, 43–8, 135 n. 101 Publius Valerius 165, 168, 169, 195
Old Smyrna 9 Puteoli, Dichaearchia 90, 122, 175, 177
Orbetello 101, 182 n. 68 Pylos 32
Osborne, R. xii–i, 9, 26, 74, 125–6, 162 Pyrgi 192
Ostia 77, 87, 93, 108, 112, 114, 117, 121, 168 Pyrrhus 89, 192
Pythagoras 60
Paestum see Poseidonia
Palatine 94, 165 Quinctius, T. 167, 169, 195
Panticapaion 8, 9 Quirites 81–2
Paris 103
Parma 146 n. 231, 193, 202 Raaflaub, K. 36, 38
Patavium 203 Regillum 165
Pausanias 10 Remus 75
Peloponnesians 10, 31–2 Res Gestae 207
Persephone 11, 104 Rhegion, Rhegium xii, 132 n. 65, 169, 176, 177
Peucetians 60 Rhodes 40, 41, 44
Phaeacians 37–8 roads 65, 76, 116, 121, 191–3
Philip V of Macedon 132 n. 60, 180 n. 30 Roccagloriosa 66
Philonomos 28 Romanization 75, 92, 99, 102, 161, 189
Phocaia 8 Romulus 75, 162, 164
Phoenicians 10, 39, 42 Rossano di Vaglio 66
Picentes 116 Rudiae 175
Picenum 89 Rullus 181 n. 51, 205–6
Pindar 27, 40, 41, 43–4, 45, 46
Pisa 204, 210 Sabine women, Rape of 164
Pisaurum 9, 109, 113, 114, 120, 121, 175, 202 Sabines 89, 111, 164, 165, 166
Pithekoussai, Pithecusae 10, 34, 39, 162 Sacred Springs 169, 180 n. 23
Placentia 81, 126, 129 n. 19, 144 n.198, 175, Salapia 206
183n. 99, 190, 192, 194, 201 Salmon, E.T. 77–8, 81, 83, 85, 123, 161, 167,
Platea 10 169, 170, 171, 176, 191
plebeians 77, 80, 94, 104, 166, 167, 169, 170–1, Salona 73
176, 194–7, 199, 200, 205, 206, 209 Salus 114
Pliny the Elder 178 Samnites 60, 88, 89, 90, 169, 174, 175, 176,
Po valley xv n. 1, 173 191, 192, 200, 203, 212 n. 65
Poleion 30 Samos 13
polis, origins of xi, 30, 33–4, 43, 74 Sardinia xv n. 2, 123
Pompeii 93, 198, 205 Saticula 91, 126, 163, 183 n. 99, 199
Poseidonia, Paestum xiii, xiv, 35, 46–7, 59–72, Satricum 165, 167, 168, 195, 196
80, 87, 94, 104, 108, 113, 124, 125, 148 Saturnia 102, 202
n. 251, 172–3, 175, 176, 190, 199 Scheria 37, 42
Santa Venera 64, 67 Scipio Aemilianus 204
Postumius Albinus 120–1 Scipio Africanus 128 n. 10
Potentia 120, 121, 175, 201 Scolacium see Skylettion
pottery 65 Scott, R.T. 79, 99, 101, 104, 116
Attic 2, 3, 6, 7, 11, 12 ‘Sea Peoples’ 30
black gloss 61, 85–93, 95–6, 101, 105–7, Selinous 34

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Index

Sempronius, Salvius 203 112, 113, 162, 172

Senones 174 transhumance 107, 111
Sentinum 118, 174 treaty, Rome-Carthage 123
Servius, on Aeneid 84, 169 triumviri xii, xv, 88, 92, 126, 163, 167, 168, 169,
Servius Tullius 109, 164, 165 181 n. 43, 195, 197
Setia 82, 126, 176 Troy see Ilion
Siculus Flaccus 85, 191 Twelve Tables 166
Signia 100, 146 n. 223, 163, 169, 203 tyrants, Corinthian xv, 35, 43, 47–8, 134 n. 82
Sinuessa 120, 121, 171, 200 Tyras 8, 9
Sipontium 206 Tyrrhenians see Etruscans
Skylettion, Scolacium 28, 123, 204
Snodgrass xi Umbria, Umbrians 110, 144 n. 201, 173–4
Social War 89, 105, 131 n. 57, 167, 172, 176–7, University College London xi
198, 204, 210 Urso 75, 118
Sora 82, 197, 200
Sparta, Lacedaemonians xii, 28, 29, 47, 48–9, Valerius Maximus, M. 192
180 n. 33 Veii 100, 165, 168, 170, 172, 196
Spes 114 Velia 67
Suessa 82 Velitrae 167, 176
Sulla 111, 189, 198, 202, 205, 208 Velleius Paterculus 82, 123, 163, 177–8, 198,
Sutrium 82 207, 208–9
Sybaris 35, 46–7, 51, 52 n. 1, 201 Venus 114, 120, 174
Sybilline Oracles 166 Venus Obsequens 110–11
Syracuse 8, 51 Venusia 91, 133 n. 67, 174, 175, 176–7, 208
Vergil 207
Talamone, Talamonaccio see Telamon Veturii 180 n. 21
Taras 31, 60, 82–3, 123, 173, 177, 196, 204 Via Aemilia 128 n. 15, 192, 202
Tarentum see Taras Via Appia 110, 112, 192
Tarquinii 102, 164, 165 Via Aurelia 192
Tarquinius Priscus 164, 165 Via Latina 192
Tarracina 110–11, 117, 122–3 Via Valeria 192
Teanum 108 Vibennae 165, 168
Telamon 101–2, 172 Vibo 129 n. 19, 203
Teos 8, 121 Vitruvius Vaccus 165
terracottas, architectural 95–106, 110, 135 Volaterra 210
n. 98 Volsci 164, 165, 167, 168, 176, 194, 195, 203
Thapsos 46 voting channels 78
Thera 3, 8, 10, 28, 49 votive dedications 61, 63, 65, 68 n. 17, 72 n. 78,
Thucydides 28, 31–3 80, 91, 103, 107, 108, 113, 124, 135 n. 97,
Thurii, Copia 66, 129 n. 19, 175, 201 173
Timoleon 52 n. 3 Vulcan 93, 108, 114
Tinia see Jupiter
Titus Tatius 164 Whitley, J. xi
Tlepolemos 40–2, 43, 44 Wilson, A. 3
Tocra 7, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13 Wiseman, T. P. 75
toponyms, in colonies 87–92, 109, 133 n. 77
Torelli, M. 61, 77, 79, 80, 93–4, 102–3, 107, Zankle 135 n. 101

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