William S. Greenwalt
Let us begin with a comparison of Thracian and Macedonian political structures, but before doing so it is useful to emphasize two things. First, we have no pertinent indigenous written source material for either Macedonia or Thrace through the Classical period. We do possess archaeological remains, coins, and a few inscriptions (although, through the Classical period, most of these last were erected by polis-dwelling Greeks for polis audiences). No native literary account, however, of Thracian or Macedonian customs exists. A second point to keep in mind is that no matter how small or primitive was the polis of the Archaic and/or the Classical period(s), there existed a group of peers who primarily represented their respective oikoi in public space and who dominated the political fields of their states. The principle of shared governance was ubiquitous in the polis – there were assemblies, councils, courts in which few knew tenancy for life. Where a polis magistrate held an extended term of office, there existed checks and balances preventing the domination of one individual or one faction. The offices held for specific terms had titles so as to distinguish the offices from the men temporarily occupying them. Where tyranny existed, it was generally considered an aberration and temporary. Similar principles held for Greek political federations. In short, the city-state was constituted of private oikoi each with its members subordinate to the local polity.
In contrast, Thrace and Macedonia were dominated by aristocratic elites under the shifting fortunes of kings legitimized by religion, military prowess, and gifts. Starting with Macedonia, although kings were practically limited in power by the vicissitudes of domestic and foreign affairs as well as by their individual talents and personalities, a growing scholarly consensus agrees that Argead monarchs knew no constitutional constraints and that they were particularly buoyed by associations with the divine (Spawforth 2007, 82–88; Greenwalt 2010, 2011). There were no assemblies of election or of constitutional deliberation during the Argead period and for some time after. We do have evidence that in times of extreme duress for which there were no precedents to guide action, some political deliberation occurred in (mostly vain) attempts to avert civil and military calamity (see esp. Curt. 10.5–10.8). These, however, occurred during periods of emergency when innovation attempted to forestall absolute chaos.
Let us contrast the domestic political structure of Macedon with the prevailing norms of the Archaic and Classical polis. This will not take long since throughout the Argead period there appear to have been no political institutions in Macedon which did not center on the ruling king and his house. All treaties were made in the monarch’s name, all policy was determined by him (although disagreements could and did exist), all coinage was minted under his authority, all battles (except when the king could not be present) saw him as the general on the field, all justice was the king’s and all foreign policy as well (Greenwalt 2010, 2011; Millett 2010) The status of favored royal servants was indicated by the designation of Hetairos (“Companion,” naturally, of the king) status, and those so honored included non-Macedonians (at least eventually) as well as Macedonians. As a practical matter, no king could be everywhere at once, or personally oversee the lands which constituted even the smallest, most ancestral Argead realm. As a result, the king had at times to deputize Companions to dispense justice on his behalf, or lead armies when he was unavailable. Monarchs certainly consulted their Hetairoi, especially in the context of symposia (Hammond and Griffith 1979, 395–404; Borza 1983) but all decisions were theirs. The Companions gave the king reach, but the arm was his.
A few families had been honored for so long that their status and the rewards which had accrued for past loyalties could not be easily overlooked or their demotion easily accomplished, but as far as our sources reveal, the core of Macedon was the king’s oikos through at least the Argead period (Hammond and Griffith 1979, 156; Greenwalt 2010, 159–163). So ensconced were the Argeads in their possession that kings did not even bear a title which designated their authority (although foreign, mostly Greek, literary sources refer to them as kings) – they were simply referred to by their given name, often with a patronymic. Neither did those who served at the king’s whim have titles. There were no Strategoi, Archons, Ephors: those who constituted the realm’s aristocracy were simply referred to as Hetairoi. Nor until the demise of the Argead house was there any threat of royal usurpation from any but a rival Argead – none but an Argead had the appropriate religious charisma (see below). As a result, the mechanics of Macedonian government could not have been more different from that of the polis. What mattered in Macedon was access to the king, and this allowed women as well as men to become political agents, the likes of which were alien to the polis (Carney 2000, 3–37). There was the echo of the distant past in all of this, and although the Greeks of the late Archaic and Classical periods may have had a sense of the Homeric quality of contemporary Macedon, in the historical present Macedonia was more like Thrace than it was like the Greece of the polis. In terms of Macedonian social stratification, there was the royal house led by the king. Under the king were his acknowledged Companions and a broader aristocracy who served at the king’s discretion and manned his armies, and a mass of subjects who mostly served in a number of agricultural, or at least servile, capacities and who could be called up for (and until the great Philip usually not very effective) military service upon need (Thuc. 2.99.6, 4.125.1; Polyaen. 4.10.1; Diod. 16.2.5).
Although our pertinent literary evidence for Thrace is as scanty as that for Macedon, what we do have suggests that Thracian kingdoms resembled what has been outlined above for Macedonia. Xenophon (Anab. 7.2.19f.) describes how Seuthes, son of Maesades, attempted to attract the author and his fellow generals to his cause in his effort to gain a kingdom which once was his father’s. To win over Xenophon, Seuthes promised a fortified town (Bisanthe) on the coast, agricultural resources, the status of “Brother” (adelphos), a share of future gains, a daughter of Seuthes, and the promise that Seuthes would “buy” (marry) a daughter of Xenophon’s, if he had one available (Anab. 7.2.38). Gifts of land, women, and movable wealth won loyalty and accrued what could be an unstable support, because (as in Macedon) continued loyalty demanded continued royal success. All of these offers were made from Seuthes without deliberation, even among those who could be numbered among his “court.” Had things gone well between Seuthes and Xenophon, and if the latter had agreed to the offer as it stood, the Greek author/mercenary would have been very well set as an important aristocrat within Seuthes’ realm. And we know that this offer was not unique, because not only were Xenophon’s compatriots included in Seuthes’ offer to some degree, so were others honored at other times, some of whom are mentioned below. An interesting component of Xenophon’s account mentions the expectation that if anyone would have Seuthes as a friend and benefactor, one should initially lavish gifts upon the dynast (Anab. 7.3.18–20) – a necessity to engage in any court business at all (a custom corroborated in Thuc. 2.99.5, 2.101.5). Xenophon categorized the status offered to himself by Seuthes as one of a Brother (“from the same womb,” although here, clearly an honorific), a status not so different from that which the Argeads designated Hetairos or, as some Greek sources refer to the status, philos (friend). Brother or not, when Xenophon temporarily fell afoul of Seuthes, it did not take the Thracian dynast long to demonstrate just how dysfunctional such political families could be. And here was the downside of Thraco-Macedonian political customs: the status quo was fleeting without the political infrastructure of polities such as existed in Greek poleis.
Thucydides (2.95–101) corroborates elements of Xenophon’s account in passing when describing Sitalces’ (son of Teres) massive invasion of parts of Macedon in 429/8. When citing Thracian revenues amassed by the successor of Sitalces (Seuthes, son of Sparadocus), Thucydides (2.97.3) cites an immense amount of gold, silver, and gifts. Following up, Thucydides then refers to the Thracian custom of gifts for “friendship” already noted, and contrasts this with the customs of the Persian kings, who are attested primarily to be the givers of gifts, not the recipients. Perhaps it is useful here to point out that Plutarch (Alex. 15.2–3) recorded that on the eve of his Asian invasion and possessing relatively few resources, Alexander offered massive gifts of land and privileges to his Hetairoi, most of which seem to have been accepted. When great exertion and unquestioned loyalty were expected, Alexander fell back to the custom of gift distribution, temporarily beggaring himself in the process. Royal influence and favor were won regardless of the direction of distribution.
In his discussion of Sitalces’ invasion, Thucydides numbers the Thracian horde at 150,000. Of these, the historian (2.98.3–4) commends the quality of the Thracian cavalry and those among the infantry whose home was in the highlands of Mount Rhodope, dismissing the rest of the multitude as being more formidable in its numbers than its quality. This lack of war-footing preparedness among most Thracians was also the case in Macedonia. Clearly in both Thrace and Macedonia, the majority of male adults of the realm did not regularly train for or serve in the army. The skills which most Thracians and Macedonians brought to the battlefield were those needed to provide for small-scale defense of local resources and/or for hunting (Xen., Anab. 7.4). Neither an efficient military organization throughout the population nor an ability to maintain an extended campaign was honed or expanded until the reigns of Philip and Alexander. The fact that greater military efficiency was not achieved earlier is likely to have been because warfare, like elite hunting, remained a heroic pursuit among northern kings and their nobilities: few leaders had the need, the power, or the willpower to tap the resources of the lower classes. It was not until the Illyrians butchered many of the Macedonian aristocracy and threatened the very existence of the Argead state that the surviving nobility (among others) would tolerate the diminishing of their heroic perquisites, which the empowering of a native infantry could be foreseen to mandate (Diod. 16.3–6; Greenwalt 2010, 160–161).
Returning to Thucydides, the historian records (2.102.6) that Sitalces’ massive invasion was thwarted. His campaign lasted a mere 30 days. Power is one thing, staying power without the necessary commissary on campaign and/or the political infrastructure at home is quite another. In retreat, Thucydides (2.102.5) writes that Sitalces was convinced by his most important commander, Seuthes (son of Sparadocus) to withdraw. Seuthes in part advised as he did because he had been won over by Perdiccas II with the gifts of coin and a daughter: so once again, gifts. Corroborating the importance of gifts in the garnering of support is the saga of Iphicrates, the fourth-century Athenian turned mercenary commander extraordinaire, who also received land, money, and a royal daughter for his service in Thrace (Athen. 4.131a–c, citing Anaxandrides), and additional indications of gratitude in Macedonia from the wife and children of the deceased Amyntas III (Aes. 2.27–29; Nepos, Iph. 3.2). Thus, although the evidence is anecdotal for both Thrace and Macedonia, it is consistent insofar as the king’s prerogatives and obligations were concerned; the king’s estate was the state, and gift-giving secured political access and loyalty.
How much the social and political similarities of Thrace and Macedonia were the result of one region borrowing from the other is a matter of debate. We can probably assume that their likenesses were more the result of geography, climate, natural resources, and historical development (or lack thereof in the sense that neither saw the spontaneous rise of cities) than in any borrowing. Their long association, peppered with intermarriages, wars, and the undoubted friendly exchanges which go unrecorded in our extant sources, seem to have reinforced the continuation of a way of life, which became more and more distanced from what was evolving in the Greek world further south during the Archaic and Classical periods.
Nevertheless, based upon the above argument that the royal states (the kingdom of Argead Macedonia and its Thracian counterparts) were the royal estates, it makes sense to think of the region’s most valuable commodities as possessions of whichever monarch happened to be ruling any area at any given time. The two most coveted assets of both regions, especially by those who out of economic and/or military necessity had vital maritime concerns, were forest products and precious metals (Hammond 1972, 13–14; Borza 1982, 1–20; 1987, 32–52; Millett 2010, 472–504). Further down the list of desirable commodities were grain and military manpower but this list of commodities is not exhaustive. The value of the northern mines, especially those around Pangaeon, is well known. As for the value of forest products and their export, it is noteworthy that where we do have evidence, both foreign states and private exporters dealt with the ruling monarchs whose commodities they, by rights, were (Millett 2010, 472–474). If the Hellenistic evidence for domestic taxation has any bearing on Classical Macedonian practice, the revenues accrued from the sale of wood products and the export fees involved in their shipment must have constituted a significant percentage of royal revenue (Plut., Aemil. 28.6). We have no information on how domestic taxes (gifts?) were tallied or collected. Much of what came back to the region from abroad fed aristocratic incomes, swelled by gifts and the profits of war, and all supported an heroic ethos. Since much of what those elites owned came to be buried as a form of conspicuous consumption as opposed to being recirculated into the economy (see, e.g., Pandermalis 2004, esp. Kottaridi 2004, 139–147; Kottaridi and Walker 2011), economic motives of a modern sort per se do not appear to have been the primary object of the procurement of wealth, at least for those of great status. At least as important as the things which could be acquired through wealth were the honor and esteem which came with possession both in this life and the next.
The earliest Thraco-Macedonian coins (see Chapter 18) attest to the metallurgical wealth of the region. The earliest of these coins were probably minted by Thracian tribes, but they clearly influenced the numismatic development of Macedonia. The most intriguing Thracian minting authority for our current purposes were the Bisaltai, whose territory lay to the west of the Strymon River, wedged between lands controlled by the Argeads and the Edonians. As such, the Bisaltai had access to the silver (and gold) mines on the slopes of Mount Dysoron and perhaps through trade and war to the more extensive sources around Mount Pangaeon. Minting probably after 480, the Bisaltai issued several denominations of interest (Head 1879, 140–142; Kraay 1976, 138–141; ANSSNG 1987, pl. 35). The first has a naked man with two spears behind a bridled horse on the obverse (with a legend denoting the Bisaltai, in the usual genitive) and a quadripartite incuse square on the reverse. The second depicts a hunter/warrior wearing a hat holding two spears and seated on a walking horse. It too had a quadripartite incuse square reverse. A third coin again has a mounted hunter/warrior with two spears on the obverse with a reverse similar but smaller than the first two. A fourth issue is usually attributed to the Bisaltai (although see Raymond 1953, 115 n. 14) and it depicts an obverse similar to the first here listed. Its reverse, however, bears the legend “Mosses” in the genitive around a quadripartite square.
These types probably appeared shortly before variations of these types began to grace the coins of the Argead Alexander I, who (also probably) for a period exploited the silver of Dysoron (Hammond and Griffith 1979, 104–115). Whichever state minted first, however, it provided the models for the other’s types. No Alexander coin bears an inscription referring to the “Macedonians” (in the manner of the Bisaltai) but many of his coins bear his name alone on the reverse around a quadripartite square (ANSSNG 1994, pls. 1, 2). Some also bear what appears to be the added element of a crested helmet within the reverse square, implying an innovation from earlier Bisaltic types. Smaller coins introduce a goat’s forefront on the reverse, tying them closely to versions of the Argead foundation myth. Alexander’s coins continue after the cessation of Bisaltic issues, so in all, the evidence suggests that his mint utilized types established by the Bisaltai, and thus, that he continued to issue types which originally had symbolic meaning for a Thracian tribe and from there, innovated. That the meaning was religious in origin, few would doubt, but it has been reasonably suggested (Hammond and Griffith 1979, 110, 156) that these types refer to some well-known (at the time) religious/mythological figure, and perhaps even that they portray Mosses and Alexander (after all, their names are used) posing as that religious/mythological figure.
The obverse types of Alexander and the Bisaltai bear a suspicious resemblance to a figure often reproduced throughout the north, but especially in Thrace, which is referred to in the scholarship as the “Hero,” “Rider,” or more fully the “Thracian Rider.” Before accepting the premise that these coins were indeed intended to represent that figure, let us consider the numismatic tradition of the Argeads subsequent to Alexander I. By the middle of the fifth century large denominations (including large coins issued by Alexander I) were replaced by issues of lesser weight and more compatible with facilitating more moderate exchange. In Macedonia, two separate weight denominations of coins were minted through the reigns of Alexander I and Perdiccas II, perhaps for the purpose of distinct domestic and foreign distribution, or perhaps for the purpose of tying Macedonian coinage to two different foreign weight standards (Raymond 1953, 18–42). The heavier of these depict a rider with two spears, with the forefront of a lion on the reverse. The lighter issue has a horse on the obverse, with a helmet within an incuse square on the reverse.
With the reign of Archelaus, Perdiccas II’s son and successor, we enter into a different world. Archelaus did not eschew the heroic types of his royal predecessors, but his issues have more the feel of contemporary Greek coins, numismatically paralleling a number of reforms introduced to modernize his kingdom (Borza 1993; Greenwalt 2003). Amid a very ambitious reign, Archelaus sought to redirect the financial focus of his kingdom in part by adopting a new weight standard in order to take advantage of expanding opportunities as Athens’ power in the north was waning (Greenwalt 1994; 2007). Among the numismatic changes undertaken by Archelaus was a redrafting of his coin types. Two changes are particularly worth noting here: first, the head of a bearded Herakles type appears for the first time in an Argead context on some of his lesser coins (diobols, the reverse bore the forefront of a wolf devouring prey, with a Herakles club above); and second, on his largest issue (tetradrachms) he produced a version of the Rider considerably more animated than those of his predecessors. On the obverse of the second coin, the hunter/warrior retains his hat and two spears, but the horse which bears him prances instead of walks. On the reverse is depicted a kneeling goat and Archelaus’ name in the genitive within an incuse square (Head 1879, 163; ANSSNG 1994, pl. 3). Archelaus’ reign was active and ambitious, but he overreached, and alienated members of his Hetairoi. The result was that Archelaus was assassinated during a royal hunt (Arist., Pol. 1311b; Diod. 14.37.6; Carney 1983, 260–272; Greenwalt 1999, 181–183). Archelaus’ assassination (399) led to a chaotic period of civil war and rapid successions until Amyntas III stabilized the realm (393).
Amyntas’ accession owed nothing to Archelaus and in fact the two were from different branches of the Argead family. Amyntas’ enthronement, however, came after a bitter intra-family squabble and his power was long overshadowed by foreign powers, especially the Illyrians who lay to his northwest (Greenwalt 1988; 2008). As such, Amyntas needed to tie his royal claim to an established Argead legitimacy, and he did so numismatically by referring to the coin types of Archelaus, the last king whose reign was relatively stable. Amyntas issued two types of staters. The second of these chronologically, and by far the longer in mint and circulation, has a bearded Herakles type on the obverse (borrowing a motif first introduced by Archelaus), with a horse on the reverse. Of course, this type worked well as a reference to the mythological founder of the Argead dynasty, and to Herakles’ status as a Hero/God. As such it was revived by subsequent kings. If Hammond is right about the issuing king being mixed into the mythological iconography (as again we think most probable) then this figure represents Amyntas in the guise of Herakles in much the same way as Philip II and Alexander III are thought to have subsequently represented themselves in the guise of their divine ancestor (Arr., Anab. 4.11.7). Moving on, even more striking than the Herakles series is a smaller issue which is firmly dated to the beginning of Amyntas’ reign but apparently not minted for very long (Thompson, Morkholm, and Kraay 1973, no. 365). It depicts a riding hunter with a hat on the obverse, with a spear striking downward to the right. One known specimen has a caduceus brand on the haunch of the horse, a detail to which we will return (Head 1879, Amyntas III no. 14, 173). The object of his strike is portrayed on the reverse, where an animated lion is shown destroying another spear. The spears tie the two sides together and evoke the images which graced the coins of Alexander I, Perdiccas II, and Archelaus. Amyntas’ type, however, appears to be more explicit about the purpose of the earlier riders: that is, it is probable that all of the earlier portrayals were intended to be understood as hunters, and that they were intended to be understood as pursuing worthy, even royal, prey. Since the earlier Macedonian issues paralleled those of the Bisaltai, by extension, we can assume a common meaning behind their types as well.
Amyntas’ wrap-around composition is unique in Argead numismatics, and rare altogether throughout the coinages of the Mediterranean world (Greenwalt 1993). Nevertheless, a very similar Rider figure itself has been found in another Argead context. In the antechamber of Vergina’s Tomb II, clearly a tomb of Philip, but which Philip is a matter of debate (Andronicos 1988, 188), there was found a pectoral upon which there is a band of Riders much like those found on Amyntas’ coin. Andronicos has questioned the importance of the pectoral’s iconography on the grounds that it was merely Thracian booty, but whatever the origin, the placement of an object bearing such an auspicious iconography should not be disregarded because the object was important to at least one of the two people buried in the tomb (Andronicos 1988, 189). Andronicos’ pointing to a Thracian origin for the pectoral is probably right, and that is not insignificant. The Rider had a chthonic as well as a temporal symbolism in Thrace, so its placement in a tomb was significant in situ. Returning to Amyntas’ two largest coins, at least two questions arise about their two primary motifs. The first is, why would Amyntas have issued such a strikingly innovative coin type as the Hunter/Lion at a time when he desperately needed to establish his legitimate credentials if hunting was nothing but a pleasant pastime in Macedonia at the time? And second, why would Amyntas place such importance on the image of Herakles throughout his long, but largely undistinguished, reign?
Herodotus (8.137f.) records a much quoted foundation myth for the Argead dynasty involving three brothers, Gauanes, Aeropus, and Perdiccas (the youngest) who had been in the employ of a king of “Lebaea” somewhere in Macedonia to tend the royal livestock. While in the king’s employ, the queen baked the brothers their daily bread and noticed that the loaf prepared for Perdiccas always rose to double the expected size. This is the first miraculous element in Herodotus’ account of the foundation of the Argead dynasty. (In an interesting parallel Herodotus (6.57.1) notes that the Spartan kings enjoyed the prerogative of being served double portions when feasting.) A second miracle followed when the queen pointed out the marvel to her husband, who immediately suspected something was amiss and ordered the brothers to leave his realm. Before doing so, the brothers requested their pay. At this the king was seized with madness, denied their request, and pointed to where a sunbeam touched his hearth, telling them that was the only pay the would receive from him. Perdiccas accepted the payment understanding that the king’s hearth represented the kingdom as a whole, traced the extent of the sunlight upon the floor, and embraced the beam three times. Diodorus (22 fr. 12) cites that long after the demise of the Argead house and long after Pella had replaced Aegae as the primary residence of Macedonian kings, the latter continued to be referred to as “the hearth of the kingdom,” an obvious corroboration of the religious significance of the realm’s first Argead capital and the religious role of the royal hearth. After the brothers departed, a member of the king’s entourage suggested that Perdiccas’ action had meaning and the king, returned to his senses, dispatched riders after the trio. But then a third divine intervention saved the youths when a raging river cut off pursuit. Subsequently, their descendants (Argeads? Macedonians? Both?) sacrificed to the river as a savior, and the region to which the brothers had escaped, the “Garden of Midas,” became the springboard for the founding of Aegae and the conquest of the Argead kingdom. This myth obviously displays signs of divine favor and explains why Herodotus believed Perdiccas to be his dynasty’s founder (Greenwalt 1985; Ogden 2011), an acceptance which changed with time. It is clear that in the fifth century, however, to the Argeads themselves and to their subjects, Perdiccas and his family had been divinely selected and possessed an aura of sanctioned charisma. This would remain so until the Argeads were no more, regardless of who later generations credited with their dynasty’s foundation.
But let us turn to the role of the sun in this story. Two elements of the tale suggest that the sun here was thought not to relate to Helios, or Apollo, or Ares as a solar deity, but rather to Dionysus. The first and more obvious involves the king’s madness in symbolically turning his realm over to Perdiccas, who accepted the king’s symbolic payment knowingly. As Euripides’ Bacchae made clear, whom Dionysus would destroy became infatuated in such a way as to be the cause of his own destruction. Reinforcing the prediction that Perdiccas would one day become a king is the portent of the loaves which baked twice their expected size when they were intended for Perdiccas, obviously a sign of favor. Regarding the issue of such omens it has been noted (Burkert 1985, 61) that “fire miracles are spoken of only in the Dionysus cult.” Of special interest is Burkert’s citation of Pseudo-Aristotle (Mir. Ausc. 824a15–24), where it is recorded that there once existed a major temple of Dionysus amid the Thracian Crestoni (situated to the northeast of the traditional Argead kingdom, just to the west of the Strymon River) characterized by a fire oracle. If during a particular festival a sacrifice generated a large flame, it was thought that the harvest would be especially bountiful, but if no flame rose a disastrous harvest would result. Hence, at one level this Dionysus and his chosen symbolized worldly bounty. Herodotus (7.111.1–2) also notes a similar Dionysian oracle among the Bessi, presided over by a priestess (like the king’s wife in the Perdiccas story) whose proclamations could be extremely difficult (like those of Apollo at Delphi) to decipher. That the Bessi’s oracle was associated with a solar Dionysus is clear from its location on a mountaintop. The fact that both of these two oracles were Thracian is auspicious for us, especially after recognizing some religious/mythological connection with the numismatic evidence.
Although scholars have rightfully been hesitant when interpreting art and anecdotal literary evidence, the growing archaeological bounty of northern Greece and Bulgaria has encouraged an increasing number to draw some conclusions about the belief systems of the peoples who left behind the growing corpus of material remains discovered across the region. These remains include some manifestly royal burials, thus a growing speculation has also begun about the royal ideology which is being manifested in the art and artifacts discovered (Venedikov 1997; Franks 2012), a speculation which is based on primary, not secondary, evidence. For example, in a recent monograph focusing on Vergina’s Tomb II and especially its magnificent façade, Franks (2012, 113) summarizes the eclectic influences behind what this tomb, its decorations, and its contents have to offer: “while the Macedonian court may have drawn upon traditions that developed outside of the kingdom, those traditions seem to have contributed to the cohesive expression of a single conception of Macedonian kingship that is both distinctive and relatively stable for most of the Classical period.” We agree with this conclusion, and also with her conclusion that Thracians were among those outside influences. In another recent work it is argued (Nicgorski 2005, 97–128) that one symbolic element of the Macedonian conception of kingship is represented by the object known both from texts and from jewelry as the “Herakles knot.” This argument points out that the knot was especially popularized by Alexander the Great as a symbol which linked him to his Heroic/Divine ancestor and which functioned as an apotropaic talisman becoming to his Heroic self. Once the knot was popularized through propaganda (Gordium comes to mind), it became an object of jewelry much sought by many in the generation after the great king largely for its religious symbolism. This argument has at its base the notion that Alexander possessed a special power, a special charisma which not only was Heroic, but in the end, God-like (Herakles was both). If the arguments about pre-Alexander Argead coins and the evidence from Herodotus can be trusted, this special charisma did not begin with Alexander, or even his father Philip.
It is true that the evidence underlining this argument is scattered, largely material as opposed to literary, and that no extant written source explicitly credits the Argeads with harboring such beliefs, but our ancient sources demonstrate no probing interest in Macedonia or its institutions per se (Greenwalt 1997; 2011) focusing almost exclusively on Philip and Alexander’s impact on the world around Macedonia. Even when Alexander proclaimed himself a god, little analysis explored why. This we must keep in mind when we examine the art, archaeology, and anecdotal literary evidence in order to reconstruct the mindset of Argead royal ideology.
Having briefly mentioned tombs, let us consider the chthonic. We have already noted that Amyntas III’s Hunter/Lion stater found in the British Museum bears a caduceus brand, a symbol which we think links that mounted figure to Hermes, a protector of boundaries, as important in death as in life. Leaving aside the magnificent portrayal of the Rape of Persephone in Vergina’s Tomb I (surely a religious commentary on the space in which it was found: Andronicos 1994), artistic references to Heroes, Horse Racing, and even the Hunt itself are frequently depicted in the tombs of Thrace and Macedonia in ways which are increasing being recognized as religiously symbolic (Franks 2012). As such, the many grave goods which allude to feasting and drinking (references to Dionysus) and all things martial and/or hunt-related (references to the Hero) which are found in these tombs should be acknowledged within the religious contexts in which they are found. Although the particulars of life after death vary across Thrace and Macedonia, the rich grave goods discovered in Thracian and Macedonian tombs obviously were placed there in the belief that they would be enjoyed in the afterlife, a notion which is proven by the discovery of Orphic texts in the region (among the many exhibition catalogues and arguments which display this material and texts are Andronicos 1988 and 1994; Kottaridi and Walker 2011; Barr-Sharrar 2008; Betegh 2004; Fol and Marazov 1977; Franks 2012; Ginouvès 1994; Kottaridi 2004; Marazov 2011; Marazov 1997; Nicgorski 2005; Pandermalis 2004; Themeles and Touratsoglou 1997; Theodossiev 1998, 2000, and 2011). An expectation that the pleasures of life would continue into the afterlife in all of these environments is evident. None would continue, however, without the protection a Hero could render, a protection needed also to guarantee these pleasures for the living.
Herodotus (4.94–96) records an account which he doubts about Zalmoxis, an important figure among the Getae to whom mortals went when they “passed” (they did not really die) to a better place. Also according to Herodotus, Zalmoxis pulled off a con by constructing an underground chamber to which he withdrew for three years only to reemerge from “death.” Thus, he was able to convince his gullible disciples that immortality was true. This account is obviously a rationalization of beliefs we may broadly describe as Orphic, well known not just among the Getae but also throughout much of Thrace and Macedonia (for one example of Orphic devotion, see Plut., Alex. 2.5; Burkert 1985, 296–301; Betegh 2004). Zalmoxis, a mortal, supposedly knew death (at least the Getae believed so) and was resurrected which allowed him to deliver his message about the afterlife (like Orpheus). Insofar as Orpheus can be considered a Hero, Zalmoxis must also be characterized as one. Although skeptical, Herodotus obviously was exposed to a real belief because other historical figures from the region are known to have thought and acted along similar ideas.
Nicagoras of Zelea (a contemporary of Alexander) assumed the garb of Hermes (Clement Alex., Protr. 4.54.3), and was believed by some to be a human representative of the god. Mentioned along with Nicagoras was Alexarchus (presumably the brother of Cassander and the founder of Uranopolis: Athen. 3.98d; Strabo 7 fr. 35; Pliny, HN 4.37), whose esoteric studies brought him to the point where he and others believed himself to have been metamorphosed into Helios. None of these men were kings, but the idea of a Hero who somehow functioned to guarantee life after death seems to have run wild throughout the north. And the fact that kings portrayed the Rider/Hero on their coins, among whose powers was exactly what these others claimed, strongly suggests that kings associated themselves with superior, if similar, powers in their respective realms.
In these anecdotes, we see both a chthonic and a solar guise associated with mortals, a combination not altogether unknown elsewhere throughout the northern Aegean and Anatolia. Not the least of the figures to combine these qualities was a Dionysus widely, if not universally, known throughout Thrace. Dionysus was a “mortal” immortal, who knew death, but who always returned to the world of the Sun and the living. Hottinott (1981, 102) has argued that the Rider/Hero had both chthonic and solar traits within Thrace, and further surmises that this figure was also “developed into a semi-divine clan or tribal ancestor.” Rabadjiev (see Chapter 29) draws a nuanced distinction between Hero worship and the acceptance of Anthropodaimons among the Thracians, but this differentiation does not affect the current argument, for in either guise, the object of recognition was a protector of things living and dead.
Hottinott’s characterization appears to have been as true for Macedonia as it was for many in Thrace. But, perhaps in the case of Macedonia we can push the idea (like Hammond) a little further. When Herodotus was exposed to the Macedonian foundation myth, a Perdiccas was both the royal dynasty’s founder and its ruling king; when king Archelaus hosted Euripides and the latter wrote a play concerned with the dynasty’s origin, the new founder is hailed as “Archelaus”; when civil war embroiled the Argead state in the 390 s and there was a rapid succession of monarchs, the less specific “Caranus” became the new founder (Greenwalt 1985; Ogden 2011). Caranus remained the name apportioned to the founder of the Argead line throughout the rest of that dynasty’s rule, although beginning with Archelaus and intensified by Amyntas III, Herakles (the mythological ancestor of all of the purported founders) came to the fore, not least in the area of numismatics. If we take the string of evidence at face value it seemed not only that the ruling monarch posed as the heroic tribal ancestor, but also that he gave his name to that dynastic ancestor, until Caranus, and even further back, Herakles, superseded all. We argue that the rapid turnover of kings in the 390 s had the effect of creating an identity for the Macedonian “semi-divine clan or tribal ancestor” which was more generic and not as overtly associated with the moniker of the ruling king. One supposes that the coinages of Alexander I and Amyntas III which portray the Hero/Rider do so to indicate that the ruling monarch was the charismatic avatar of the tribal ancestor, as appears explicitly to have been the cases of Perdiccas and Archelaus (Hammond and Griffith 1979, 110, 156). We know of “Argead” rituals (Athen. 660a), but unfortunately know nothing about what they represented. Could our source be referring to esoteric rituals in which the king play-acted the role of a Hero, or was transformed into the Hero through some sort of association with Dionysus?
Fol and Marazov (1977) and Marazov (1997; 2011) have argued that Thracian kings at least at times associated themselves with the persona of the Hero through royal role-playing. Perhaps the most intriguing examples of such activity are reported unsympathetically by Theopompus (Athen. 12.531e–532a; Connor 1967), where he lambasts the double sacrilege of Kotys I for drunkenly reenacting a hierogamy with the Earth Mother, whom Theopompus identified as Athena. The inebriation here noted was certainly essential, linking Kotys in some way with Dionysus thus enabling a transcending of boundaries not usually breached by mortals (Connor 1967) for a ritual which Theopompus either misunderstands or loathes. Presumably, this union constituted a part of the king’s responsibilities in order to secure the Earth’s fertility, much in the same way as the Basileus and Basilissa conjoined in Athens for fertility’s sake under the eye of Dionysus during the Anthesteria festival (Burkert 1985, 108–109). In the case of Kotys, the king became the Hero whose potency brought prosperity, whereas in other cases it brought protection: the Hero (acted out by the king) was both progenitor and protector. We will look more at the protector below, but some of the iconographical representations of that duty came with an association with horses and chariots (Fol and Marazov 1977, 301f.; Piggott 1992, 18f.) As the light of the sun dispels darkness and immortality the fear of death, so did the Hero/Rider protect his own from chaos, evil, and death. The Hero/Rider was a kind of St. George, a kind of Hosios Demetrios.
Religious role-playing is evinced in the case of Alexander III. Ephippus (Athen. 537e–538b, although no more sympathetic than was Theopompus) attests that Alexander frequently donned the attire of Hermes (complete with caduceus, petasos, and sandals), Herakles, Artemis (!), and (Zeus) Ammon. One might be prone to interpret this passage as an example of idiosyncratic megalomania (Alexander certainly demonstrated more than a dollop of that characteristic) if it were not for all of the other evidence concerning Macedonia and Thrace, and for the fact that all of the deities mentioned by Ephippus find their counterparts in Herodotus’ (5.7) summation of Thracian religiosity: two, Hermes and Artemis, are identical, while Ammon (Zeus) was the father of Herakles (a rival at times of Ares), who founded the Argead line and therefore as suitable a substitute as any, especially after Alexander’s sojourn in Egypt.
Let us move on to the solar aspect of the Hero which appears as a part of his portfolio. Was it part of the Rider/Hero’s “responsibility” to protect those under his authority from temporal enemies as well as from metaphysical ones? Marazov (2011, 132–189) has recently revisited both aspects of the royal heroic ideology through an examination of art. He has argued (138–146) that although “the local iconography of the Thracians was dominated by female deities,” the figure of the hero maintained a prominent place, especially in the areas of trial, consecration, investiture, and marriage. Rabadjiev (Chapter 29) reminds us that there is little evidence for a pervasive and universal set of beliefs throughout Thrace in antiquity, perhaps in part because no one tribe or polity maintained the power to enforce any one system of beliefs for a long period of time (in this case, the Argead dynasty, ca. 650–ca. 310, differed). Rabadjiev’s point, however, does not completely deflate Marazov’s essential argument, which is that the Thracian Hero’s essence could be demonstrated most thoroughly through an agon pitting him against enemies (symbolically, beasts) through which he emerged triumphant. The victory of this progenitor of his dynasty and his people resulted in order, the restitution of appropriate hierarchy, and all of the gifts which emerge therefrom.
Further, Marazov (2011, 147–151) sees in Thracian art the investiture of kings through the agencies of gold and fire, and although he makes no overt mention of Herodotus’ Argead foundation myth, that topos presents a Macedonian parallel to what can be seen in Thracian art. Implicit in Herodotus’ account is that the new Argead authority would dispense the kind of justice to their subjects which had been denied the three brothers by the king whom they dispossessed. With Perdiccas a new order redeployed order and hierarchy. It is not a jump, therefore, to argue that within their kingdom Argead kings were always seen as the font of justice, and indeed we have evidence that they, either personally or through their designated deputies, dispensed right justice (or none at all, e.g., Plut., Mor. 178f–179c; Dem. 42.2–3). Thus, Argead justice (as is virtually all justice) was divinely sanctioned (and closely in sync with the Thracian evidence), so that when there was no justice, there was no true king (Adams 1986, 43–52). It is noteworthy that at least twice in Argead history, when dissidents challenged the justness of ruling kings, they did so in the context of a royal hunt, about which more will be said below. As far as justice was concerned, it seems that it was a responsibility of the king to remain true to its ideals and to protect his subject’s interests not only by not violating them himself, but also by not letting anyone else do so. (Of course, as with all societies, kings did not always live up to this ideal as an absolute and sometimes vested interests were simply too big and important to fail: see, e.g., Plut., Alex. 10.4.)
As for the military defense of the realm, we have an abundance of historical evidence which proves that it was the king himself who was expected to lead armies against foreign opponents. It is, however, mythological references which provide the most potent evidence of the religious nature of the king’s military role. Polyaenus (4.1) records that the mythological king Argaeus once turned back a raid of the Illyrian Taulantini through a religious ruse (Greenwalt 1987, 51–53). Justin, however (7.2.6–12), includes an even more poignant example: at a time when the mythological Aeropus was both an infant and a king, the Illyrians successfully launched an attack on Macedonia until the infant monarch was carried to the battlefield, at which point the Macedonians avenged their earlier defeats. Succinct and to the point, there is no better example of the power of royal charisma to protect those under its protection. Charisma was so easy, even the right baby could wallow in it.
Many scholars have written about hunts, royal hunts, royal hunts in art, the influence of Persia on Macedonian hunts, and royal hunts as the venues for assassination or attempted assassination (Hammond and Griffith 1979, 155–157; Carney 1983, 260–272; but see Franks 2012). This plethora of learned scholarship, however, has largely missed something important about Macedonian royal hunts since it has overlooked the evidence which the coins and Thracian parallels provide about the importance of these events to the Macedonians themselves. As Franks has recently written, Amyntas III’s depiction of the Rider/Hero Hunter makes moot all of the discussions about the influence of Persia on the Macedonian royal hunt and any dating of monuments based upon the notion that that influence returned home to Europe only after Alexander’s invasion of Asia (Franks 2012, 117–118). Persian protocol almost certainly influenced Alexander and his Hellenistic successors, but the importance of the hunt to Macedonian kingship was elegantly demonstrated at the beginning of one of the more lackluster Argead reigns by the explicit portrayal of what had long been shown on earlier Macedonian and Thracian coins. Coin types, especially types minted at the beginning of a contested reign, do not portray mere whimsy or catalog pleasurable pastimes. They say something important to the psyche of the issuing authority, often with manifestly religious connotations. Hunts have in many times and places had such connotations (naturally allegorical) which demonstrate divinely sanctioned political legitimacy, and nowhere more than on Thracian and Macedonian coins. There are, however, two examples from literary texts which support this view: when Archelaus was judged to have unjustly changed his mind about the marriages of his daughters, the disappointed parties led the conspiracy which murdered him during a hunt (Arist., Pol. 1311b11–20, 30–34); similarly, when Alexander the Great’s orientalization policy was proving controversial among many traditionally minded Macedonians, he appears to have been challenged during a hunt (having his right to the first strike preempted), leading to the punishment of the perpetrator, which in turn spurred an assassination attempt over the issue of justice (Arr., Anab. 4.12.1–4.14.3). Regardless, coins circulated and thus functioned as propaganda in a way that no amount of grave deposits could, although in Thrace and Macedonia tombs and their contents reinforce what the coins convey.
The numismatic evidence suggests that the Macedonian Royal Hunt was widely associated with royal prerogatives and power, but an anecdote suggests that even when a hunt was not royal, it still had heroic implications: it is reported that Cassander was long denied the custom of reclining at meals because it took him an unnaturally long time to kill a boar without the use of a net (Hegesander = Athen. 1.18a). We argue that this right of manhood unfulfilled kept Cassander from demonstrating his emulation of a heroic quality, and the result of his failure was that he was accordingly treated as a child long after he should have fully joined the ranks of men. Cassander’s humiliation (perhaps being a point against his father naming Cassander as his successor, although Adams 1974, 69–72) is an ample example of how truly steeped the Macedonians of his class were in notions of heroic actions lived daily. It seems, therefore, from an early date that the Macedonians in general and the Argeads in particular thought of the hunt as did many other societies: that is, as a metaphor of order over chaos, justice over hubris, good over evil, bounty over deprivation. What happened during hunts was both personal and symbolic. What happened during Royal Hunts was personal and ideological.
The fields of Thracian studies and Macedonian political institutions and customs are currently exploding thanks to the plethora of archaeological discoveries over the last generation, and just as important, their publication. Interpretations are undergoing significant shifts. Still important are Andronicos’s first publications of Vergina’s royal tombs (especially 1988), because the finds are so well illustrated and described, and Hatzopoulos (Macedonian Institutions Under the Kings, 2 vols., Athens, 1996) because of the extent of the evidence he covers and the stones he conveniently collects and publishes. Spawforth’s (2007) contributions on the court of Alexander, collected with examinations of other ancient royal courts, provides a good insight as to why there is a contemporary shift away from an overly constitutional appreciation of Argead kingship. In terms of interpreting the meaning of mute objects, Nicgorski (2005) provides a worthwhile model, while Franks’s (2012) monograph on Vergina’s Tomb II and the reasons it was decorated the way it was will be hard to refute. For illustrations and scholarly opinion, the Ashmolean’s exhibition catalogue (Kottaridi and Walker 2011) will be the standard in Macedonian studies in the near future, although it is matched by Marazov’s (1997) contribution to the Thracian show which circulated almost 15 years ago. Marazov (2011) has amplified his earlier work on Thracian treasure. Despite his perhaps overreaching arguments about Thracian religion, his work still needs to be considered. Finally, Theodossiev’s (2011) summary of the state of ancient Thracian studies as they stand now, must be a starting point for all who follow in the future.