Three New Sidewalk Inscriptions from Caesarea Maritima

After the arrival of large, long-term Roman garrisons, Palestine's landscape was transformed as Greco-Roman urban and monumental architecture became common features in many cities. In this chapter, I will discuss some of the changes that characterized civic life in the second and third centuries. I begin with the adoption of new civic names and titles. Next, I provide an inventory of where Roman urban architecture appeared. Last, I consider the issue of who was responsible for the construction of these buildings. Throughout the chapter, I consider developments throughout Palestine in order to keep those in Galilee in perspective. CIVIC TITLES AND NAMES One effect of the heightened Roman presence in Palestine was the establishment of new colonies. Caesarea Maritima was elevated to colonial status by Vespasian shortly after the first revolt, taking the official name Colonia Prima Flavia Augusta Caesarea. The Roman colony of Aelia Capitolina had been founded at Jerusalem by 132 CE. Military veterans settled at both cities. Inscriptions show that Caesarea adopted Roman-style civic institutions, with duumviri , decurions , and pontifices , and Aelia Capitolina probably did likewise. Both cities placed Latin inscriptions on their coins. In the late second century and throughout the first half of the third, numerous cities were awarded the status of colony and a few received the still more vaunted title of “metropolis.” By then, however, the designation “colony” appears to have been purely honorific; the Romans had ceased to establish genuine colonies occupied by military veterans.

This volume takes a broad view of the intersection of maritime activities with the socioeconomic development of the Mediterranean world. Focusing on evidence from the Roman and late antique eastern Mediterranean, with particular attention to the area of southwestern Turkey and southern Cyprus from the second century BCE to the seventh century CE, Leidwanger presents an economic history intrinsically connected to the dynamic maritime world.The initial chapter, “Maritime Interaction and Mediterranean Communities,” utilizes previous influential works of F. Braudel (1972), C. Broodbank (2000), and P. Horden and N. Purcell (2000) to establish the opposition of approaches taken in conceptualizing the Mediterranean from the perspective of a “unified sea” to “fragmentation and microregions” considered over the longue durée. In this volume, Leidwanger’s aim is to take a diachronic and multiscalar approach to the maritime activities that shaped the economic and daily lives of those tied to the Mediterranean. He applies his knowledge of connectivity in the analysis of the multiscalar movements between maritime landscapes to understand the impact of the sea on the development of commerce, among other facets of daily life, in the ancient classical (Roman/late antique) world. His work with social network analysis (SNA) is applied here to model the diachronic evolution of economies linked to maritime activity, as well as landscapes. At the core of his network analysis is the relationship between nodes; his consideration of both ports and shipwrecks, as well as their cargoes, represents distinct datasets, valuable by themselves but given a new dimension of depth considered together in his overarching analysis. The choice of southeast Turkey and Cyprus as the focal point for his case study provides numerous centers of maritime activity in addition to extensive archaeological evidence from a single region. Within the Braudelian process, the long durée temporal scale of his study allows for the observance of changes in maritime and economic patterns within this single, particularly active region.The physical and social parameters encountered in his model are explored in Chapter 2, “Topography and Tools of Interaction,” through the examination of the region’s marine and coastal topographies, currents, and winds, which in turn impacted ship-building technologies and construction techniques, cargos and their capacity, as well as crew size. The interplay between these parameters is exemplified in his incorporation of current research on sailing seasons with the Mediterranean and their influence and effect on maritime technology, specifically in shipbuilding. The data under consideration for this region and study derives from shipwrecks and is reinforced by evidence from ancient texts and iconography. Leidwanger notably distinguishes between the iconography of the elites in sources such as ornate mosaics and those reflective of the lower classes in the form of dipinto. He applies these parameters along with data from the replica fourth-century BCE ship Kyrenia II (originally wrecked off the coast of Cyprus) to demonstrate the strength of recent research, which shows that sailing not only continued into the night but also through the winter season. His model ascribes these considerations not to a linear development but rather views it as the result of knowledge and experience of sailors and merchants, who over time responded to local environmental and economic variables. Given that this knowledge existed on a local and regional level, a strong case emerges for the legitimacy of interconnected, smaller networks driving maritime exchange.Chapter 3, “Modeling Maritime Dynamics,” moves on to the theoretical implications of the author’s network model set within a regional scope. Leidwanger dives into the complex terminology of concepts of “regionalism” and “regions,” along with their ties to maritime connectivity. Using the parameters explored in Chapter 2 together with descriptions of regions and journeys by ancient authors, he argues that the experiences of mariners are reflected in the nomenclature of informal boundaries, which in turn highly influenced sailing habits. Leidwanger acknowledges the “importance of the interrelated mobilities of goods and people” (91), along with the centrality of fishing, which help to create links across regions, economies, and social classes. This multiscalar approach gives much greater agency to the broader spectrum of players involved in maritime trade, looking beyond elite movement between large ports.At the center of this volume is a valuable dataset presented in Chapter 4, “Exploring Shipwreck Data,” in which 67 shipwrecks are evaluated based on the proposed model put forth in the previous chapters. This is a significant analysis and contribution to the field as there are less than 200 total shipwrecks published from the Roman and late antique eastern Mediterranean. Leidwanger’s corpus therefore represents a valuable undertaking. The most compelling takeaway from his analysis is the identification of spikes in maritime activity during the early Roman and late antique periods, with a relative lull during the third century CE, a phenomenon limited to the eastern Mediterranean. Leidwanger uses his experience with network analysis to evaluate the connectivity based on the various cargoes of ships. The quantification of the data reveals not only patterns over the breadth of time covered in this study but also allows for the identification of important developments on variable scales and in different areas (152). This model takes into consideration the impact of dynamic landscapes, spatial and relational data from shipwrecks, and temporal rhythms, among other factors, presenting a more nuanced picture of the ancient maritime economy.The other line of evidence in his analysis is presented in Chapter 5, “Ports and Everyday Economies,” in which he provides an assessment of port sites. Here too, a multifaceted approach is taken to the material by evaluating the archaeological evidence, as well as issues of geography, topography, and environment. This methodology highlights Leidwanger’s attention to regionalism and the variables specific to the different maritime and coastal landscapes. Using the GIS software Gephi for network analysis, he creates models of his study areas with port sites, providing new data on many unpublished sites. Exemplifying the usefulness of GIS applications, Leidwanger then combines his port-site models with data from terrestrial archaeological surveys on the agricultural production of commodities found in ports and wrecks to illustrate the connectivity between the inland networks of production and transport with those of the maritime pathways. This is an important contribution as it coalesces what are two usually distinct datasets from land and sea into a single, more complete picture of economic production and distribution. The mapping reveals a complex network of ports of varying scales that was intimately tied to environmental constraints, geography, and navigational abilities specific to that region. The value of local ports is highlighted in which the movement of goods through this highly localized geography could occur more easily, and frequently solidify connections with the regional network (195). The chronological framework of the author’s project allows for the recognition of development and changing patterns in the maritime networks of production and exchange in which during the Roman period the Aegean is the central node with networks radiating to more immediate connections in Cyprus, Cilicia, and the Levant, but also extending to the Adriatic, Black Sea, and the western Mediterranean in Gaul. However, the picture changes during late antiquity when Cyprus, Cilicia, and the Levant gain centrality within the broader production network.Chapter 6, “Maritime Networks in the Roman East,” brings together the data and arguments from the previous chapters and frames them within the eastern Mediterranean’s sociopolitical and economic spheres. Leidwanger discusses the shifts in maritime activity with concentrations in the early Roman period and during late antiquity. The economic zone created between Cyprus and the Aegean in the early Roman period, from the second century BCE to the second century CE, and reaching an apex slightly earlier than the western Mediterranean in the first century CE, shows that this region was integrated into the imperial network but maintained its own distinct zone of economic interaction. The other upturn in maritime activity corresponds to the establishment of Constantinople at the beginning of the fourth century CE, when the case-study regions of southwestern Turkey and southern Cyprus emerged as central nodes within the broader late antique economic networks, extending through the fifth century CE. At this time the regions developed greater connectivity through interregional trade as well as linking with broader networks associated with the Black Sea and Danube regions. Leidwanger reveals that the well-held perception of economic decline and reduction of late antique shipwrecks does not reflect a retraction of network use. Rather, late antiquity was a period of busy regional markets in the eastern Mediterranean.A short closing section, “Further Journeys,” postulates the direction of maritime archaeology and its development as a field of study. One area where the field could be exponentially enriched is with the addition of more multiscalar regional assessments, identifying southern France, Sicily, and Israel as regions with potential for regional projects similar to Leidwanger’s own. Echoing Horden and Purcell, the value of an analysis in the longue durée allows for greater detail, further broadening the chronological scope to include material from the Hellenistic through the later medieval periods in order to potentially add to this already rich corpus of evidence. Beyond expanding the temporal framework, Leidwanger suggests expanding the contextual data to include “other major indicators of mobility, interaction, and economic development throughout the hinterlands” (226). Ties between maritime networks with coastal and inland markets would provide new insights across a more unified regional economy.Two appendixes conclude the monograph. The first one of Roman and late antique shipwrecks from southwest Turkey and the northeast Mediterranean provides valuable information to further support Leidwanger’s analysis, such as the types of cargo recovered and wreck context in deposition. This is also a concise record, useful for future scholars to access the primary datasets (Parker, OXREP, DARMC) in one place through Leidwanger’s meticulous reassessment. The second appendix presents a thorough discussion of and data on wind patterns for the relevant regions through which one can see the impact of environmental variation on maritime movement.This volume makes several strong contributions to theoretical and methodological approaches toward the analysis of maritime economy. Leidwanger’s model highlights the continued need to move away from the previous, and somewhat current, trends of top-down approaches focused on exchange between large, urban ports. His case studies clearly demonstrate the complexity of maritime networks operating from the bottom-up, highly affected by regional variation in landscape, weather, and geography. They also highlight the local agency of mariners working at multiple levels of involvement in maritime movement and trade, producing a comprehensive model with aspects not previously considered in broader pan-Mediterranean models. An aspect of his research, rarely acknowledged, are the multifaceted roles these maritime agents played in trade, with varying identities, likely simultaneously as sailors, merchants, fishermen, and other operators that drove the regionalized worlds of maritime trade. Their small worlds, connected on a scale of no more than a few days’ journey in familiar territory, reinforce the focus on opportunistic harbors and regional networks operated by local experts. The geographical flexibility and dynamic nature of this model solidifies it as the primary mode of maritime trade in the eastern Mediterranean, despite different narratives held for traditional Mediterranean-wide models based on large port-to-port exchange.As with any study including ceramics and network analysis, petrography can add a whole other dimension of information. While this is an ideal inclusion for analysis, it is often unrealistic to be able to obtain extensive petrographic information, especially when looking at numerous assemblages from various excavations over an extended period. It would also be of interest to expand the dataset by including other ceramic vessel types, beyond those of transport amphorae, found in wrecks and port assemblages. Inclusion of ceramic vessels such as fine wares within this model would lend new information about their distribution from port to inland sites, including vessels moving with, and on, established agricultural market networks. As Leidwanger suggests in his “Further Journeys” section, inland trade-network studies provide another dimension of analysis toward understanding the complete movement of goods to inland sites, beyond their entrance at ports and small harbors.This volume represents an important move forward in our understanding of how multiscalar connectivity influenced not only maritime trade but the Roman economy itself. This comprehensive research provides a valuable model for future regional studies.

In order to identify new crops in the 1st millennium ce in northern Italy, a complex and diversified territory, archaeobotanical macroremains from 155 sites dating between the 2nd century bce and 12th century ce were analysed. In more than half of the sites, taxa were encountered that had never previously been recorded from the area. The new crops are about 30, mainly (~ 70%) fruit plants in the broad sense, which have a clear peak in this time period. Based on the available data, the most prominent time for the introduction of new food plants (both imports and cultivars) seems to have been the Roman Imperial period (1st–2nd century ce), but also later, in Late Antiquity (3rd–6th century ce) and the Middle Ages (7th–12 century ce), there was no lack of new arrivals. Some fruit trees, such as Prunus persica (peach) and Pinus pinea (stone pine) immediately played an important role, and have continued to do so over time, as these are still grown in the area now.

Introduction Investigating Glassmaking in the Early Medieval World UCL-Qatar has embarked on a rigorous scientific project that aims to understand the production and trade of glass objects within the Byzantine Empire and Abbasid Caliphate—two contemporary and often rival regional powers. “Glass from Byzantium to Baghdad: Trade and Technology from the Byzantine Empire to the Abbasid Caliphate” is a QNRF-sponsored research project that combines archaeological and scientific evidence to compare the technological traditions and economic networks in place within the lands of the eastern Mediterranean and Arabian Peninsula during the early medieval era. This paper presents some of the very first chemical analytical data ever produced for glass artifacts excavated from archaeological sites within the GCC region. This data enables us not only to identify the type of raw materials and aspects of the manufacturing technology used to make glass, it also allows scholars to better contextualize this material by addressing various economic aspects related to the production, consumption, and trade of glass objects in the early medieval world. In addition to shedding light on how glass was made and traded, the chemical analysis of excavated glass artifacts helps scholars elucidate what material- and knowledge-interactions people in the medieval world may have had, and whether such interactions went beyond cultural, political, or geographic boundaries. Case Study Islamic Glass from the Site of Kush, UAE The first major case study in this investigation are the glass artifacts excavated from the archaeological site of Kush. Located in the Shimal area of Ras al-Khaimah (Fig. 1), Kush is one of the largest archaeological tells in the UAE. The tell was first noted by scholars in 1977, and was excavated from 1994 to 2000. Archaeological investigation shows that the settlement was occupied from the 5th century to the 13th century CE; situated just inside the Gulf on the edge of what was once a lagoon, the site was involved in the long-distance trade of goods with both the East and the West during much of its history. Among the artifacts that were recovered from excavation were more than 5000 fragments of glass, which suggests glass vessels played an important role in the daily lives of people living at Kush. Because there is as yet no evidence for glassmaking or glass working in Eastern Arabia, it is likely that most of the glass was imported from the major contemporary glass producers that were located to the north and northwest in the Levant, Mesopotamia, and Iran. Small samples were removed for analysis from 43 fragments of glass vessels excavated from Trench A at Kush. These glasses are translucent and come in a variety of colors including turquoise, aqua, light green, green, yellow green, dark yellow, amber, and purple hues as well as colorless glass. Over the course of time, the glass artifacts have deteriorated, leaving flakey white and black weathering layers that obscure the surface. The chemical composition of the glass samples was determined using electron probe microanalysis (EPMA); 23 glass forming compounds and elements were measured, the results given as weight percent oxides. The chemical data sheds light on three aspects of the glass from Kush: 1) the raw materials used to make the glass, 2) the technological tradition of glassmaking and possible provenance or origin of the glass objects, and 3) changes in glass chemistry over time. The Kush glass objects are all made from soda-lime-silica glass, a type which dominated ancient and medieval glass production and continues to dominate production even today. In terms of the raw materials used to make the glass, the relatively high magnesia and potash content of the sampled vessels (with an average of 3.9 wt% MgO and 2.5 wt% K 2 O) indicates that the glasses were made using plant ashes rather than mineral soda as a fluxing agent to lower the melting temperature of silica. Because mineral soda was the dominant flux used by glassmakers in Syro-Palestine and Egypt until the 9th–10th centuries CE, it is likely that the Kush glass vessels dating to this period were instead imported from Mesopotamia, where plant ash glass technology was in continual use since the Bronze Age. This suggests that at this time, Kush was primarily involved in the trade of raw glass or finished glass objects not with the main glassmaking regions within the former Byzantine Near East, but rather with the central Mesopotamian regions of the Abbasid caliphate of which the Arabian Peninsula was a part. Plant ash is a chemically complex source of soda, and typically has a high concentration of other chemical compounds, making plant ash a rather “dirty” material. However, the Kush samples have lower phosphorus content than might be expected from a plant ash-based glass, which could suggest the plant ash soda was purified in some way during processing. In many of the samples, trace amounts of antimony, manganese, copper, cobalt, tin, and lead could indicate some degree of glass recycling was also taking place. In some cases the addition of metals to the raw glass was intended to colorize the glass, as in the case of the unique bright turquoise glasses that have high traces of antimony, copper, tin, and lead. The manganese content of the Kush samples is also notable; manganese is typically added to create purple or colorless glass, but manganese is present in relatively high levels in some of the green, aqua-green, and yellow-green glasses found at Kush. The glass from Kush was also sampled to assess change over the course of time. The Kush glass can be divided into chronological periods based on their typological features and excavation context, and the samples were taken from vessels dating to four different periods of Kush's Early Islamic era of occupation history: the 7th–8th centuries CE (Period II), the late 8th-early 9th centuries CE (Period III), the 9th-late 11th centuries CE (Period IV), and the late 11th-early 12th centuries CE (Period V). However, the chemistry of the glass does not appear to reflect any major compositional changes over time. The glass samples from the 9th–11th centuries are of particular interest, as they coincide with a time of flourishing population and economy within the region; there may be some degree of standardization reflected in the 9th–12th century glass samples, as is suggested by the narrower range of potash levels. Conclusions and Future Work In comparison to glass made using mineral soda, plant-ash based glass is more chemically complex. As such it requires a more rigorous analytical program. The data provided in this preliminary study using electron probe microanalysis (EPMA) gives a good general impression of the glassmaking technology of the Kush samples, but it is expected that a better technological assessment and interpretation will result from the application of a new chemical analytical technique: laser ablation inductively coupled plasma mass spectrometry (LA-ICPMS). This technique goes beyond the detection capabilities of EPMA and enables measurement of the trace element composition of glass to parts per million (ppm). Trace element analysis of the Kush glass will thus allow us to discriminate between discrete glass groupings, and to better interpret the economic networks and patterns of trade that took place in the Gulf region during the Early Islamic era. Acknowledgments We would like to thank Philip Connolly for providing the EPMA data for the Kush samples discussed above. This presentation was made possible by NPRP grant 7-776-6-024 from the Qatar National Research Fund (a member of Qatar Foundation). The statements made herein are solely the responsibility of the authors.

Spirits and liqueurs in European traditional medicine: Their history and ethnobotany in Tuscany and Bologna (Italy)

An 8th century CE earthquake severely damaged inland cities across the southern-central Levant, but reported evidence of this earthquake along the coastline is scarce. In Caesarea Maritima, archaeologists have found contemporaneous anomalous sand and shelly layers within nearshore structures and interpreted them as construction fill, aeolian accumulation, or abandonment debris. Recently, similar sand deposits were exposed in a Roman-to-Islamic harbor-side warehouse. This presented the first opportunity to directly sample and systematically analyze in situ, undisturbed deposits in order to determine their origin and taphonomic (source and transport) history. Two sediment cores from the deposit as well as comparative reference samples from defined contexts were analyzed for grain size distribution, foraminifera (abundance/taphonomy), and relative age (POSL, archaeochronology). The results support the interpretation that the deposit was formed from the transport of offshore marine sediments during a high-energy inundation event, most likely a tsunami associated with the 749 CE earthquake.

As the third volume of a multivolume set on Chinese phonetics, this book examines the phonetical system of Modern Chinese and phonetical changes from Middle Chinese to Modern Chinese. Chinese language history is generally split into three phases: (1) Old Chinese, the form of the Chinese language spoken between the 18th century BCE and the 3rd century CE, (2) Middle Chinese, between the 4th century CE to around the 12th century CE, and (3) Modern Chinese, since the 13th century. This volume studies the phonetical systems of Modern Chinese, including the initials system, vowel final system, nasal final system, entering final system, and tonal system. The author discusses the distinct change of these systems from the period of Middle Chinese to that of Modern Chinese and studies the formation of the standard pronunciation of the common language of the modern Han nation. This comprehensive groundwork on Chinese phonetical history will be a must read for scholars and student studying Chinese language, linguistics, and especially for beginning learners of Modern Chinese phonetics.

The study presents preliminary results of the renewed excavations at Shivta in the Negev Highlands, Israel. Several trenches were excavated in public buildings, domestic structures, open areas and middens. The goal of the excavations was to fine-tune the history of the site and document changes versus continuity in the Byzantine/Early Islamic transition. Most of the excavated contexts produced material from the Byzantine period (4th–7th centuries CE). Evidence from earlier periods, primarily the Early Roman (1st century CE; ‘Nabataean’) and from the Middle Roman period (2nd–early 3rd centuries CE) is scarce and was encountered only in middens on the outskirts of the site. Several public and domestic structures were abandoned prior to the Early Islamic period; some collapsed as a result of earthquakes after their abandonment. Remains of the Early Islamic period were found only in isolated contexts, indicating that Shivta declined in the Late Byzantine period after having reached its zenith during the 5th–6th centuries CE.

This chapter examines some of the public statues of Constantinople between the 4th and sixth centuries CE, and their significance to a Christian audience as illuminated in literary records pertaining to the city. The Parastaseis Syntomoi Chronikai account dated to the eighth century CE, which not only describes the statues in their historical urban settings, but also details various encounters of viewers with them. Roman Empire perception was perpetuated into the future and encapsulated by the statues. The statues proved themselves to be superior to Christian images, which, up until the ninth century CE, were repeatedly debated concerning their very validity. The statues, however, never suffered the official interrogation and violence their Christian counterparts did—adding to their charisma and appeal over generations. Constantinopolitan public statuary offers critical insights into the ways a controversial ancient heritage imbricated itself into the very fabric of Christian material infrastructure and endured.

Stable isotope analysis and differences in diet and social status in northern Medieval Christian Spain (9th–13th centuries CE)

The mapping and mapmaking practices of the historical (19th century CE) and modern (20th century CE) cartographers shaped the geographical knowledge across the Sinai Peninsula. Similar knowledge was mainly sourced and transformed from the intangible geo-heritage of the local Bedouins in the form of inherited and undocumented oral knowledge. The Mount Sinai vicinity in the northern half of the High Mountains of Sinai Peninsula continues to be the centre of focus of the peninsula's historical and contemporary geographical knowledge; it has been the main inland destination for pilgrims, travellers, tourists and scholars since the 4th century CE. This role was acknowledged through a historical bias in the geo-descriptive accounts and maps; both provided a continuous chronological record for the transition in geographical knowledge on and off the maps from metaphysics to what is predominantly philosophy of science. This paper discusses the mapping and mapmaking practices in the 19th century CE and its revival by Sinai Peninsula Research 2000−2013 CE (SPR). The SPR survey re-documented and reintroduced the old mapping and mapmaking practices, remarkably discovering that the vicinity has not been cartographically surveyed on ground by the consecutive authorities for 150 years.

Reviewed by: Chain of Gold: Greek Rhetoric in the Roman Empire by Susan Jarratt Anna Peterson Susan Jarratt, Chain of Gold: Greek Rhetoric in the Roman Empire. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 2019. 200 pp. Coined by Philostratus in the early third century CE, the label “Second Sophistic” (c. 50-250 CE) is increasingly recognized as an imperfect periodic designation. Does it refer exclusively to the tradition of epideictic rhetoric as described by Philostratus? Or can it be expanded to include the full range of Greek literary production during the first three centuries CE? At its core the term reflects feelings of belatedness and nostalgia, such that the common narrative of the period has become one in which an elite Hellenic identity was defined above all by paideia (“education” or “culture”). While this rooting of an elite Greek identity in the classical past is well recognized as a response to Roman hegemony,1 recent scholarship has begun to expand on this conventional view, pointing to elements of continuity both with earlier Hellenistic literature and the literature of the fourth century CE.2 Jarratt’s monograph Chain of Gold consequently sets a tall task for itself in once again addressing the cultural politics of the Second Sophistic. It is an ambitious and thought-provoking work, even if in the end it does not completely succeed in what it sets out to do. At its core, it argues for a reappraisal of the “second sophistic habit of dwelling in the past” as something that was not “monologic and static” but “varied and dynamic” and that offered the writers and performers of the period “a politically protected way of ‘talking back’ to empire.” (17) For Jarratt, the obsession with the past that has come to define this period of Greek literature is not a simple matter of nostalgia but rather of critical memory, one that allowed the authors of this period to reimagine and keep alive a deliberative civic space. Jarratt’s aim in this book is not at its core an entirely new idea. That said, what makes her work so thought provoking is her desire to locate “a colonial counterdiscourse” in a broad range of works (38). Moreover, she is certainly correct that too often classicists have been overly hesitant about reading the literature of the period through the lens of postcolonial theory (3). In addition to an introductory chapter outlining the monograph’s methodology, Chain of Gold develops this argument across six case studies, covering respectively Dio Chyrsostom’s Euboean Discourse (Chapter 2), Aelius Aristides’ Roman Oration (Chapter 3), Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana [End Page 103] (Chapter 4) and Imagines (Chapter 5), Heliodorus’ Aithiopika (Chapter 6), and Libanius’ To Those Who Call Him Tiresome (Chapter 7). Generally speaking, this is a nice mixture of well-trod and often overlooked texts. Her strongest chapters are those which connect what she calls rhetorical vision to the post-colonial concerns outlined in the monograph’s first chapter. For example, her discussion in Chapter 3 of Aristides’ Roman Oration explores how “the ‘ sophist . . . draws on the resources of [Homeric] epic to enhance his powers of visualization,” providing his audience not only “a phantasm of [Rome’s] imperium but also a techne of viewing” (47). Likewise, Chapter 5 reads Philostratus’ Imagines—an intriguing collection of descriptions of works of art—as an exploration in rhetorical vision that pushes the limits of ekphrasis. Treating the text as a museum of sorts, Jarratt acts as curator, bringing out how the text handles reoccurring images of youth, women, and different ethnicities, among others. This is Jarratt’s most successful chapter, in part thanks to the inclusion of an appendix, which maps out the paintings in relation to one another. In a few instances, however, Jarratt does not make full use of the ancient evidence. The clearest example of this comes in her discussion of Dio Chrysostom’s Euboean Discourse (Or. 7). In this speech, Dio professes that he will narrate a personal experience, relating how, after being shipwrecked in Euboea, he was taken in by a huntsman, who recounted his own troubled participation in local politics. The huntsman’s tale then prompts Dio to expound on...

Characterisation of Byzantine and early Islamic primary tank furnace glass

Closure of Khor Al Balid and Khor Rori harbours/estuaries with coastal uplift and aridity in the 12th – 15th c. CE and evidence for an extreme overwash event in the 18th – 19th c. CE: Implications for ancient port sites in southern Oman

This article arises out of a disquiet about the archaeology of historical India which has largely been concerned with cities and villages. Forests and wilderness rarely figure there, except in passing when the expanding agricultural terrain is described in relation to forest lands being domesticated or when there is an exploration of lines of communication, some of which pass through forested tracts. Because of this gap in engaging with lands beyond agrarian tracts and city sites, large expanses that carry markers of ancient human use have not centrally figured in such research. Here, we describe our field work in the Bandhavgarh National Park and Tiger Reserve and its implications. The earliest remains go back in the form of caves to the 2nd century CE. Shrines of early medieval antiquity, sculptures, and reservoirs begin in the time of Kalachuri kings (7th century CE till the 13th century CE) and continue into the high medieval with Vaghela fortifications and palace remains (13th century CE onwards). What these can tell us when they are immersed in the hills and meadows of Bandhavgarh, in its forests and around its water bodies, is explored here.