Shakespeare’s Et tu, Brute has been influential in shaping a tradition that interprets Caesar’s last words as an expression of shock at Brutus’ betrayal. Yet this interpretation is not suggested in the ancient sources that attest the tag καὶ σύ, τέκνον (‘you too, son’). This article argues that Caesar’s dictum evokes a formula of funerary epigrams, which refers to death as the common lot of all mortals. The epitaphic connotations of καὶ σύ or tu quoque feature in epic poetry, a connection that lends a Homeric dimension to Caesar’s last words. The dictator’s oral epitaph predicts the death of Brutus as a consequence of his involvement in the assassination. It means ‘You too, son, will die’. The Greco-Roman belief that a dying man can foresee the future invests Caesar’s last words with prophetic authority.

This paper explores the use of utopian motifs in early Greek concepts of the afterlife. The notion of a paradisiacal existence for selected heroes after death is widespread in Greek thought, going back at least as far as Hesiod, and appearing in such diverse sources as Pindar, the Orphic gold leaves, Attic comedy, and Lucian. Such idyllic afterlives share various features common to Lewis Mumford’s ‘utopias of escape’ (The Story of Utopias, London, 1922, 15), such as the absence of pain and toil, plentiful and self-supplying food and drink, the company of one’s peers, and so forth. They also share the utopian ideals of selective and restricted citizenship – although the requirements for entry may vary. The popularity of eschatological utopias is associated with the theme of a lost ‘Golden Age’ and the consequent assumption of the inevitable decline of human societies. Although often regarded as escapist fantasies, eschatological utopias do react, often critically, to perceived issues in the societies that constructed them. Their unreal nature is regarded as problematic, and through their association with Kronos and the Golden Age they exemplify the dangers of anomia. But they also provide a means by which an individual can preserve his consciousness and identity in death.

This article addresses the neglected problem of elite sport in classical Athens. Democracy may have opened up politics to every citizen, but it had no impact on sporting participation. Athenian sportsmen continued to be drawn from the elite. Thus it comes as a surprise that non-elite citizens judged sport to be a very good thing and created an unrivalled program of local sporting festivals on which they spent a staggering sum. They also shielded sportsmen from the public criticism that was otherwise normally directed towards the elite and its exclusive pastimes. The work of social scientists suggests that the explanation of this problem can be found in the close relationship that non-elite Athenians perceived between sporting contests and their own waging of war. The article’s conclusion is that it was the democracy’s opening up of war to non-elite citizens that legitimised elite sport.

This article discusses the evolution and main characteristics of Delphi’s statuary landscape, focussing on the process of prestige spatialisation via erection of honorific portraits within the Delphic territory. My goal is to present trends and tendencies in placing honorific portraits at Delphi from the mid-fifth century b.c. to the late fourth century a.d. The article focusses on issues surrounding the locations for honorific statues and how these featured in attempts to monopolise the sanctuary’s overall lay-out throughout by vying for the most conspicuous places at Delphi. I argue that the placement of honorific statues within the Delphic temenos was not random but was in fact a precisely planned process which was influenced by several (variable) factors. These factors included the availability of space, the visibility of the monuments, and the number of visitors that could be expected. The relationship between Delphi and the League of the Aetolians is particularly stressed in association with the question regarding the nature of the Aetolian self-representation at Delphi. I contrast Delphi with Thermos to assess the degree to which the Aetolians dominated the sanctuary and how they presented themselves to both internal and external audiences.

The origins and definition of tyranny in ancient Greece have been debated in scholarship for well over three quarters of a century. Recently, it has been argued that tyranny as a political idea was not anathematised until late and that in the fifth century BCE and before, tyranny comported no negative judgment. While correct to point out that the distinction between ‘king’ and ‘tyrant’ in literature predating Aristotle was not clearly delineated, scholars have often failed to ask the more fundamental question of why that distinction was essential for Aristotle. This essay argues that Aristotle drew upon a much older intellectual tradition which saw tyranny as hateful and contrary to the rule of law. Though tyrants in many cases ruled lawfully, a distinction must be drawn between ‘lawful’ rule, which some but not all tyrants practised, and the rule of law, which anathematised tyranny.

This article explores the interconnection between Caligula's rehabilitation of his family and the performance of imperial power through processions as presented on three of his coin types. It argues that Caligula used the depictions of processions in connection with coin types celebrating his father, mother, and brothers to create a ‘parade of ancestors’. These coins served as portable visual reminders (monumenta) of Germanicus’ pompa triumphalis of 17 CE, the inclusion of Agrippina's image into the pompa circensis as part of the honours granted to Caligula's family members upon his accession, and the likely inclusion of Nero and Drusus’ images at the head of the transvectio equitum during the early years of Caligula's reign. By parading his family members on his coins in this way, Caligula was able to propel himself forward by looking to and commemorating the past, thereby creating permanent monumenta of these public performances of power.

Many modern scholars have argued that the consulship was not created at the foundation of the Republic as Roman tradition maintained, and that the government of the early Republic went through several stages of development before it reached the familiar ‘classical constitution.’ Building on this work, this article considers what the early civilian government of Rome may have looked like. It is argued that the Romans did not create an entirely new government (based on consuls) following the removal of the monarchy, but instead made use of existing sources of power and authority: rich land-owning clans dominated military activity outside the city, while priests, the curiae, and minor officials exercised responsibilities of civilian governance in Rome. The plebeian tribunate was probably the first significant office to be created in the Republic, and the unusual nature of its power (sacrosanctity) and the absence of any other chief magistracy enabled the tribunes to acquire a broad range of prerogatives. A series of reforms eventually led to the development of the familiar ‘classical constitution’, and the consulship and praetorship became the most prestigious and desired magistracies (and—outside the city—the most powerful), but the tribunes long retained the broadest prerogatives for civilian governance inside the city.

The military punishment of decimatio, the cudgelling by lot of one in ten men in a disgraced unit, often described as a cornerstone of Roman military discipline, was never practised during the third and second centuries BC. The punishment was possibly used as an extraordinary measure a couple of times in the fifth and fourth centuries BC. It soon fell into total desuetude but was cultivated as a rhetorical construct that proclaimed theoretical powers commanders no longer dared effect. It was only revived, or rather reinvented, during the Late Republic, a violent moment that saw the confluence of antiquarian enthusiasm with military dynasts whose unrestrained powers allowed them to manifest what had previously been an aristocratic talking point.

In the poetic epistles addressed to his unnamed wife, Ovid makes a number of recognisably consolatory exhortations that poignantly reframe her perception of grief. By depicting exile as a form of living death and his departure from Rome in Tristia 1.3 as a funeral, Ovid is able to cast his wife in the role of a mourning widow whom he consoles from his exilic grave. The moment of their separation becomes a traumatic event that gives the wife the emotional endurance to handle any future adversity. Such appeals to earlier resilience, frequently found in consolation, are employed in Tristia 3.3 and 5.11. In these poems, Ovid also draws upon the consolatory argument that death is not a malum and reframes this same notion about exile to assert his status as a relegatus to his wife and a broader audience. This paper connects Ovid's use of these ideas with the broader tradition of Graeco-Roman consolation, expanding our understanding of the genre and the Tristia's place therein.

The identity of the passer in Catullus 2 and 3 has been a subject of controversy for hundreds of years.1 Sir D'Arcy Wentworth Thompson, the great authority on birds in the ancient world, sums it up best with his own musings: ‘Whatever Lesbia's “sparrow” may have been, I am pretty sure in my own mind […] that it was not Passer domesticus, the most intractable and least amiable of cage-birds.’2 Some scholars opt for an obscene interpretation of passer, while others argue that passer must refer to a bird like a bullfinch (Pyrrhula pyrrhula). To test the validity of these arguments, this paper examines four key components of the passer poems, and the passer debates. Firstly, it determines the Roman cultural view of sparrows and whether they regarded the birds as pets, pests, or something else entirely. Secondly, it analyses Roman trends in bird-keeping and looks for other examples of pet passeres in art and literature. Thirdly, it considers actual bird behaviour to reveal whether a sparrow could act the way Catullus describes. Finally, it analyses the different potential meanings of the word passer to determine which birds fell under its descriptive umbrella. In this way we can judge whether the passer was indeed a sparrow while also determining the place of sparrows in Roman thought and pet-keeping culture.