It is hardly controversial to assert that recent work on Greek mythology is methodologically diverse. However, there is one body of writing which seems to have become a reference point against which scholars of many persuasions–not excluding orthodox positivist philologists and adherents of psychoanalysis–feel the need to define their own position. I mean structuralism. G.S. Kirk and, later, W. Burkert have conducted their dialogues with it; C. Segal and more unreconstructedly R. Caldwell have tried to accommodate Lévi-Strauss and Freud under the same blanket; a glance at bibliographical citations in studies of tragedy over the last twenty years will show how J.-P. Vernant and P. Vidal-Naquet have moved from the periphery to the centre (much as Finley did some time ago in ancient history). The polemical attitudes being struck by M. Detienne (from within the movement) and C. Calame are directly generated by over-confident structuralist attempts to map out the mental territory they claimed as their own.

This study of the Ten Thousand on their way home will consider, with regard to some important aspects of their social behaviour, whether they were adopting and adapting the Greek city way of life, or that of a mercenary army, and whether other possible models may help us to understand their problems and their success.

The Ten Thousand had been part of an army and many of them would form part of one again. The assumption that in the meanwhile they were really just like an army justifies the space given to them by Parke, by Marinovich and by Griffith in books which are studies of Greek mercenary warfare. Of course the men's aim when they were Cyrus's mercenaries (like the aims of other mercenaries) had been to follow what instructions had come to them from above and to take home, individually, what pay and profit they could. But once Cyrus was killed they were no longer mercenaries nor employed by any authority, and their aim, decided by themselves, was to find a way home. Their entirely different status, and their ability to succeed in these new circumstances, mean that it is unwise in investigating the patterns of behaviour either of mercenaries or of the Ten Thousand to assume without question that the two patterns will be the same.

Students of ancient metrology have long since been acquainted with a short tract, though so far none seems to have been aware of the fact that it has been published in four different versions:

(1) The manuale legum, or Hexabiblos, of Constantine Harmenopulos, a Byzantine compilation dating from 1345 and transmitted in a great number of manuscripts, has been published a number of times since the editio princeps of 1540; the most accessible edition, with Latin translation and some notes, is that of Heimbach. In book 2 ch. 4 (De novis operibus), there appears (but not in all MSS) a page-long metrological table (# 12), purporting to derive from an architect Julian of Ascalon, according to the editors not attested elsewhere. The text in the still basic collection of F. Hultsch, Metrologici scriptores (Leipzig 1864) i. 54 ff.; 200 f., on which all students of ancient metrology depend, derives from this authority. Though there is nothing in the text of Harmenopulos that indicates the end of his excerpt of Julian, it is implicit in the discussions of modern scholars that only the metrological table is Julian's work and that the paragraphs devoted to building laws which follow it derive from a different source.

Abdera and Teos have been brought into prominence recently by the discovery of the new inscription of Public Imprecations from Teos, the provisions of which refer not only to Teos but also to its great colony. But there are additional reasons why these two cities deserve fresh consideration. The excavations at Abdera, which have now been conducted over many years, may in some respects seem disappointing; no temples and, apart from the theatre, no public buildings have come to light; but they nevertheless require important changes in our interpretation of the history of the city. Secondly, there are many allusions to the early history of Abdera in Pindar's Second Paean, composed for that city. Their use by historians was long hindered, not only by their inherent obscurity, but also by unsatisfactory reading and interpretation of the Greek. The second of these hindrances was removed by the fine edition of the poem published by S. L. Radt in 1958. Even so, this important evidence seems in general not to have entered the consciousness of ancient historians.

The first section of this paper argues that Homer's description of the world of Ithaca as it existed before Odysseus ever left for Troy (henceforth ‘the pre-departure world’) is largely Homeric invention. The second section of the paper brings in the world of Ithaca during Odysseus' absence (henceforth ‘the intervening years’), which is also, for the most part, Homeric invention, and considers the literary function of this and the pre-departure world.

At Poetics 1451a, Aristotle argues that Homer is superior to all other epic poets in his method of constructing an epic. The reason he gives is that Homer does not tell everything there is to tell about his subject, but centres his epic round a single action (μία πρᾶξις) and for the purpose of the telling selects only those incidents which make the other incidents ‘necessary or probable’ (cf. 1459a-b, where Aristotle gives examples of what he means from the Iliad).

The parasol, whatever the conditions of use, ultimately functions as a social symbol as it satisfies no utilitarian need. The operative mechanism of that symbol varies from culture to culture but the parasol is polysemous even at its least complicated, when held by the person to be protected without allusion to foreign social systems and in the context of single-sex usage. For example, as an implement of fashionable feminine attire of over a century ago, the parasol signified the maintenance of a standard of beauty that precluded extended activities out of doors and the delicate constitution of the lady thus protected, both with further implications of ‘good breeding’ and economic inutility; and the wasteful employment of items that must be changed with the costume and discarded before unserviceable to suit the dictates of fashion. Both facets—termed ‘conspicuous leisure’ and ‘conspicuous consumption’ by Veblen—conjointly served to advertise the wealth of the individual man on the basis of whose property such extravagance and non-productive practice could be sustained.

The Second Stasimon of Oedipus Tyrannus has over the years drawn forth many divergent interpretations. So Carey's recent attempt to clear the cluttered paths towards it of accumulated debris must be warmly welcomed. We may now regard it as untenable to see criticism of Oedipus behind the reference to tyranny. We should not look for hostile comment upon Jokasta and Oedipus for what they have said in the preceding scene about the Laius oracle. At 873, we should accept the paradosis, recognising that it is not impossible for the word τύραννος to mean ‘tyrant’ in tragic texts. We should reject Scodel's attempt to introduce the idea of stasis into the argument, and interpret ὔβρις φυτεύει τύραννον as an account of what motivates the tyrant to take power (cf. Bacchylides 15.59–60 [Snell] and A. Ag. 1346f, 1612f., 1633 for this idea4).

The structure which is generally taken to underlie the composition of the plays of Aristophanes is made up of a number of quantitative parts which have been abstracted by dividing the comedies into broad sections. It roughly corresponds to the quantitative division of tragedy offered by the twelfth chapter of Aristotle's Poetics (viz. prologue, episode, exodos, khorikon or choral song, the last-named subdivided into parodos and stasimon), and includes prologue, parodos, ‘proagon’ or ‘battle scene,’ ‘epirrhematic agon,’ parabasis, iambic scenes, choral songs or stasimo, exodos.

In Simplicius: sa vie, son oeuvre, sa survie (Berlin 1987, reviewed in JHS cx [1990] 244-45), the editor, Mme I. Hadot, in the first part of the biographical introduction, cites Agathias Hist. ii 31, 4. This is usually taken to show that the Neoplatonists, who had fled to the Persian court when Justinian closed down the Academy in 529, went back to Athens after 532. That view, she holds, rests on a misreading of the text (…δεῖν ἐκείνους τοὺς ἄνδρας ἐς τὰ σφέτερα ἤθη κατιόντας βιοτεύειν ἀδεῶς τὸ λοιπὸν ὲφ᾿ ἐαυτ–οῖσ…). However, she herself misconstrues ἐφ᾿ ἑαυτ–οῖς as ‘selon leur choix’': that is, on returning from exile to their own accustomed places, these men should henceforth live without fear as they might choose. To yield that version, the Greek would have to be καθ᾿ ἑαυτοὺς. The actual expression means ‘amongst themselves’: they might philosophise, but not in public. That a touch of private heterodoxy amongst the learned few is harmless if it does not stir up the ignorant many was well understood, indeed explicitly so later, in Islam and mediaeval Christianity.

Plataea was an ancient city of ‘Boiotoi’ (Iliad ii 494 and 504; cf. Thuc. iii 61.2). Throughout its chequered history the citizens were always described as ‘Boiotoi’ (e.g. Thuc. iii 54.3; Isoc. Panath. 93; [D.] lix 95; Arr. An. i 8.8; Paus. i 15.3). The citizens were ‘the Plataeans’, whether they were in possession of their city or not. They figured as Πλαταιες on the serpent column of 479/8 (M-L 27, 7), as Πλαταιῆς in the list of Athens' allies in 431 (Thuc. ii 9.4), and as Πλαταιῆς ψιλοί fighting alongside Athenians in 424 BC when their city was in enemy hands (Thuc. iv 67.2 and 5). Although the majority of the Plataeans lived as refugees in Attica between 428 and 382, and again from 373 to 338, they continued to be ‘Plataeans’ and were never described in our sources as Athenians. The ability of the Plataeans to survive as a refugee community was paralleled, for example, by the ability of the Aeginetan refugees between 431 and 405 and the Samian refugees between 366 and 322 (Diod. xviii 18.9) to survive and ultimately to reoccupy their homeland. It was as such a community that ‘the Plataeans’ were brought back ‘from Athens’ to their ruined city in 382 (Paus. ix 1.4.).

In Λ̅ 101-112 Agamemnon kills Isos and Antiphos, who were travelling on their chariot. They were sons of Priam, the former a νόθοс, the latter γνήсιοс. Agamemnon recognises them because earlier in the war they had been ransomed by Achilles, who, having captured them, bound them with withies on Mount Ida, where they had been tending their flocks of sheep.

D. E. L. Haynes' 1964 booklet The Portland Vase and Bernard Ashmole's article of 1967 ushered in a spate of renewed speculations concerning the scenes depicted on the Portland Vase (FIG 1). Despite the considerable literature since then, I venture to propose a new interpretation of part of the vase. First of all, it should be said that I accept the view of Ashmole (and others) against Haynes (and others) that the vase depicts two separate scenes and not one continuous one. I also accept (with many others) Ashmole's interpretation of the first scene as the love or marriage of Peleus and Thetis; the two lovers are figures A and C, Thetis being marked out as a sea-goddess by the sea snake in her lap, with Eros (B) and Zeus or Poseidon (D) looking on.

οἱ δ᾿ ὲφ᾿ άρπαγῆισιν ἧλθον ὲλπίδ᾿ εἶχον ἀφνεήν, κάδόκ[ε]ον ἕκαστος αύτῶν ὅλβον εύρήσειν πολύν, καί με κωτίλλοντα λείως τραχὺν ὲκφανεῖν νόον. χαῦνα μὲν τότ᾿ ὲφράσαντο, νῦν δέ μοι χολούμενοι λοξὸν ὀφθαλμοῖς όρῶσιν πάντες ὥστε δήϊον. οὺ χρεών ἃ μὲν γὰρ εἶπα, σὺν θεοῖσιν ἤνυσα, ἄ‹λλ›α δ᾿ οὺ μάτην ἔερδον, οὺδέ μοι τυραννίδος άνδάνει βίηι τι[..].ε[ι]ν, οὺδὲ πιεί[ρ]ης χθονὸς πατρίδος κακοῖσιν ὲσθλοὺς ἰσομοιρίην ἔχειν

Over a century ago C. Müller published two fragments from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque Nationale (Codex Parisinus inter supplementa Graeca 607). One fragment (fol. 103v) is entitled ‘From the ninth book of the histories by Eusebius: the siege of Thessalonike by the Scythians’. Another folio of the same manuscript (17r) contains an untitled and longer excerpt which describes counter-siege tactics invented or implemented in a city in Macedonia, followed by an unfinished description of the siege of a Gallic city (Tours).

The inscribed miniature jar shown in the photograph (Plate VI (c)) and drawing Fig. 1) is part of a collection of artifacts purchased many years ago in Palestine that was recently donated to Ashland University in Ohio (United States) by Professor and Mrs. Delbert H. Flora. Only 5.2 cm. in height and 5.5 cm. in diameter, the vessel has a biconical, wheelmade body and a string-cut base. The ware, which appears to be Syro-Palestinian, is moderately well levigated and fired light brown. Inclusions, so far as they can be discerned, consist predominantly of quartz and chert particles in various sizes, both angular and round, as well as of some small limestone and unidentified rock fragments. The upper portion of the exterior and the interior of the rim display remnants of a dark brownish-black slip imitating black gloss (‘glaze’); in places where it was thinly applied, the slip has become pale brown or has disappeared entirely.

M. L. West has recently presented a magisterial account of the history of Greek epic in which Aeolic phases and other entities are assumed. His account is the more impressive because it combines linguistic features skilfully handled with an account of the thematic development of epic, and also specifies at what stages the various linguistic features entered the tradition. West assumes an Aeolic phase, or phases, of heroic epic composition, and accounts for the presence of Aeolic forms (162): ‘It has usually been inferred that they are just a residue left after Ionian poets had adapted an Aeolic poetic language into their own dialect as far as it would go. This is, I have no doubt, the correct interpretation.’ I think it is not.

In JHS cx (1990) 174-7 Dr John Chadwick expresses scepticism about certain lines of argument followed in my article ‘The Rise of the Greek Epic’ (JHS cviii [1988\ 151-72). He will not expect me to be heartened by his remarks. But I am. If this (I reflect) is the worst that the linguistic establishment can throw at me, there cannot be too much wrong with my approach.

His paper consists largely of a rehearsal of elementary facts and principles familiar to me and to everyone in the field. We differ, evidently, in our assessments of the bearing of these facts and principles on my reconstruction of the main phases of the epic tradition. I will try to explain succinctly why his representations leave me so unabashed.