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Ancient Pontus and the ‘Poison King’

By
thehistorianshut
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(Mithridates bust in Louvre Museum, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

As each new year passes, the cumbersome encyclopedia of history continues to grow larger and larger. To make room in the history books of today, some older events have been pushed to the back of human consciousness and threaten to be forgotten completely by the average modern person. There are many historical states and kingdoms that are on the verge of being expunged from our immediate knowledge. For the sake of remembrance, here is an expose of a long-gone kingdom; the story of Pontus.

The Origin and Geography of Pontus

 

(Map by Thomas Lessman, via Creative Commons)

 

(Map of Pontus around 89 BCE, via Creative Commons)

 

The story of Pontus, like many other ancient countries, traces back to the Macedonian military genius, Alexander the Great (356-323 BCE). In a relatively short period of time, Alexander built an empire expanding from Greece all the way to India. Hellenistic culture was spread into these conquered regions as the Macedonian and Greek soldiers marched on their way to further conquests.

When Alexander the Great died in 323 BCE, there was no one person who was capable of keeping the conquered territory under a single rule. Consequently, Alexander’s greatest generals divided the empire among themselves, creating Hellenistic dynasties outside of Macedon and Greece. The most famous of these dynasties are Ptolemaic Egypt and the Seleucid Empire stretching from Anatolia (approximately modern-day Turkey) and Syria towards India.  Another of the states formed from Alexander’s Empire was Pontus, which rested in northern Anatolia, near the Black Sea.

Pontus was formed in the 4th century BCE and eventually spread its control outward to encompass most of Anatolia by the end of the 2nd century BCE Sinope (now called Sinop in Turkey) was eventually set as the capital of Pontus. A long line of Kings under the name Mithridates ruled Pontus, but the greatest would be Mithridates VI Eupator. 

 

Mithridates VI Eupator

Mithridates VI Eupator is a name worth remembering. If he had ruled Pontus a few decades before his actual ascendance to the throne in 120 BCE, he may have developed an empire to outshine Rome and Macedon. Unfortunately for Mithridates VI, however, he was born at a terrible time—the 1st century BCE was a golden age of Roman military leaders. Mithridates VI was trying to build an empire for Pontus while Pompey the Great and Julius Caesar were expanding Roman territory by leaps and bounds. With Pontus and Rome both trying to increase their influence in Greece and Anatolia, war was inevitable. These wars became known as the Mithridatic Wars.

Before we get to the meat of the warfare, a look into the character of Mithridates VI, himself, will be entertaining and informative—this king was a very interesting fellow. Most sources agree that Mithridates was a young boy when he became King of Pontus in 120 BCE. As he was young, his mother ruled as a regent for around five years until Mithridates VI had her arrested and imprisoned. Other sources darken the story, claiming that Mithridates had his mother and brother executed—either way, Mithridates removed any threat of rivals to his power. Under his rule, Pontus quickly expanded up the eastern shore of the Black Sea and into Crimea.

Another interesting bit of trivia about Mithridates VI, is his status as one of the first kings to willingly ingest doses of poison in an attempt to make himself immune to their effects. From this, he gained such a mystique around himself that he became known as the ‘Poison King.’ His antidotum mithridatium (which Mithridates used to counteract poisons) was seen by many old Roman scholars and physicians to be a cure-all to many ailments. Mithridatium was in use and included in medical books for around 2,000 years until it was largely abandoned by the turn of the 20th century. Mithridates VI’s most impressive accomplishment, however, was the amount of frustration he caused the Romans.

 

 Mithridatic Wars

 

(Pompey the Great bust, photographed by Carole Raddato—Creative Commons)

 

After taking much of the area around the Black Sea, Mithridates VI Eupator set his sights on Greece. In 89 BCE the First Mithridatic War began, pitting Pontus against Bithynia (approximately the coastal area just east of modern Istanbul) and Bithynia’s ally, Rome. Up until 85 BCE, Mithridates VI seemed unstoppable—he conquered Greece and executed around 80,000 Romans and Italians in the region. A Roman general named Sulla—a future dictator—pushed Mithridates back to Pontus’ original borders and implemented the Treaty of Dardanus to end the first war.

 After being thwarted in the first Mithridatic War, Mithridates VI was not dissuaded from his ambitions. Quite the opposite, he continued to seek ways to undermine Rome. Mithridates VI supposedly befriended enemies of Rome in Gaul and Spain, and formed an alliance with Thrace (approximately modern Bulgaria) and Ptolemaic Egypt. Whether or not these maneuverings caused a backlash from Rome, Romans invaded Pontus in 83 BCE starting the Second Mithridatic War.

 In 82 BCE, Mithridates defeated the initial Roman force. A period of light skirmishes persisted until 74 BCE, when Rome sent in some of their best generals to defeat Pontus. Lucius Lucullus won a great victory against the forces of Pontus in 73 BCE near the city of Cyzicus and caused Mithridates to flee to Armenia the following year. By 66 BCE, however, Lucullus’ position was deteriorating, which led to Pompey the Great taking over the command of Roman forces in the region and ushered Rome to total victory over Mithridates.

 Defeated again by Rome, Mithridates VI still showed no sign of ending his ambitions to topple Roman dominance and expand the Kingdom of Pontus. In 63 BCE, Mithridates VI planned to invade Italy itself to strike at the heart of Rome. Whether this bold—or desperate—plan would have worked will remain forever unknown, for Mithridates’ men rebelled against him before the plan was enacted. It is thought that Mithridates’ own son, Pharnaces II, began the rebellion. An interesting legend found in many sources about the end of Mithridates VI claims that the King of Pontus tried to poison himself when the rebellion succeeded—the suicide ironically failed because of the tolerance he had built up during his life. As a result, Mithridates had to order a loyal guard to end his life.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

thehistorianshut.com

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Martin Luther (1483-1546)

By
thehistorianshut
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(Portrait of Martin Luther as an Augustinian Monk, from the Workshop of Lucas Cranach the Elder (1472-1553) [Public domain], via Creative Commons)

On Halloween day, in 1517, Martin Luther publicly questioned the authority of the Catholic Church by posting his Ninety-five Theses or Disputation on the Power and Efficacy of Indulgences for all to see in his hometown of Wittenburg. Luther’s actions, which unleashed the Protestant Reformation, make him a controversial figure to this day. To Protestants, Luther was a wise man, perhaps even a saint or a prophet. To many Catholics, however, Luther was a detrimental scourge that forever weakened the church and led astray the Christian faithful. Nevertheless, both sides can agree that Luther brought about a massive wave of change in both Protestant and Catholic churches.

Luther came from a family of average wealth, but his father, Hans Luther, earned enough money from his occupation as a smeltermaster to allow Martin Luther to receive an in-depth education. In his early schooling, he was introduced to the Greek and Roman Classics. Under the orders of his father, Martin Luther attended the University of Erfurt, in which he achieved a Bachelor of Arts and Master’s Degree. Hans Luther wanted his son to become a lawyer, but his son, Martin, had different plans.

There are conflicting theories as to what influenced Luther to pursue a monastic life, but a lightning storm or the death an acquaintance are the most popular stories among scholars. According to Lindberg, Luther joined the Black Cloister of the Observant Augustinians in 1505. The man he confessed to during his early days as a monk, Johann von Staupitz, encouraged Luther to study theology. He gained his doctorate 1512. In theology, Martin Luther found his true calling, and he became a astoundingly prolific writer.

Luther first started teaching at the Augustinian university in Wittenberg around 1513 or 1514. He was a professor of biblical interpretation. Luther’s favorite books of the Bible were Psalms, the Gospel of John, and the letters of St. Paul, but he received his most important revelation from Romans—“He who through faith is righteous shall live” (Romans 1:17) and “He forgives sin” (Romans 3:25). Martin Luther went on to write countless sermons, letters, essays, commentaries and meditations on his interpretation of the Bible.

With the publication of Martin Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses, the Protestant theologian made many friends and enemies. He inspired other Protestant figures such as John Calvin, Ulrich Zwingli and John Knox, but he also outraged and appalled Catholic men like Thomas More and Desiderius Erasmus. Luther’s interpretation of the Bible was not only debated with words, but also touted as a reason for independence. Kings used Luther’s interpretation to separate from the Pope’s authority, and emperors found their princes and vassals joining together in Protestant leagues. Martin Luther’s words and writings were powerful, but Europe’s response to his ideas was more dramatic than Luther could have imagined.

Written by c. Keith Hansley

Sources:

  • Carter Lindberg. The European Reformations (Second Edition). Massachusetts: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010.
  • A Reformation Reader: Primary Texts with Introductions, edited by Denis R. Janz. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008.

 

 

 

 

 

Adventures of Emperor Theophilus

By
thehistorianshut
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(Byzantine Emperor Theophilos (r. 829-842), surrounded by dignitaries of his court. Illustration from the Madrid Skylitzes (Fol. 42v), c. 12th century, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

The Joust, A Prized Warhorse And The Horse Thief

Fact can truly be more entertaining than fiction. John Skylitzes’ work, A Synopsis of Byzantine History: 811-1057, may have a dull title, but the history within—though sometimes exaggerated—actually contains many a historically-based story that can rival the best of fictional novels. Take, for instance, Emperor Theophilus (ruled 829-842). Personally, John Skylitzes could not stand Theophilus because of religious differences (Theophilus was the last Iconoclast Byzantine Emperor to outlaw religious artwork and icons), but once the historian was done venting, he wrote a hearty chapter about Theophilus’ imperial reign, and of all the highly entertaining adventures therein.

 

(Theophilus еxecutes iconophiles, c. 12th century, from John Skylitzes, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

For the most part, Theophilus is remembered as a decent emperor. He excelled in governing, administrating, and establishing law and order. The emperor was not a reclusive man; between sessions of court, he would explore his capital, investigating the market and the docks, or just observing his countrymen. He sent effective governors to manage his domain, and enlisted highly competent ambassadors to interact with his neighboring countries. In particular, his ambassador, John the Grammarian, whom he sent to Syria, was a great success. While John served as a diplomat, he was well respected and liked by the locals.

Theophilus was at his best when he was a peacetime emperor, but for much of his reign, he was at war with the Abbasid Caliphate. If John Skylitzes’ accounts of Theophilus’ battles can be taken for truth (though, often chronologically confused), the emperor was, unfortunately, a poor military leader. Nevertheless, he was able to stay alive and enjoy some success in war. This was, however, mainly because of a few skilled officers he had in his employ. Skylitzes often mentioned two men, Manuel and Theophobos, who advised the emperor and led wings of his army. Theophilus, however, would often ignore their advice, find himself surrounded in battle, and only survive because Manuel or Theophobos would rescue the emperor from his military mistakes.

 

(Abbasid Caliph al-Mamun sends an envoy to Byzantine Emperor Theophilos, from John Skylitzes c. 12th or 13th century, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

For around a decade, Theophilus fought against the Abbasid Dynasty. It all began in 830, when the Caliph Ma’mun crossed into Roman territory. The forces of Constantinople successfully defended against the invasion, and pushed the Arab invaders back into their own sphere of influence. Ma’mun, however, was soon replaced as caliph by his half-brother al-Mu’tasim, who would prove much more capable of marching against Theophilus in battle. In 837, when the Abbasids were cleaning up a major rebellion, Theophilus seized upon the chance to strike his foe when they were distracted. He invaded and won himself territory all the way to Melitene, but Caliph al-Mu’tasim had already crushed his rebellion and was preparing a response to Theophilus. Al-Mu’tasim marched against Theophilus, defeated the emperor in a major battle at Dazimon (one of the occasions the emperor allowed himself to be surrounded), and captured the major cities of Ankara and Amorion.

Theophilus’ war efforts did little to help him gain glory, but they did leave a legacy of two great stories that were remembered for centuries and recorded by John Skylitzes—the story of the joust and the parable of a soldier’s prized horse.

The Joust

 

(Horsemen joust c. 1200 – 1259 from the Historia Major of Matthew Paris, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

The tale of the joust likely occurred around 831, when Theophilus and his troops resisted an invasion from Caliph Ma’mun. In one of the battles, the Roman emperor may have captured as many as 20,000 prisoners.

One of the prisoners in particular was a crowd pleaser—an immensely strong horseman. Theophilus happily let the prisoner put on shows for the crowd; the masses were impressed with the Abbasid horseman, but they were even more impressed that their emperor was able to catch the man.

The horseman had a particular trick he displayed to the amazed crowd—he would ride upon his horse while wielding two lances. Thephilus and the people of Byzantium were all spellbound by the display of strength.

While everyone else was marveling at the horseman, a eunuch named Theodore Krateros, who was a part of Emperor Theophilus’ entourage, scoffed at what he saw. The eunuch denounced the act as mere showmanship and without any real merit in combat. Krateros admitted he could not recreate the feat of using two lances on horseback, but he rejected the strategy and claimed that using two lances was foolish and in no way practical. Even more, he told the rest of the emperor’s retinue that if given a steady horse and a single, sturdy lance, he, himself, could defeat the Abbasid horseman in a joust.

The Emperor Theophilus, who heard Theodore Krateros’ comments, challenged the eunuch to live up to his bravado. According to John Skylitzes, Theophilus even threatened to have Krateros executed if he could not defeat the horseman, but, again, Skylitzes was no fan of Theophilus.

Theodore Krateros agreed to test his mettle against the horseman with the dual lances. There is little description about the setting of the joust; no mention of armor or the location of the bout was recorded. Nevertheless, Krateros indeed climbed onto a steed, grabbed a lance, and thoroughly knocked the strong Abbasid horseman from his mount. With the eunuch’s words proven, Theophilus could only congratulate Krateros and bestow him with a prize of praise and clothing.

 

The Emperor, The Horse, and the Horse Thief

 

(Byzantine cavalry driving the Arabs to flight, c. 12th or 13th century, from the Madrid Skylites (Fol. 54v), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

This parable-like story likely occurred around the time when Theophilus and al-Mu’tasim were at war in the late 830s. Much like the last tale, there were very few recorded names, and the plot, again, revolved around a horseman.

One of the soldiers in Theophilus’ army was highly distinguished, for he had in his possession a warhorse with all the qualities a cavalryman could dream up. The horse was brave, loyal and exemplary in strength, endurance and training. Understandably, other soldiers stared at the prized horse with accumulating envy as they watched the horseman constantly escape danger and death on the back of that horse.

Of all the men who were covetous of the model war horse, the soldier’s commander had the most leverage and clout. The commander tried to buy the horse for a more-than-fair price, but the soldier simply stated that the horse was not for sale. When buying the beast failed, the commander tried to force the soldier to part with the steed, using all of the pressures that a military commander can apply to an underling. When the soldier still refused to relinquish the horse, the commander leaked false charges to the governor, causing the soldier to be wrongly discharged from the military.

Now, Theophilus makes his appearance in the story. The emperor sent messengers throughout his realm requesting a magnificent horse to be sent to the emperor’s stables for the emperor’s personal use. The commander, either seeking favor with the emperor or revenge against the soldier, stole the horse from the ex-soldier. He then sent the talented horse to the emperor, who marveled over the magnificent mount.

Soon, the Romans of Byzantium found themselves at war with the Abbasid Dynasty. The year was likely around 838, when Caliph al-Mu’tasim counter-attacked against Theophilus’ invasion. The emperor and his armies needed as much manpower as they could find—as such, the soldier whose horse was stolen was reenlisted into the military.

Without his horse, the soldier was a sad caricature of his former self. Without his brave steed, he found danger ever harder to escape. In one of the Byzantine Empire’s losses to al-Mu’tasim—either the Battle of Dazimon or the sieges of Ankara or Amorion—the soldier could no longer escape death without the aid of his horse and fell in the field of battle.

Though death is, physically, a singular event, the emotional toll of death reaches far and wide in a web connected by love, friendship and respect. Though the soldier lay dead in war-torn lands, his wife and children remained safe in the empire’s interior. When word of the soldier’s death first reached the new widow and her children, they could only think of grief and mourning, but soon all the energy of the widow became directed toward her desire for justice.

The widow pulled herself together, made sure her children were cared for, and then determinedly marched to the capital to seek out Emperor Theophilus. She was encouraged by the emperor’s reputation for upholding justice and prosecuting crime. She found the emperor while he was making his way to a church. When she saw him, she must have been rehearsing the tragedy of her husband’s death, of the commander who stole the horse, and of her husband who died without the brave mount to whisk him away to safety. As she made her way to the emperor, however, she saw the horse he rode—the very horse that belonged to her dead husband.

Seeing the emperor upon her husband’s old companion, she flew into a rage. She rushed to the horse and clung to its harness and straps, all the while shouting that the horse was hers, and slinging accusations that the emperor was complicit in the death of her husband. Emperor Theophilus, more shocked than angry, calmed the distressed widow and had her brought to his imperial palace.

In the luxury of his home, the emperor gave the widow his full attention as she laid out the whole sad story—the theft of the horse, the death of the soldier, and the identity of the horse being the very one on which the emperor had been riding. Theophilus acknowledged the plausibility of the story, so he had her hide, then summoned the commander who had given the horse to the imperial stable.

When the commander arrived, Theophilus questioned him about the horse in a subtle probe of the man’s guilt or innocence. He asked of the origin of the horse: Was it the commander’s or on loan from another? Was the horse raised, bought, or commandeered? The commander answered that the horse was his own property and maintained that specific angle during the entirety of the questioning. When the interrogation was concluded, and the commander remained adamant in his claim of ownership regarding the horse, Theophilus signaled for the widow to approach. When the commander spotted the wife of the dead soldier, he lost all composure and completely broke.

The commander collapsed before the emperor and confessed to forcibly taking the horse from the soldier. With the truth revealed, he groveled and begged at the feet of the emperor for mercy and forgiveness. Emperor Theophilus did, indeed, spare the commander’s life, but he still held the man responsible for the soldier’s death. The emperor, therefore, decreed that the widow and the soldier’s children would be legally equals to the commander. The commander, he decreed, also was required to care for the widow and the children as if they were his own siblings. Theophilus even gave the widow a claim on a large portion of the commander’s inheritance and estate. With the widow’s portion of the man’s inheritance and property made clear, Theophilus then ordered that the commander be removed from the military and exiled.

So ended the story of Theophilus, the soldier and the horse thief. The tale demonstrated the sense of justice held by the emperor, and also acted as a warning to envious people of power in his empire who may have been tempted to use their lofty positions for unjust goals. Strangely enough, however, the only loose end not tie up in the story was the fate of the coveted warhorse.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources

Han Fei Tzu

By
thehistorianshut
-

Han Fei Tzu (c. 280-233 BCE)

“Those who fail to change old ways are often in fact prolonging the course of disorder, while those who strive to gratify the people are after some selfish and evil end.”

  • From Han Fei Tzu’s Basic Writings (Facing South, section 18), translated by Burton Watson (Columbia University Press, 1964).

 

Mencius

By
thehistorianshut
-
 (Mencius. ETC Wehrner’s Myth and Legend, Gutenberg and Commons)

 

Like many other ancient Chinese writers, historians can only make educated guesses about Mencius’ life. The collection of his writings, known simply as Mencius, is divided into seven books, and the descriptions and events within the work give some detail as to the time period Mencius lived in, and the various Chinese states he visited. He was probably alive during the later half of the 4th century BCE. The many ancient states in which Mencius may have wandered about, spreading his interpretation of Confucian philosophy, include Liang, Ch’i, Yen, Tsou, T’eng and Lu. 

Mencius was a prominent philosopher of the Confucian tradition who elaborated on Confucius’ teachings using a premise that human nature is good. Confucius and the most important students of the Confucian school, Mencius and Xunzi, based their teachings on love, human nature, and virtue.   

Mencius interpreted and developed Confucius’ ideas to emphasize the good nature of man. He stated that mankind always leans toward goodness, just as water unquestioningly obeys gravity. There are anomalies, undeniably, but that is all they are to Mencius–an anomalous break from true humanity. Mencius supported his assumption that men are naturally good with his observation of the ‘four hearts’ of humanity. Everyone has the capability to become good because he has innate compassion, a sense of shame, respectfulness and the knowledge of right and wrong.

Mencius also wrote about Heaven, which Confucius largely tried to ignore in his teachings. When Mencius discussed Heaven in his works, it was usually synonymous with the standard of morality. Mencius believed that if men respected and admired Heaven, thereby respecting and admiring morality, then their lives would be prosperous. Mencius used Heaven to justify rebellion against immoral rulers through the use of the mandate of heaven. Rulers must have the approval of both Heaven and the people. Nevertheless, Mencius’ teachings did not provide much of a theology or a religious framework. He merely asked his readers to respect and admire Heaven, but his teachings did not call for any spirituality. His teaching explained what Heaven could do for mankind, not what Heaven was or what happened in the supernatural world.

 

Mo Tzu

By
thehistorianshut
-
(Mo Tzu, Photo: (Public domain) via http://history.cultural-china.com)

The ancient Chinese philosopher and theologian, Mo Tzu, lived in the 5th century BCE, after the death of Confucius and before the birth of Mencius. No one knows exactly where he was born, but some sources suggest he may have been a native of the ancient states of Sung or Lu. Whatever the case, he left his homeland and became a wanderer, traveling the many kingdoms of China to spread his ideas about life and spirituality.

Mo Tzu was the anomaly of ancient China in his view of Heaven. Mo Tzu wrote a theology for a deity that rewarded and punished humankind while the Confucians, Daoists and Legalists held views that Heaven operated rather unconsciously and could not be understood.

Mo Tzu was clear in his writing that Heaven was active. Mo Tzu’s Heaven held a vision for the world and operated by rewarding those who enacted his vision and punishing those who opposed it. The will of Heaven, according to Mo Tzu, is for mankind to have universal love. Furthermore, Mo Tzu wrote that there is no way to fool Heaven. Reward only comes from fulfilling Heaven’s command and there is no escape from Heaven’s punishment. Despite Heaven’s ever-watching eye, Mo Tzu told his followers not to fear Heaven’s wrath, for Heaven’s will was simple to follow; all they had to do was choose to love and refuse to hate.

Mo Tzu also wrote in detail of ghosts and spirits. He justified his interest in spirits by using descriptions made by Sage Kings about the topics of heaven and ghosts. Mo Tzu even categorized and labeled different types of ghosts and spirits.

The teachings of Mo Tzu also gave advise for daily living. His philosophy was that of frugality and devoid of distraction. Even though Mo Tzu believed in an active heaven and a detailed array of ghosts, he did not believe in extravagant funerals, for they were expensive and a simple funeral was just as efficient. He had a similar outlook on music; he saw music as an unnecessary distraction. Mo Tzu’s ideal life was strictly straight to the point.

Government, too, was a topic Mo Tzu avidly wrote about. He argued that leaders must employ the people most able to complete the jobs at hand. His philosophy for government, in accordance with his call for everyone to love one another, constantly condemned warfare, especially offensive campaigns and invasions.

Gottfried Leibniz

By
thehistorianshut
-

Gottfried Leibniz (1646-1716)

“Bodies act as though, per impossible, there were no souls; and souls act as if there were no bodies, and both act as if each influenced the other.”

  • From Gottfried Leibniz’s Monadology (section 81), translated by Mary Morris and G. H. R. Parkinson in Leibniz: Philosophical Writings (Everyman’s Library, 1934).

 

Galileo Galilei

By
thehistorianshut
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Galileo Galilei (1564-1642)

“We need a guide in unknown and uncouth parts, but in clear thoroughfares, and in open plains, only the blind stand in need of a leader.”

  • From Galileo Galilei’s Dialogue on the Great World-Systems, Day 2, (translated by Giorgio de Santilla, University of Chicago Press, 1953). The original background picture of Galileo is filed under the Creative Commons license (4.0).

 

Julius Caesar

By
thehistorianshut
-

Julius Caesar (100-44 BCE)

“Today the enemy would have won the war if only they had a commander who knew how to conquer.”

  • This comment was allegedly stated by Caesar in reference to his unsuccessful siege of Pompey the Great at Dyrrhachium in 48 BCE. Pompey was able to resist Caesar’s efforts at encirclement, but Pompey, in Caesar’s opinion, failed to press his advantage after the siege was called off. The comment was recorded by Plutarch (Parallel Lives, Caesar, 39.39) and Suetonius (The Twelve Caesars, Caesar, 36).

 

Roman Senator Metellus Macedonius

By
thehistorianshut
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Metellus Macedonius (Senator of Rome from the 2nd century BCE)

“Fellow Romans, if we could make do without a wife, we would all be free of such a nuisance. But nature has ordained that we can’t live easily with women or without them, so we must look to our long term needs rather than our short-term happiness.”

  • From a speech given by Metellus Macedonius to the senate of Rome in 131 BCE, recorded by Aulus Gellius in Attic Nights (1.6.2).

 

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