The series of Roman inscriptions with which the present paper is concerned belongs to a familiar and extensive class, examples of which will be found in any handbook of epigraphy—stones that were erected to commemorate the completion of some more or less important undertaking of a public character. But a peculiar, if not a unique, interest has always attached to this particular group because of its intimate association with one of the great historical monuments of the Empire. Ever since the dawn of the seventeenth century, when the foundations of our knowledge of Roman Britain were being laid, the fact of this association and its broad significance have been universally recognized.

Asconius, in Pison. 5 (p. 5, 13 Kiessling). ‘Haec consuetudo’ (of using round rather than exact numbers) ‘in ipsis orationibus est: itaque idem Cicero in ea quoque quam habuit in Catilinam in senatu, ait cum octavus decimus dies esset postea quaro factum est senatus consultum ut viderent consules ne quid res publica detrimenti caperet, dixit vicesimum [? iam] diem habere <se> S. C. tamquam <in vagina reconditum>.' In the passage referred to by the commentator (in Cat. i, 2, 4) Cicero, after showing how promptly effect had been given to the senatus consultum ultimum, by Opimius and Marius, goes on: ‘At vero nos vicesimum iam diem patimur hebescere aciem horum auctoritatis. Habemus enim eius modi senatus consultum, verum inclusum in tabulis, tamquam in vagina reconditum.’

A. Nature of the Roman Administration: 25 B.C. to A.D. 65—The province Galatia is a singularly obscure subject. Marquardt's chapter contains little information, because little was known; but what he states is correct, and he makes few, if any, unfounded or dangerous assertions. He knows and mentions the senatorial governor (praetorius leg. Aug. pr. pr.), the equestrian proc. Galatiae, and about the name of the province he expresses no hesitation: as a province of the Empire it was simply Galatia. Inherited by Augustus from Amyntas, the last king, it bore as the realm of a king the unifying name Galatia; no other name was possible, and this name was continued by the policy of Augustus. A friend points out to me that the idea of inheritance of the realm Galatia was only a sort of political or legal fiction; and that the relation of the Emperor to such client-kings as Amyntas was one of absolute power on his side and of absolute servitude on the other. That is true. Augustus bestowed authority and title on those pseudo-kings; he could at any moment resume what he had bestowed; and on the death of any of them the complete and absolute authority reverted to him. The question, however, is under what forms Augustus chose to clothe his absolute lordship. He was a master of the art of disguising hard unlimited despotism under legal or religious forms, and in this case the form was that of Will or Testament, as Strabo mentions. Augustus claimed to have inherited the realm of Amyntas in virtue of the latter's Will, and acted, after the latter's death, 25 B.C., as his heir (κληρονόος, heres). The Emperor must have accepted the inheritance formally within the legal interval, and treated his inheritance according to law as including the debts as well as the property of the deceased. It was not hereditas sine sacris. Augustus was bound to pay all obligations; and he paid in full.

A certain number of extant inscriptions and oral traditions which still linger in remote places, as in the Djebel Nefouca, to the south of Leptis Magna and Oea, indicate that there was a time when the cult of the Apostles SS. Peter and Paul existed in Roman Africa; but the distribution of evidence, which is largely derived from the fringes of the Roman province, in Mauretania and in southern Numidia, invites the question why places so far removed from the Latin influence of the proconsular province should show such interest in the see of Rome and its founders.

The inscription which we published in this Journal, XLVIII, 1958, 117–129 (hereafter referred to as ‘F – N’) from a photograph, has now been collated by Fraser (June, 1961), and we offer here some improved readings, and consider their consequences (I). We also consider (II) some points raised by others.

Eusebius, quoting Hegesippus, records that during Trajan's reign Symeon son of Cleopas, a cousin of Christ, was martyred in Judaea as a Christian ἐπὶ … Άττικοῦ τοῦ ὑπατικοῦ —which at first sight appears to mean ‘when Atticus was consular legate’. Atticus was clearly the legate of Judaea at the time. The suggestion that he was legate of the consular province of Syria can be disregarded, as there is no reason why an event in Judaea should be dated by the governor of another province. Two problems arise—the date of Atticus' command, and his rank as legate.

The products of a highly civilised community must always tend to drift across its political frontiers to less advanced peoples beyond. In the early centuries of our era the output of Roman workshops, following perhaps the older amber routes, was finding its way north of the Rhine and reaching Scandinavia. The same process was going on in Caledonia. The troops marching northward carried their supplies with them, and on the sites of their forts the excavator unearths their pottery and glass, their vessels of bronze, their ornaments, tools and weapons,—the familiar things of provincial Roman civilization. But out beyond the limits of the forts and camps the same products from time to time come to light—picked up near the lines of communication, gathered from the sites of native dwellings, or found far out among the hills or by coasts where the Roman soldier never penetrated, telling their tale of traffic or of plunder.

During the fifty years that have elapsed since the great cycle of Dionysiac paintings was unearthed in the villa named after them at Pompeii, the search for their understanding has made reassuring progress. This search will never lead us out of ultimate ignorance about the deepest meaning which such visual imagery had within the context of an ancient mystery religion and we may resign ourselves to awareness of our own limitations in this respect. The best we can hope for is that we may learn to understand the surface meaning of images, whose full significance was only made clear to the initiated, to the degree to which, in antiquity, an uninitiated person could understand them. The last two published extensive discussions of this cycle of murals show clearly, however, that we are still far from having achieved even that degree of understanding. The impasse that has been reached can be overcome only by introducing new evidence and it is my hope that some progress can be made by doing so in the following pages.

When we examine recent discussions about this fragment from the first book of the Bellum Poenicum (19 Morel, 44–6 Warmington, 7 Marmorale), we find an agreement such as otherwise is rare in classical studies. In many countries many scholars, old and young, have adopted Hermann Fränkel's view (Hermes LXX, 1935, 59 ff.) that the passage was inspired by certain sculptures which Naevius had seen at the temple of Zeus Olympios at Acragas. But whereas Fränkel himself drew only cautious conclusions (he assigned the fragment to the story of Aeneas and considered more than one possible way in which it might be connected with that story), several among his followers jumped to the history of the year 262 B.C. and used the fragment as a cornerstone for the reconstruction of the main narrative of the Bellum Poenicum.

The movements of the Second Legion (Legio II Augusta) in the first three decades of the Roman occupation of Britain have for long been a subject of speculation. In particular, the quest for the site of its first semi-permanent base, before the establishment of the fortress at Caerleon, has given rise to the conjecture that at Gloucester it would be found. The only evidence for this has been the size and shape of the Roman enceinte known to exist there and the general probability of the site, considered in relation to the Severn crossing. Other evidence adduced in the past by local antiquaries will not bear scrutiny in the light of modern knowledge.