Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550-330 BCE

by Matt Waters

  A treaty was made by the Athenians and their allies for peace with the Persians, the main points of which were the following: all the Greek cities throughout Asia were to be autonomous, and the satraps of the Persians were not to come closer to the sea than a three days’ journey, nor was any war vessel to sail within (the waters between) Phaselis and Cyaneae. If the King and the satraps keep these terms, the Athenians will not campaign into the territory that the King rules.

  (12.4.5)

  Phaselis was a coastal city in Lycia in southwestern Anatolia, and Cyaneae (or Kyaneai) at the northern end of the Bosporus, where it enters the Black Sea. Such markers would effectively have barred any Persian military ship from the entire Aegean Sea; the Hellespont, Propontis, and Bosporus; and anywhere west of the southernmost points of the Anatolian peninsula. On land, a stricture of three days journey from the coast included a lot of Persian territory, including Dascylium, the capital of Hellespontine Phrygia, within about 20 miles of the Propontis coast. To note that it was unlikely that the Persians would have made such concessions is an understatement.

  It is difficult to make sense of the treaty’s terms as preserved by Diodorus. Our two main sources for fifth-century Greek history – Herodotus and Thucydides – are silent on the peace, which is startling. Herodotus does mention an Athenian embassy to Artaxerxes I, led by Callias (7.151) but makes no mention of any formal peace. Thucydides has nothing about an embassy of Callias or a Peace attributed to him. Arguments from silence are rarely compelling, but such a flagrant omission in both authors gives most modern scholars pause. A fourth-century BCE historian, Theopompous, in fact denies the historicity of the Peace altogether. Some modern scholars view the Peace as a patriotic fiction, one promulgated in the fourth century to recall the height of Athenian glory from a century earlier as a counter to the humiliating peace imposed on them by Artaxerxes II in 487/486 BCE (see pp. 186–187). Reduced Athenian ambitions in the eastern Mediterranean may have coincided with some agreement – or even an informal détente – if not simply from a scaling back of their ambitions.

  The attitude of the King and his satraps is another matter. There are several instances of Persian activity that would contravene the terms of the peace given by Diodorus, the most significant of which is the active involvement of the satrap Pissouthnes of Sardis in a revolt by one of Athens’ most important allies, the island of Samos in the Aegean in 441–440 (Thuc. 1.115–117). After an Athenian intervention on their island, some Samians arranged an alliance with Pissouthnes. With his support, they gathered 700 mercenaries, returned to Samos, and took power. The Athenian garrison stationed there, along with its commanders, was delivered to Pissouthnes. The Athenians subsequently quelled the revolt, but what they did about their captured garrison is unknown. Through this episode and similar references in a number of Greek inscriptions, it is clear that Athenian-Persian tension (and, at times, outright conflict) persisted in the very zone that was supposedly declared off-limits by the Peace of Callias.

  It is difficult to reconcile Pissouthnes’ active involvement in the Samian revolt with the formal Peace as described by Diodorus. Some scholars have ingeniously reconciled joint Athenian and Persian claims on much of western Anatolia by assuming that the city-states in question paid tribute not only to Athens – which is attested to varying degrees through the latter half of the fifth century – but also to the Persian satrap. In other words, a double tribute was paid by many city-states, faced with the reality that both parties – Persian satraps and Athens – had made claims and could compel payment. How this was justified, how it worked in practice, as well as the wider ramifications of such arrangements are impossible to track in the extant sources. Attempts to fit a formalized Peace of Callias into a persistent Athenian-Persian conflict in the eastern Aegean are bound to be problematic. In general, it is safe to assume that the King never relinquished his claim on his Ionian holdings, and that the satraps were given freedom – indeed, probably were expected – to contest Athenian inroads there at every opportunity.

  There is, of course, no question that Persia had diplomatic relations with Athens and other frontier states. Here too, Greek sources provide a wealth of evidence. After Xerxes’ invasion, requests for submission of earth and water cease. Subsequently, Persian-Greek treaties usually were cast in Greek terms of philia (“friendship”), a fluid and wide-ranging concept that applied not only to interpersonal relationships but also to the diplomatic realm. One example of Persian diplomacy demonstrates their ingenuity. Sometime during the Egyptian revolt in the 450s BCE, a Persian mission was sent to Sparta (Thuc. 1.109). This embassy offered to fund a Spartan invasion of Athens. Of course, the Persians were well versed in Greek affairs – in this case the enmity between Athens and Sparta – and this mission reveals an attempt to create a strategic distraction: a Spartan invasion of Athens might have compelled the Athenian forces in Egypt to withdraw. But the Spartans rebuffed the offer. Later in Artaxerxes I’s reign, when tensions between Athens and Sparta (and their respective allies) came to a head – the outbreak of what we call the Peloponnesian War – both sides expressed hopes for alliances with Persia (compare Thuc. 1.82 and 2.7) to further their own ends in what became, for the Greeks, a long and destructive internecine war for hegemony in the Aegean. The Persians were prepared to exploit these divisions among rivals on their northwestern frontier in order to reconsolidate their holdings in Asia Minor.

  Persian-Greek interchange occurred at many levels. The consistent back-and-forth of diplomats and their retinues, not to mention long-standing trading networks throughout the eastern Mediterranean and into the Near East, offered ample opportunity for cultural exchange. Especially from Athens there is abundant evidence that Persian influence left its mark on the literature, architecture, and culture of Classical Greece.4 Examples are many, and a prominent one is the famous building program of the Athenian general and statesman Pericles in the mid-fifth century. This was undertaken at the height of Athenian domination of the Aegean world, through its leadership of the Delian League. As a hegemon with imperial ambitions, Pericles and Athens’ other leaders had to look somewhere for models of imperial expression. The only true model was Persia.

  Comparisons between the famous Parthenon of Athens and the Apadana at Persepolis yield interesting parallels. The original Parthenon on the acropolis was destroyed during Xerxes’ invasion; Pericles commissioned a new and improved model in the 440s. In particular, the procession on the Parthenon’s interior frieze – depicting a procession perhaps of the Panathenaic Festival, which under Pericles took on trappings of imperial grandeur through required tribute from Athens’ subjects – parallels the similar procession of the subject peoples portrayed on the Apadana. Of course, the Parthenon is a uniquely Athenian expression, but the metaphor and the meaning are quite similar. Another structure was the so-called Odeion, built under Pericles’ direction on the south slope of the acropolis. At its time, it was the largest covered building in the Greek world. The Odeion was modeled on the tent used by Xerxes during the invasion of Greece. Despite some scholarly uncertainties about its form, its “Persian look” is well-established. Debate continues about its function and the Athenians’ response to it in the midst of their city. Primarily, its value was symbolic. It was a visible manifestation of Athens’ status and glory, a monument to the victory that led to its own empire – one modeled, consciously or not, on their much larger rival to the east.5 That this and similar imperial expressions - in architecture, sculpture, modes of dress, drinking and tableware, especially (though not exclusively) cultivated by the elite – participated in a complex relationship, simultaneously one of loathing and admiration, is a well-studied phenomenon and one certainly not unique to Athens’ reception of objects and ideas Persian.

  From Artaxerxes I to Darius II

  Artaxerxes I died after a reign of forty-one years (465–424 BCE). There is no indication of a violent death, though the succession itself was violent. Ctesias’ Persica indicates that
Artaxerxes I and his wife Damaspia, who is otherwise unknown, died on the same day. Their only son, Xerxes II, took the throne. He ruled only forty-five days before he, drunk and unconscious in the palace, was assassinated by his half brother Sogdianus and Sogdianus’ coconspirators Pharnacyas and Menostanes. Sogdianus was one of Artaxerxes I’s many sons by secondary wives and concubines, Menostanes a high-ranking military commander, and Phranacyas a palace eunuch. Another half brother, Ochus (Akkadian Umakush, the future Darius II), satrap of Hyrcania, immediately challenged Sogdianus.

  Ochus managed to secure the allegiance of several high-ranking Persians, first and foremost Arbarios, who had been Sogdianus’ cavalry commander. Others who joined Ochus include Arshama (Arsames), satrap of Egypt, and a certain Artoxares who had been exiled to Armenia by Artaxerxes I because of Artoxares’ support for Megabyzus’ rebellion (see discussion earlier in this chapter). Relying on trickery instead of battle (at any rate, no battle is recorded) Ochus convinced Sogdianus, who had been ruling as king for six months, to give himself up. Sogdianus and his supporters were soaked in alcohol, then cast into a pit filled with glowing hot embers. Ochus took the throne name Darius, and thus became Darius II.

  There is no record of either Xerxes II or Sogdianus as kings in Babylonian documentation, which immediately raises questions about the accounts of Ctesias and other Greek writers. But a number of the rival claimants’ supporters named by Ctesias are found in Babylonian documents, so his account is not entirely lacking in credibility. That neither Xerxes II nor Sogdianus is mentioned as king in Babylonian documents can be interpreted to mean that the reigns of these two were not formally recognized in Babylonia and that they overlapped with the recognized reign of Darius II.

  The Murashu Archive – Land Management Practices in Achaemenid Babylonia

  One important component of the Babylonian documentation for this period is the Murashu archive. The Murashu were a family of businessmen with wide-ranging commercial interests involving the management of landed estates around the Babylonian city of Nippur. The archive consists of more than 700 tablets dating from the reigns of Artaxerxes I and Darius II (dating from 440 to 416 BCE). The Murashu and similar contractors managed estates, or farms, for their tenants, among whom were members of the highest levels of Persian administration. Darius II’s queen Parysatis, the satrap of Egypt (Arshama), and other notables are mentioned in texts from the archive. Some of the estates that the Murashu managed (especially larger ones that were gifts of the King) were state controlled, granted to various individuals for their use, and in some cases profit, in return for services to the King. The practice was not unique to Babylonia. The word “tenant” rather than “owner” is used to describe the grant-holder, because these estates were royal grants and thus, technically, still royal property.

  These tenants turned over the management of the estates to managers like the Murashu. The tenants could draw farm produce or borrow money from the Murashu against future harvests. The Murashu in turn sublet the land to farmers, who did the actual agricultural work and were allowed to keep a percentage. Any surplus produce would be sold on the market for silver and credited to the tenant’s account for future use; from this the Murashu would also receive a percentage. The Murashu and similar firms also engaged in other economic activities, such as banking and tax collection.

  Although the Murashu family’s type of land management business was commonplace, it stands out because of the size of their organization and the number of texts available for study. A further example is found in a small archive dating from 438–400 BCE, from Babylon, which catalogues the work of one Belshunu. He was at first a governor answerable to the satrap of Babylon and then apparently a satrap himself of the province Trans-Euphrates (“Beyond the River”), Syro-Palestine. This Belshunu has been identified with the Greek Belesys who was involved in the civil war between Darius II’s sons Artaxerxes II and Cyrus the Younger. Belshunu’s archive provides information about his private business activities as well as his public duties; one text relays Belshunu’s role in adjudicating a case of a temple theft in Dilbat, a city near Babylon.

  These archives shed light not only on members of the elite. They are also critical sources for social history, for understanding how the Empire literally worked. How did the Empire obtain labor, military service, or other service from its subjects? The Murashu archive helps us understand how military obligations were fulfilled. These were arranged by what is called the haru-system. This system consisted of what are called “bow-lands” (or “bow-fiefs”) in the modern literature – Akkadian bt qashti in the singular, referring to a bow (qashtu) as a piece of military equipment. This was, in other words, a land-for-service system: grants of land were given by the crown in return for services on demand. These bow-lands were organized in groups, each of which had a supervisor. A complete definition is found in a seminal study based on analysis of the Murashu archive:

  (T)he haru was in effect a small-scale fiscal district; the institution was a means of producing and extracting fees for the Achaemenid state. At the same time, it was a means of insuring and extending agricultural production, the basis from which state revenues were drawn. And, not least, it was a means of supporting a standing military reserve, a local garrison force, and cadres of state-controlled workers.6

  This basic system included most socioeconomic groups. The amount of land granted to each person was commensurate with that person’s socioeconomic status and the amount of services expected in return. Bow-lands themselves may be traced back to the time of the Babylonian Nebuchadnezzar II and provide another example of continuity with the Neo-Babylonian period; in fact, at its most basic level the land-for-service system was centuries old. Precise records allowed careful regulating and accounting of these lands and their associated obligations. That such records do not provide us with narrative history is unfortunate, but these are the very kinds of records least likely to do so. Very helpfully, though, they do contradict the stereotypical picture of the Achaemenid Empire as a laissez-faire organization that persisted thanks to inertia.

  Several of the main participants in the succession crisis after Artaxerxes I’s death had estates managed by the Murashu, and some of these appear also in Ctesias’ Persica, providing a fascinating confluence of Babylonian and Greek evidence. Arbarios, Sogdianus’ cavalry commander who joined Ochus’ rebellion, has been identified as the Arbareme who held the equerry’s estate in Babylonia. Artoxares, a prominent supporter of Ochus (Darius II), has been identified with the Artahsharu who was granted the estate of Sogdianus’ supporter Menostanes, who is the Manushtana of Murashu texts.7 Through these records we are able to discern critical information about the economic lives of these members of the nobility. In the case of Artoxares and Menostanes, the Murashu texts show us how Darius II punished his enemies and rewarded his supporters. A grant of land may be unsurprising in itself, but it is infrequent enough in Achaemenid history to permit us to track the King’s consolidation of power and the installation of his supporters in prominent positions, as described in Near Eastern sources.

  Excursus: Achaemenid Throne Names

  Ochus’ adoption of the throne name Darius (II) is the first, clearly attested use of a throne name by an Achaemenid ruler, but whether this was really the first instance is a matter of debate. The use of throne names is age-old but not always easy to track in extant sources. For example, in the Neo-Assyrian period, the designated heir to the throne was given a new name, his throne name, once he was formally declared crown prince. Was it different in the Achaemenid period?

  Compounding the problem for the earliest kings is that the etymologies of the names of Cyrus and Cambyses are uncertain. Unlike the clearly Iranian names of Darius I and his successors, neither Cyrus’ nor Cambyses’ names are readily etymologized as Iranian. Many scholars are inclined to attribute an Elamite etymology to Cyrus’ name (“He who bestows care”), with the implication that Cambyses’ name may also be Elamite. The question of the linguistic h
eritage of Cyrus’ name persists as does the question of whether it was Cyrus’ birth name or throne name. Testimony from the Greek author Strabo indicates that Cyrus originally had an Iranian name: “There is also a river Cyrus, flowing through so-called ‘hollow’ Persis near Pasargadae, from which the king took his name, taking the name Cyrus in place of Agradates” (15.3.6).8 Is this report accurate? Where did Strabo get this information? Why do we find no comparable reference in earlier works that treat Cyrus so extensively, such as Herodotus or Xenophon? Intriguingly, Herodotus calls him Cyrus throughout his account, but he notes more than once in relaying stories of the young Cyrus that that was not yet his name (1.113–114). In light of earlier tradition, it would not be surprising if all Achaemenid kings took throne names upon succession or designation as crown prince, but this cannot be confirmed.

  Darius II and Dynastic Continuity

  As a throne name, “Darius” was a compelling choice. In taking this name, Ochus identified himself with one of the foremost kings of the Empire’s history. Ochus could not have done much more to solidify his dynastic credentials. In the context of the confusion and jockeying for position after Artaxerxes I’s death, it is notable that all claimants had one thing in common: direct descent from the Achaemenid line. According to Ctesias, Darius II was faced with another rival: his full brother Arsites, the son of Artaxerxes I and the Babylonian concubine Cosmartidene. Artyphios, the son of Megabyzus, rebelled as well. Both these threats were quelled, and both Arsites and Artyphios were thrown into burning embers. Ctesias records another revolt against Darius II, that of Pissouthnes, the satrap of Sardis. Details are sparse, and the chronology is wholly uncertain. As a consequence some scholars connect it to a revolt by Pissouthnes’ son Amorges, in the late 410s. Tissaphernes, a Persian who becomes prominent in the Greek sources for the next two decades, was instrumental in quelling the rebellion and as reward was given the satrapy of Lydia to govern (Fragment 15 §52–53).