This chapter explores the written and material evidence for civilian quartering of Roman troops in late antiquity. The civic duties to extend hospitium or hospitalitas are reconstructed from the Republic until the late Roman Empire, focusing on the period between the fourth century ce and mid-sixth century ce. By looking at the literary evidence for housing troops in civilian homes penned in the Republic and early Principate, the convention of using moralizing rhetoric to describe soldiers quartered in cities is established. This classicizing rhetoric is then used to reframe later allegations concerning the effects of Constantine’s alleged movement of frontier troops into cities. This reconsideration of the extant evidence for Roman troop quartering questions and amends how we should write the lived experiences of civilians living in late Roman cities.

This chapter explores the impact of warfare on North African communities and their built environment during Late Antiquity (fourth to sixth century). While the political upheavals, internal conflicts, and the invasions that shaped the region during this period have been extensively studied, the local effects and responses to these challenges remain underexplored. Drawing on selected case studies, this work combines archaeological and textual evidence to examine and compare the actions taken by local communities and their rulers – the Western Roman Empire, the Vandal Kingdom, and the Eastern Roman Empire – in response to ongoing conflict. From the centenaria of Tripolitania and the fortified estates of Byzacena and Proconsularis to the fortifications built under Justinian’s regime and its successors, this chapter highlights the role of warfare and its consequences in reshaping the provincial landscapes of North Africa, offering new insights into the region’s social and physical transformation during this period.

This chapter explores the often-overlooked role of women in stasis and civil war, focusing on Fulvia’s involvement in the Perusine War and the funeral of Publius Clodius. Fulvia’s actions, particularly her display of Clodius’ unwashed wounds, set a precedent for Antonius’ later display of Caesar’s body, highlighting the antebellum politics and rhetoric of civil war. The chapter argues that Fulvia’s political role, enhanced during times of stasis and civil war, was crucial in inciting civil strife. Evidence from both sides of the civil war suggests that Fulvia’s actions were politically motivated rather than mere expressions of grief. By reappraising Fulvia’s role, this study aims to better understand Rome’s systemic breakdown before the civil war and the impact of her actions on the political landscape. The chapter concludes that Fulvia’s incitement to stasis was a significant factor in the unfolding of civil war dynamics.

This article advances four arguments about Constantine’s Roman Arch (315). First, it posits that its imagery and inscription endeavored to please a single viewer: the emperor Constantine. That argument narrows the interpretative possibilities regarding its meaning. From presumed anonymous observers of differing faiths, the field narrows to a single imperial viewer, a recent convert to Christianity and a victor in a civil war. Second, the lens of civil war illuminates previously unrecognized Augustan rhetorical and visual tropes that guided the Arch’s makers in legitimating the monument and Constantine’s victory against Maxentius. Third, the article uncovers Christian connotations in the arch’s inscription. Fourth, the neglected Christian subtext opens the possibility for identifying the Arch and the Colossus next to it as the first openly Christian imperial monuments in Rome. The article therefore demonstrates the syncretism of traditional imperial rhetoric and insignia with Christian ideas long before traditionally assumed.

In Rome, being taken as a prisoner of war had dramatic repercussions for the condition of the individual and their family. Captured citizens became a slave to the enemy, or servus hostium, and were excluded from the body politic. However, they could regain freedom and civil rights through redemption. Initially, that was the responsibility of their family, but over time laws regulated the ransoming of prisoners of war, and other actors became involved. This chapter first reviews the Republican Age and the High Empire before addressing the ransoming of captives in Late Antiquity. It discusses individuals and large groups, with ransom paid by families, the emperor, or by bishops. It shows that social status determined the fate of women. According to Justinian’s Digest, a woman freed by a victorious army was considered free or married, and not a slave. According to Ulpian, that principle also applied when a woman was redeemed (redempta) rather than freed.

Violence – by which I mean an intentional rupture of the physical integrity of a body – is a reminder that a human being is always also a thing. Whatever else late ancient humans may have been, they were always subject to the possibility of physical rupture, perforation, tear, or break, as is the nature of things. War was, and is, a stylized method of maneuvering one group of rupturable things toward the infliction of greater disintegration on another group of rupturable things. “The main purpose and outcome of war,” Elaine Scarry writes, “is injuring.” That the things injured are also people, with their own sensations and experiences, pasts and hoped-for futures, is the point of war; it is how war persuades injured people and other onlookers to accept its outcomes. War confronts persons with their reducibility, their thingness, and asks them to accept conditions imposed by the victors in the light of that bodily thingness. The essays in this volume present us with a variety of ways of thinking about this ugly practice. They describe how different late ancient people made sense of what was happening when bodies were ruptured, or bodies threatened to rupture other bodies, on a large scale. In this Epilogue, I bring some of the ideas in this volume together to consider the problem of ruptured bodies in Late Antiquity as a series of questions about how late ancient people imagined or experienced physical thingness in warfare.

In this chapter, we will examine the Old Testament’s role in religious communities as an authoritative revelation from God – the concept of “scripture” common to the three monotheistic religions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. These texts hardly began as the books that now comprise the Bible; rather, what we will discover is a lengthy, complex development of authoritative texts from oral to written to canon.

This chapter will take us inside the ancient world of the Old Testament’s formation. Words, considered powerful, were painstakingly preserved through centuries in the hands of anonymous authors and editors, scribes and scholars. Texts were collected into books and went through a process of use and standardization by the ancient Israelites, beginning as early as the tenth century bceand lasting through the Babylonian exile and beyond – emerging finally in the canonical form we know today as the Old Testament.

In the books of Joshua and Judges, God’s gift of land to Israel takes center stage. The first book recounts Israel’s conquest and division of the land under the leadership of Moses’ successor, Joshua. Judges highlights governance in the land by a succession of twelve leaders. Connected by a recurring cycle – Israel’s disobedience to Yahweh, foreign oppression, repentance, and deliverance – the Judges stories narrate the end of one era in Israel’s history and serve as introduction to the next.

Alongside these Primary History accounts, we will consider archaeological evidence for a significant population increase in Canaan during Iron Age I and look at three theories that attempt to explain the appearance of new populations in the region at that time. In addition to observing the nature of religion during Israel’s early history in the land, we will address the difficult subject of the land today. Jewish, Christian, and Muslim readers all have varying responses. Joshua and Judges should not and need not be used in the debate, but they remind us how very ancient is the issue of land.