adventures in my head
To add to the confusion the sound of a trumpet was heard from the theatre. It was a Roman trumpet which the conspirators had procured for the purpose, and being blown by a Greek who did not know how to use it, no one could make out who gave the signal or for whom it was intended.
I’d like to read up one day on the use of musical instruments in warfare and variations among different ancient peoples. And I just find this bit of Livy (25.10) describing Hannibal’s taking of Tarentum rather amusing.
A while back when I first looked at this type I asked a colleague who works on science and technology in the ancient world and their representations in literature what he thought about Crawford’s suggestion that this “staff” is actually a measuring tool, specifically the decempeda. He wrote back that he thought it a plausible identification and added:
“It doesn’t have ten divisions, but I don’t think that matters; it’s clearly some kind of ruler. Also called ‘pertica’: see Propertius 4.1.127-130 for association with land confiscation. And ps.-Vergil Dirae (‘Curses’) line 45.” The key line reads:
nam tua cum multi uersarent rura iuuenci,
abstulit excultas pertica tristis opes.
What the literary tradition suggests is a generally negative connotation of symbol. An emphasis on the confiscation aspects of its application. Could this really be a numismatic symbol? Is it just a staff? I’ve been a bit ambivalent, until today.
I was skimming for a good Caesar coin or two in the ANS database for my next class and came across this beauty. Outside the time frame of my book project, but still very interesting indeed.
Here we have a young Ti. Sempronius Gracchus (quaestor designate!) trading on the reputation of his famous name by aligning himself with contemporary land distributions, particularly to Caesar’s veterans. Notice the Legionary standards set right next to a plow and our measuring stick.
The flip side of confiscations is always distributions. The power of the measuring stick as political symbol is its appeal to those to benefit from the rearrangement of property holdings. Its power as a literary device is just the opposite.
What resonance would the symbol have in Sicily c. 209-208BC? The Romans certainly engaged in some territorial redistributions on the island as rewards to their allies. I do not want to say RRC 78 refers to any one such confiscation and allocation, but as an illustrative example, I provide a passage from Livy (26.21) that will be quite familiar to numismatists already:
Not the least conspicuous feature of the spectacle was the sight of Sosis the Syracusan and Moericus the Spaniard who marched in front wearing golden crowns. The former had guided the nocturnal entry into Syracuse, the latter had been the agent in the surrender of Nasos and its garrison. Each of these men received the full Roman citizenship and 500 jugera of land. Sosis was to take his allotment in that part of the Syracusan territory which had belonged to the king or to those who had taken up arms against Rome, and he was allowed to choose any house in Syracuse which had been the property of those who had been put to death under the laws of war. A further order was made that Moericus and the Spaniards should have assigned to them a city and lands in Sicily out of the possessions of those who had revolted from Rome. M. Cornelius was commissioned to select the city and territory for them, where he thought best, and 400 jugera in the same district were also decreed as a gift to Belligenes through whose instrumentality Moericus had been induced to change sides. After Marcellus’ departure from Sicily a Carthaginian fleet landed a force of 8000 infantry and 3000 Numidian horse. The cities of Murgentia and Ergetium revolted to them, and their example was followed by Hybla and Macella and some other less important places. Muttines and his Numidians were also roaming all through the island and laying waste the fields of Rome’s allies with fire. To add to these troubles the Roman army bitterly resented not being withdrawn from the province with their commander and also not being allowed to winter in the towns. Consequently they were very remiss in their military duties; in fact it was only the absence of a leader that prevented them from breaking out into open mutiny. In spite of these difficulties the praetor M. Cornelius succeeded by remonstrances and reassurances in calming the temper of his men, and then reduced all the revolted cities to submission. In pursuance of the senate’s orders he selected Murgentia [i.e. Morgantina], one of those cities, for the settlement of Moericus and his Spaniards.
This post is hot on the heels of the last. There is a lot going on in the numismatic world of SE Italy during the Hannibalic War. I wish I had a copy of Marchetti’s Histoire économique et monétaire de la deuxième querre punique (1975) to hand. I can’t let go my concerns about the CA series and its attribution to Canusium, especially when the Latin colony Venusia just 40km up the same river valley and on the Via Appia (the better road!) was Marcellus’ base of operations and thus hosting many soldiers in need of payment. So I thought I’d peak at the Venusian coins–I can’t type Venusian without smirking and thinking of hippy-dippy alien theorists–but in all seriousness I observe a couple of things:
No this isn’t a smoking gun, but if I was a Roman general looking for a mint in the Aufidus region I think I’d pick a colony near a troop base on a main road, even if they were a little lazy about not recasting flans.
Burnett, and HN Italy following Burnett, read GA.Q, not CA.Q, but C/G are pretty much the same letter form in this period and most subsequent ones. The letter forms are different from the CA on Roman coins and I can’t actually bring myself to say RRC 100 is actually close in ‘style’ to any of the Venusian specimens I’ve looked at.
This is not the only coin in the region that seems to be signed by a quaestor. Reportedly (I’ve not seen an image) Naples, S.2219 = HN Italy Brundisium 749 reads M.PV Q. Brundisium is also a Latin colony and a major military staging post in this period of the second Hannibalic War. In fact it seems THE major port and certainly M. Valerius Laevinus’ original base before he started his cross Adriatic shenanigans. Brundisium’ coinage is signed by a bunch of magistrates. And most of M.PV’s coins aren’t labelled with a Q.
These two instances of quaestors at Latin colonies got me thinking about quaestors and coinage more generally. As I’ve said before, there isn’t a lot of evidence on 3rd century quaestors generally and that part of what made the signed Egadi rams special, but here are two more quaestors.
Are they local quaestors? Probably, the lex Osca Bantina of the late second early first century BC mentions quaestors in its list of magistrates and it is thought to derive from an earlier Venusian prototype (Bispham 2007: 142-152, p. 143 n. 124 lists other examples of Italian communities borrowing the structure of Rome’s magistracies). That said, Badian in his 1975 article on the quaestorship spent a lot of time thinking about the Roman expansion of the quaestorship and the growth and change of the coinage system. These two minor examples might lend a little weight to the idea of a third century connection between coinage and quaestors. And might help point the way towards how we should be thinking about some of the unidentified signatures on Roman series. … Early posts on quaestors.
Yes, I’m still laughing about ‘Venusian’:
A useful map:
A slightly clearer image of the coin above taken from Carroccio 2008:
Yesterday I spent nearly the whole day worrying about M. Valerius Laevinus and his adventures of 215-210 BC. That is from when he was sent to the Adriatic to keep Philip occupied until his return to Rome to accept the consulship. It was a good day. I even reread an essay I wrote as a grad student in November 1998. I knew things then apparently that I no longer know. So strange. I rather like the me of sixteen years ago. Anyway. The reason is of course to figure out how the coins sit along side the narrative evidence. The two issues in question are RRC 100 and RRC 101. There is no doubt that Laevinus’ career resulted in the production of these coins.
The triens of the CA series is regularly overstruck on coins of Oeniadae and the Acarnanian League (Crawford 1974: p. 115, table XVIII, entry 91, specimens a-t and entry 95, specimens a-i). Laevinus sacked Oeniadae and a host of other Acarnanian places in the immediate follow up to his radical diplomatic arrangement with the Aetolian League. He had a base on Corcyra and the KOR ligature on the silver is also found on Corcyra’s own coinage:
Other specimens of Corcyra, here. Besides the map above, I also pulled together the literary sources on Laevinus’ exploits [links to PDF of translations].
The thing that has me a bit concerned is the association of the CA with Canusium. Canusium had a mint but it used KA on its own coins. The style of RRC 100 is similar to Luceria, where a bent bar L was used on both earlier local coinage and Roman issues from the same mint. Crawford follows Bahrfeldt ZfN 1895: 87 who in the style of his time says no more than:
“Die Heimath der letzteren ist ohne Frage Canusium, in deren Gegend noch jetzt vielfach Stücke dieser Art gefunden werden und auf welchen Ort, als am Gestade des Adriatischen Meeres gelegen”.
“The home of the latter is without question Canusium in whose area pieces of this type are found even now in many cases and also at the site itself, as by the shores of the Adriatic Sea”.
I’m hoping that the new valle dell’Orfanto project can provide confirmation of these early observations. I’m not surprised that the coins are found on the Adriatic or in SE Italy but I’d like more specific data before insisting that Canusium must be the mint rather than CA standing for, say, a magistrates’ name, such as we presume is represented by the ΓΑ on RRC 101. Canusium does not seem an obvious location with Laevinus’ sphere of action especially between the sack Oeniadae his recall to Rome.
Also, we need to take the career of Laevinus into account when we consider the dating of the coins. Based on Livy 26.24 and 26 (see PDF above) it seems pretty clear that Oeniadae was captured late in 211 (after Zakynthos and near in time to Nasus). Winter 211/210 Laevinus is on Corcyra and spring 210 he attacks Anticyra before heading back to Rome. So winter 211/210 is the likely date it seems to me of not only the RRC 101 issue, but also RRC 100. At lastest spring 210 as Laevinus makes his way back to Rome. To accept Crawford’s date of 209-208 for RRC 100 we have to imagine that after the bronze coins were taken in Laevinus’ raid, they were kept on ice for between one and three years before being overstruck. The date of c.209 for this issue is perhaps influenced over much by the literary testimony that Marcellus engaged with Hannibal near Canusium in this year. But, Marcellus seems to have based for two winters at near by Venusia (a Latin colony, like Luceria), not Canusium itself. Hannibal seems to have at least some hope of convincing Canusium to come over to his side in 209.
Would Canusium have been on Laevinus’ route back to Rome? A loyal(ish) town at which to drop off some of the spoils of war for striking? Maybe, assuming he stopped back at his base of Brundisium and took the fast overland route:
But Livy tells us the general was “overtaken by a tedious illness, and consequently arrived in Rome much later than was expected”. It’s hard to imagine he wouldn’t have used a litter. Of course, there is no reason general and booty must stay together. But it is hard to see the economy of transporting the bronze on a difficult road just to overstrike it…
“The issue with com-ear occurs in the Serra Orlando hoard; here as on the denarius and bronze the com-ear is a symbole parlant for Sicily.” (Crawford 1974: 16) Clearly, the ear of wheat is a symbol of Sicily (Hersh 1993: 141). But there is some difference between the selection of the symbol because of a canting pun or because already by the Hannibalic War the Romans were thinking of Sicily as a ‘bread-basket’. See, for example, this discussion of the symbol in a chapter on Sicilian identity. Crawford doesn’t explain how he thinks the visual pun works and so what follows is only speculation.
The Latin word for wheat is triticum.
There is a tradition that the ‘original’ name of Sicily was Trinacria. “(Τρινακρία/Trinakría, Hellanicus FGrH 51 F 79b), later Sicania (Σικανίη/Sikaníē, Hdt. 7,170; Σικανία/Sikanía, Thuc. 6,2,2) and only then Sicelia (Σικελία). The change of name reflects the successive immigration of the Sicani and Siculi; however, Trinacria is probably an unhistorical construction from the Homeric Thrinacia (Hom. Od. 11,107; 12,127; 12,135; 19,275), taking into account the triangular shape (tría ákra) of the island.” (So Olshausen in Brill’s New Pauly).
Maybe the adjectival form of triticum in the feminine, triticia, is close enough for a canting pun, but I’m not one hundred percent convinced.
Would the name Trinacria be widely known? Jacoby’ collection of the fragments of Timaeus suggests it was in use in the West (FGrH vol. 3b.566, F164 ln.4) But when we go to the source text, Diodorus, it’s hard to be sure that particular word was actually Timaeus’ contribution. [I give the big block quote at the end of this post.]
In Latin authors its mostly used in poetic authors, and not before Catullus. By contrast the early poets Ennius, Naevius, and Plautus all just use the name Sicilia.
But perhaps Crawford has a different Latin or Greek near homophone in mind which I just have yet realized.
An aside. One of my favorite Turkish phrases is jeton düştü! The penny dropped! In this case, perhaps I should say, jeton düşmedi. The penny has not dropped. I’m not really sure the idiomatic phrase really carries over from English to Turkish but my Turkish teacher seemed to suggest as much and as a numismatist how can I resist using it.
—
First a little context:
To my mind one of the most interesting aspects of the secondary marks on the early denarius, victoriatus and related issues is when they begin to experiment with different types of secondary symbols. Most of the secondary symbols that appear on the coinage of the Hannibal War had already been in use as control marks on the didrachm series with Roma and Victory (RRC 22): cornucopia, crescent, caduceus, anchor, rudder, dolphin, star, pentagram, club, corn-ear, wreath, and so on…. These are relatively common symbols into which its dangerous to read too much particular meaning. Other issues are signed by the responsible magistrates, most certainly on Sardinia (RRC 63-65) and Sicily (RRC 74–75). I particularly like how we can see the development towards longer abbreviations on Sardinia. The praetor of 211 BC just uses the first letter of his nomen, ‘C’ for L. Cornelius Lentulus (RRC 63). The praetor of 210 uses two letters, ‘MA’ for P. Manlius Vulso (RRC 64). And finally in 209, the praetor C. Aurunculeius uses three letters ‘AVR’ (RRC 65). We don’t know the position or identity of the Sicilian magistrates, C.VAR and C.AL, but c. 209-208 they choose to use their praenomen initial, as well as an abbreviation of their nomen. This type of signing of issues by junior officials will become standard at Rome in the future. We can look to the signed Egadi rams for a possible comparable phenomenon. On other issues the letters seem to be used to designate the place of issue rather than a magistrate, such as at Luceria, Canusium and Corcyra (RRC 97-98A, 100, 101). The place names and magistrates names may simply be thought of as functional elements for the purposes of identifying the source and/or authority behind the issue. We need not read them as acts of self-aggrandizement.
Then there are the other abbreviations the resolution of which is more controversial: are they indicating magistrates or places? (e.g. RRC 92-95). We can easily find places to match the abbreviations, but then fitting those places as possible mints into the historical narrative of the Hannibalic War becomes very problematic. I’m not proposing to resolve these difficulties here.
It has long been recognized that the wheat-ear functions as symbol of Sicily on certain issues. More interesting are some of the more ‘creative’ symbols used by the Sicilian mint, one’s we’re not absolutely positive about their identification. A possible bit-drill (so Hersh for RRC 77) and measuring stick (RRC 78) and the pick-ax that might be a canting pun (RRC 73), but also isn’t that different from the ceremonial hammer found on coins from central Italy (RRC 59). Then there is also the very odd serrated issue of denarii with a wheel (RRC 79). Did the Sicilian mint have a fashion for practical tools as symbols? Why?
On to the meat of the matter:
The Sicilian symbols help us see that there was room for experimentation with the range of symbols. The introduction of three new symbols onto the coinage stand out in particular: the torque, the falcata, and the carnyx and shield. None of these elements are typical elements in Hellenistic art, but are instead identifying attributes of Roman enemies, especially elements that the Roman troops actually encountered on the battlefield. Both the torque and the carnyx appear frequently enought on the republican series and other media to make them familiar symbols to numismatists and art historians alike. That said, their first appearance on the coinage is noteworthy. These issues borrow a symbol of the enemy and display it on the coinage like a trophy of war, the appropriation of the symbol representing the defeat of the fearsome aggressor. The torque victoriatus is very rare (RRC 91/1a; two in the BM and one in trade). Frankly, if we didn’t have a preconceived idea of what a torque looked like it would be a difficult symbol to decode, looking rather like an omega. The carnyx and Gallic shield is far more common and the iconography beyond dispute (RRC 128; examples in trade, ANS specimens). The falcata is called a knife by Crawford, but as one independent scholar has recognized, the republican coins are clearly representing the typical Iberian weapon.
The falcata is depicted in Iberian funerary art as well (Blázquez 1988: 506; cf. Osuna relief). It’s two occurrences on Roman coins should be seen as akin to depictions of carnyx, i.e. as appropriated symbols of the defeated enemy.
All of this is important because, taken together, these three types represent a critical development in the ‘money as monument’ phenomenon at Rome. Just as actual torques, carnyces, shields, and falcatae were displayed in Rome as the spoils of war –dedicated in temples and hung on the houses of the generals as lasting testimony to the victories — so too the alien symbols on the coinage testify to the defeat of a specific formidable foe.
This is perhaps a natural evolution from, say, the display of enemy ship rams on war monuments and their appearance on the coins.
The later evolution of this phenomenon is well discussed by Claire Rowan.
On this topic also see this newer post.
A post in which I simply chase up the details in a delightfully dense Crawfordian footnote.
“certainly the reduction [to the semilibral standard] had take place by the time of the ludi romani in September of that year [217BC] (see p. 627 n. 1)” (RRC I.43)
To the same end the Great Games were vowed at a cost of 333,333 1/3 asses, and in addition 300 oxen to Jupiter, and white oxen and the other customary victims to a number of deities. (Livy 22.10.7)
He likewise vowed to celebrate a musical and dramatic festival in honour of the gods, which should cost three hundred and thirty-three sestertia, plus three hundred and thirty-three denarii, plus one third of a denarius. This sum, in Greek money, amounts to eighty-three thousand five hundred and eighty-three drachmas, plus two obols. Now the reason for the exact prescription of this particular number is hard to give, unless it was thereby desired to laud the power of the number three, as being a perfect number by nature, the first of odd numbers, the beginning of quantity, and as containing in itself the first differences and the elements of every number mingled and blended together. (Plut.Fab. 4)
…ἀπὸ σηστερτίων τριακοσίων τριάκοντα τριῶν καὶ δηναρίων τριακοσίων τριάκοντα τριῶν, ἔτι τριτημορίου προσόντος. τοῦτο τὸ κεφάλαιόν ἐστιν ὀκτὼ μυριάδες δραχμῶν καὶ δραχμαὶ τρισχίλιαι πεντακόσιαι ὀγδοήκοντα τρεῖς καὶ δύο ὀβολοί. [Just the relevant Greek of the above passage.]
They ordered five hundred minae of silver to be expended every year upon the sacrifices and the games, a sum the Romans laid out on the festival till the time of the Punic War (Dion. Hal. 7.71.2)
Thomas Stangl, Ciceronis Orationum scholiastae: Asconius, Scholia Bobiensia, Scholia Pseudasconii Sangallensia, Scholia Cluniacensia et recentiora Ambrosiana ac Vaticana, Scholia Lugdunensia sive Gronoviana et eorum excerpta Lugdunensia. Vol. II : Commentarios continens, Band 2 (1912), p. 217:
The key phrase here is ducenta milia nummum = two hundred thousand coins. No mention of the ‘sestertii’ that had me worried in Crawford’s summary of the evidence. Really this is the best evidence he has going for his argument on original cost.
The logic Crawford uses on the 500 mina of Dionysius’ testimony seems to be as follows. 1 mina = 100 drachms. In Dionysius, 1 drachm = 1 denarius. 1 denarius = 4 sestertii, so 500 mina = 200,000 sestertii. The Dionysius passage is also helpful because it suggests a change during the Punic Wars.
How likely is it that the Greek authors are just confusing sestertii and asses? A first I found this possibility rather a stretch, especially given Plutarch going out of his way to transliterate the denominations into Greek. But on the other hand the sestertius does replace the as as the unit of account with the retariffing of the denarius. So it might be logical to assume the unit of account was the sesterius at an earlier era.
[My life would be less complicated if I had just conceded Crawford was likely to be right before digging through all these refs.]
But in what sense does this mean that “the gods were given offerings of the the same metal content”? If it was really thought of as a drop from a full pound to a half pound wouldn’t the gods need twice the number of asses, 400,000, not 333,333 1/3? If 333,333 1/3 new asses nominally weighed as much as 200,000 old asses,then the new coin would have weighed 60% of the the old coin. Possible, but the Roman mint wasn’t big on base-10 type fractions just yet.
Do we have to go with Plutarch and say the number is just symbolic. I’d rather believe Crawford, than Plutarch. Can we make the numbers work?
Here is a table of hypothetical total weights of the coins spent on the ludi based on the different offering costs at different weight standards:
236g is what Crawford says RRC 36 fell to before the introduction of RRC 38 which he says was based on an as of about 132g. Sure our understanding of these standards is fuzzy, but enough to short change the gods by at least 3.2 metric tons of bronze?! That’s nearly 4 1967 VW bugs of bronze.
Let’s go back to Livy. He is probably responsible for this nonsense with the numbers. The passage where our quote above come from actually starts in preceding chapter (22.9):
Q. Fabius Maximus was now Dictator for the second time. On the very day of his entrance upon office he summoned a meeting of the senate, and commenced by discussing matters of religion. He made it quite clear to the senators that C. Flaminius’ fault lay much more in his neglect of the auspices and of his religious duties than in bad generalship and foolhardiness. The gods themselves, he maintained, must be consulted as to the necessary measures to avert their displeasure, and he succeeded in getting a decree passed that the decemvirs should be ordered to consult the Sibylline Books, a course which is only adopted when the most alarming portents have been reported. After inspecting the Books of Fate they informed the senate that the vow which had been made to Mars in view of that war had not been duly discharged, and that it must be discharged afresh and on a much greater scale. The Great Games must be vowed to Jupiter…
It goes on a long while about all the special religious actions that must be taken before getting to how the Great Games are to be celebrated, i.e. at a cost of 333,333 and 1/3 asses. These aren’t necessarily then the ordinary September ludi Romani, but a special war time initiative to make Jupiter and the gang extra happy. We probably need to see the extra expense as a symbolic attempt rather than because of any religious anxiety about short changing the gods.
This is unfortunate. It kind of makes a mess of this really interesting possible terminus ante quem for the introduction of the semilibral standard. : (
Meadows, Essay Hersh 1998 p. 127 n. 12 dismissed the use of this evidence in a single sentence.
Anyway, just for completeness here is the footnote from OGIS 480 [image links to page with footnote,ref links to start of inscription]:
He further embittered the senate against him by his support of C. Claudius; he alone of all the members was in favour of the measure which that tribune introduced. Under its provisions no senator, no one whose father had been a senator, was allowed to possess a vessel of more than 300 amphorae burden. This was considered quite large enough for the conveyance of produce from their estates, all profit made by trading was regarded as dishonourable for the patricians. The question excited the keenest opposition and brought Flaminius into the worst possible odium with the nobility through his support of it, but on the other hand made him a popular favourite and procured for him his second consulship. (Livy 21.63.3-4)
This passage not incorrectly gets cited widely as evidence about restrictions on Senators engaging in commerce (exempli gratia). Nothing wrong with that. The same chapter of Livy gets discussed most often for the narrative tradition that blames Flaminius for the disaster at Lake Trasimene in the Hannibalic War. Flaminius brings down divine wrath by not following proper religious procedures in his second consulship, because he’s afraid the nobles angered by his restriction of their potential financial gain will block his leaving for his province by claiming bad auspices. Thus, he sneaks out to his province as a privatus. So, by extension the disaster at Trasimene is all a result of a consul supporting popular legislation. Moral of the story: a factious nobility is a threat to the well-being of the state. Not a bad Augustan age moral really.
But here’s my question. Why, oh why, did some tribute or the electorate in general care a rat’s ass about senators engaging in commerce? What the heck made this legislation ‘popular’ in any sense? Why at this moment in time? The Gauls had been quieted. The Adriatic shipping ways were strongly in Roman control. Sicily and Sardinia had standing governors. The Romans still probably thought at this moment that imminent war with Carthage and the Barcids would be fought in Spain and Africa. Is this Livy’s interpretation of a list of legislation, elections, and events? Or someone else’s? Perhaps restrictions on senatorial commerce could be seen as popular with the equites if there is any grounds for understanding them as a merchant class at this point in time, but I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that reading.
[I got here as I was ruminating on the state of finances at Rome during the early years of the Hannibalic War.]
In view of the fact that the Boii and rest of the Gauls were offering for sale various articles and an especially large number of captives, the Romans became afraid that they might some day use the money against them, and accordingly forbade anybody to give to a Gaul either silver or gold. (Zon. 8.19)
I came across this odd little quote in the fragments of Cassius Dio in the midst of the narrative of events preceding the Second Punic War. This got me thinking about the monetization of the region and led me back to this passage in R. Haeussler, Becoming Roman? Diverging identities and experiences in ancient northwest Italy (2013), p. 98:
The chapter from which this is pulled is a nice example of a historian integrating numismatic evidence into the narrative. Anyway this further led me to discover that all of Ermanno A. Arslan’s publications are online. A very exciting resource. And, I also got to read some of the work of Giovanni Gorini who also seems to have put much of his publications online.
So in some regions, like Turdetania in Further Spain [the most unfortunate place name ever!], it has been suggested that the issuing of bronze coinage is a reaction to Roman regional engagement, a vehicle to help with the collection of taxes, etc. So, S J Keay, “The Romanisation of Turdetania” Oxford Journal of Archaeology 11.3 (1992), 275-315, esp. 288ff. By contrast, the current suggestion seems to be that the peoples of Northern Italy were already engaged in the use and production of silver coinage before their engagement with the Romans.
The passage from the epitome of Dio (above) is interesting because of how it sees a connection between the acquisition of silver and gold and military readiness. It ties trade and commerce directly to war resources. The trade doesn’t give the Gauls more resources–they already have a good deal of material wealth–instead it gives them a type of resource, gold and silver (coins?!) which make it easier to engage in warfare.
And, here’s a nice pic of a padane drachma just so this post has one:
Check out the legends on each side of this coin. They are both FRENTREI, but with the Rs looking for all the world like Ds and the F like an 8. Oscan isn’t really that far off the Latin or Greek alphabet:
It’s main difference is that its written right to left (like Hebrew and Arabic), rather than left to right (like English and kin). I like the above specimen because it has the same name written in different directions on each side. L>R on the obverse; R>L on the reverse. It’s as if we get a little window into the moment of evolution of the language among the Frentani.
It uses a locative ending like the first coin of Larinum to show a Roman influence. The coins of Larinum during the Hannibalic War period continue to be of influence for the swap between Oscan and Latin and the D/R letter forms (see Rutter in HN Italy, no. 624).
post script. Doesn’t the little beanie hat style of Mercury’s wings remind you a little of how they were rendered on Suessa’s bronzes… or at Teanum ?
Liv Mariah Yarrow 
