The Archaeology of Roman Macedonia: Urban and Rural Environments by Vassilis Evangelidis offers “a synthetic look at the built environment [of Roman Macedonia],” or “all [its] built features that constitute the human habitus: buildings, monuments and spaces created or modified by people” (p. 41). Evangelidis specifically states that the book is “meant to provide a starting point for those who want to delve deeper into more specialized subjects” (p. 195). Evangelidis is an organizer of the Roman Seminar, which offers lecture series that discuss new archaeological discoveries and studies pertaining to Roman Greece. Evangelidis’ book can be seen as an addition to this effort but with more focus on recent and ongoing systematic and rescue excavations in northern Greece, Albania, North Macedonia, and Bulgaria.[1] The book is in three parts. Part I provides contextual information on how ancient Macedonia transitioned from the old Macedonian kingdom to the imperial period. Evangelidis takes particular interest in: 1) the breaks and continuities in demography, ethnic makeup, social stratification, cult practice, and civic institutions following the demise of the Macedonian kingdom; and 2) the removal and exodus of the Macedonian elites and the repopulation of Macedonia by persons, groups, and agencies from different regions of the Mediterranean world. The map in chapter three (p. 26, fig. 4) captioned “the urban network: old and new cities” offers an intriguing bird’s-eye view of two Macedonias: the old Greek coastal cities, such as Maroneia and Abdera, in decline, while the accumulation of roads brought about new connectivity with significant impact on the interior as the main economic interest shifted away from the coast and towards inland areas where new cities were founded, such as Traianopolis and Ulpia Tpeiros (p. 37). The synthetic view becomes kaleidoscopic in Part II. Built features are classified according to public, commercial, industrial, ritual, entertainment, and other such types. Individual chapters focus on a single category of building types supported by layouts, stylistic features, functions, comparanda. Guiding themes and problems are given, at times subtly. On Public spaces (agorai/fora), for instance, Evangelidis invokes questions of how or whether they were transformed from Macedonian precursors or built anew, since there were scant remains of pre-Roman built features (ch. 5). Individual public and administrative buildings (ch. 7) and buildings for commerce and industry (ch. 8) follow, with attention directed towards the difficulty of function-based identifications (e.g., p. 59-60: what was the Building with the Arches at Stobi?). On ritual space (ch. 9), descriptions (e.g., Pseudo-Lucian’s highly relevant Lucius or Ass), as well as inscriptions concerning rituals, festivities, and cult worship, are anecdotal evidence useful for envisioning a populated, dynamic, and eclectic built environment at a specific point in time, but how can such sources fit into interpretations of continuity, adaptation, or the eclecticism of temples and sanctuaries? Surveys and discussion of the architecture of entertainment (ch. 10) also rely on similar issues, particularly on what traditional entertainment spaces actually were transformed into dual-use venues to accommodate a thriving gladiator culture from the second century CE onwards. The chapter on “the architecture of water” covers a dazzling array of the numerous aqueducts, latrines, fountains, and baths built during the Roman period (ch. 11). The natural abundance of water in Macedonia and the early developments of the Hellenistic balaneia(e.g., in Thessaloniki and Pella, pp. 108-109, and Amphipolis, pp. 114-115) may be taken as the driver for Macedonia’s “culture of water” that extended even to the most rural parts within the province. On built features of movement and passage (ch. 12), Evangelidis suggests the term “urban armatures” (p. 121). Many of these built features speak to the architectural language of imperial Rome, and Evangelidis suggests that they were purposely used to “hierarchize” urban spaces and regulated access, movement, and behavior (p. 128). One wonders to what degree the impact of hierarchized or regulated spaces are archaeologically visible. For “housing in urban and peri-urban contexts” (ch. 13), Evangelidis notes beyond traditional oikia houses and Roman style atria houses there was also the fusion type called the “courtyard house” that had various spaces opening around one or more courtyards (pp. 131-132). But non-elite domestic architecture remains poorly attested and understood (p. 141). Chapter 14 discusses architecture of defense. It is noteworthy that so little effort was made to build or at least reinforce urban defense against known and repeated northern incursions from the mid-second century onwards; Evangelidis suggests that hillside forts and fortified villas on highlands, including the rough stones crowning hill tops in Aegean Thrace, may have been local solutions to threats.  In addition to built features commonly seen in other Balkan provinces (e.g. funerary altars, sarcophagi), “Deathscapes” (ch. 15) discusses hundreds of third-century CE vaulted tombs typical of elite burial in earlier Macedonian kingdom, but to what degree can they be seen as “the mimicking of past funerary architecture” and part of a trend to revive the glorious Macedonian past (p. 156)? The last chapter (ch. 16) of Part II, which covers rural sites, raises questions regarding the differentiation of villas from farmsteads, and the dangers of classifying sites into types such as farms, villages, hamlets, and roadside settlements. Much appreciated is Evangelidis’ discussion of how rural sites may be connected to land and maritime transport networks, and figure 37 (p. 161) offers good visual guidance on the patterns of association between these two facets of Roman Macedonia. Part III is comprised of four (again compact) chapters in which Evangelidis argues that Roman Macedonia should not be perceived exclusively in “Roman” terms. The chapter on the course of development of urban environments (ch. 18) identifies two phases of architectural development. The first is the Late Hellenistic to Early Roman, when materials were local and types mostly Hellenistic in character (p. 176-178) . The second phase is from the mid-2nd century to the early 4th century CE, when major urban spaces underwent rapid and comprehensive convergence with empire-wide social and cultural trends, and adapted existing public and private spaces to contemporary architectural and spatial models (pp. 177-178). But, as Evangelidis keeps reminding readers, the survival of local styles of construction, the reuse of building materials, maintenance, modification, and adaptation of pre-existing buildings complicate chronologies (pp. 176-177). Colonies may have earlier stages of built features by the first Italian colonists, then later reconfigurations (basically the levelling/erasure of pre-existing structures) create new, “coherent,” and even “theatrical” urban landscapes (p. 183). Roman Macedonia was also receptive to a broad range of spatial and architectural ideas (p. 185). Intra-city rivalries and euergetism can lead to unconventional forms of monumentaliztion (p. 186). For rural environments (ch. 19) Evangelidis is mostly concerned with the theory that (or rather the question whether) “Roman Macedonia was systematically and intensively exploited through a dense network of large and medium-sized estates” (p. 188). Evangelidis argues that, while the villa economy model may be useful, there is also evidence (e.g., the farm at Toumba outside Thessaloniki, the site in Aphytis, and the cluster of farms in Lete) that suggest villa-centric interpretations have limitations (p. 188). The many ritual sites (e.g., Hero Equitans, sanctuaries of Zeus Hypsistos, the sanctuary of Ennodia in Kozani), burial tumuli (e.g., Gomati cemetary in Chalkidike), and dispersed native settlements (along the Rodope mountains) did not conform to a “rational” Romanized landscape characterized by organized agricultural activities and a villa-centered lifestyle, and could achieve centrality through centuries’ of evolving perceptions about space and occupation of land in their immediate locales (pp. 191-192). The last chapter of the book (ch. 20) compares Roman Macedonia with Roman Achaea. Evangelidis wishes to push back against an “archaeological orthodoxy” that sees little architectural difference between the two. But he does not explicate how they were different, except a matter-of-fact statement: “clearly, for many small cities and towns in Macedonia—especially the ones away from the coast like Vardarski rid (Gortynia?), Eidomene, Styberra or Petres—the experience of urban living and the form of the built environment was different than the one in Achaea” (p. 193). But the sole discussion on Vardarski rid, which also covers Petres in Florina, offers only a short comment on domestic architecture, that it must have been the “simple compact house…with no central colonnaded court,” a potential local variant of “the Greek courtyard house” that was “better suited to the colder weather conditions” (p. 129). For Eidomene, the discussion focuses on the Roman-style podium temple” found there, a typical frontal temple of Italy, prostyle and standing on a podium, donated by a makedoniarch (p. 79). Would this experience be entirely alien from, say, Patras, Corinth, or even Athens in Roman Achaea? Chapter 17, “Building methods and construction techniques” centers on the systematic use of cement, particularly the opus mixtum technique, or “bricks laid in bands alternating with course of rubble covered with binding material” (p. 173) distinct  from the opus caementicium technique (p. 174, fig. 39), as the photos helpfully illustrate. One also appreciates the reminder that the “exclusively brick” opus caementicium technique was closely associated with the introduction of imperially-controlled figlinae in the Tetrachic period, and it is seen not only at the Galerian complex but also in domestic complexes in Thessaloniki, Dion, and Stobi (pp. 174-175). Diligent readers might find it unfortunate that specific types of vaulting and vaulted spaces (e.g. “barrel-vaulted,” p. 47, 72; “radial vaults,” p. 98; “wedge-shaped” vaults, p. 101; “pitched-brick” vaulting [the earliest known Roman example!], p. 105) mentioned throughout the book received no treatment in this chapter, which would have been a contribution, considering that Lynne Lancaster’s Innovative Vaulting in the Architecture of the Roman Empire: 1st to 4th Centuries CE(2015) does not cover most of the examples that Evangelidis mentions.[2] Some readers might appreciate an index, considering that sites mentioned in the book are numerous and cross multiple countries. Site summaries (including site-specific introductions, maps and site plans, and bibliography, as seen in John Camp’s Archaeology of Athens, pp. 247-327) would have been very useful. But for a survey aiming to provide “a starting point for those who want to delve deeper,” some sort of general map with a full list of sites mentioned in the text (e.g., Susan Alcock’s Graecia Capta, pp. 10-12) would have been useful. One might also wish for more site plans, photos, and maps. There seems to be potential to create a supplementary digital humanities project comparable to the beautiful and informative Gardens of the Roman Empire Project, originally modeled on Gardens of Pompeii (1979-1993), that complements the edited volume Gardens of the Roman Empire (2018). To sum up, there is much to like about this book. Evangelidis strings together the full spectrum of architectural features within a large “built environment,” and creates useful syntheses of new and ongoing archaeological work in northern Greece and elsewhere. Readers interested in Roman archaeology in general may benefit from the comparanda described and analyzed, thanks to Evangelidis’ coherent narration and analysis, and perhaps his up-to-date bibliography. Students may particularly benefit if a potential online edition can bring together visual aids and other resources currently not part of the printed edition.   Notes [1] Though not entirely exhaustive: Heraclea Sintike (with its well-excavated Hellenistic agora/Roman forum) is not mentioned, for example. Cf. L. Vagalinski, “Heraclea Sintica and Some of Its Recently Found Marble Sculptures,” Archaeologica Bulgarica 24.2 (2020) 1-39; N. Sharankov, “Five Official Inscriptions from Heraclea Sintica Including a Record of the Complete Cursus Honorum of D. Terentius Gentianus,” Archaeologia Bulgarica 25.3 (2021) 1-43. [2] The odeion at Thessaloniki, p. 60; Arch of Galerius, p. 63; Rotunda of Galerius, p. 89.

西方古代地中海地区传世文献、出土文献多有希腊语、拉丁语 互译的例子。这种多种语言交混的环境是翻译理论与实践的试验场 域，到了文艺复兴时期形成的是一种复数的「翻译文化」(cultures of translation, Burman 2012: 92-96)和组成复杂的多语翻译团队 (Bistué 2011: 143-147)，而翻译理论的探讨也随着蓬勃的翻译活 动而不断深化，一些成熟讨论的脉络问题包含文言 / 白话(literary/ vernacular)、翻译 / 转移(translation/transfer)、模仿 / 诠释(aemu- latio/interpretatio)、异化 / 驯化(foreignization/domestication)、逐 字 / 表 意(ad uerbum/ad sensum) 等(Deneire 2014; Zaharia 2014; Pade 2018; Watier 2019)，对解读、评论翻译，以及和拟定翻译策 略上提供了很大的帮助。本文循塔西陀《编年史》(Annales)的不 同译本以及译者对自己的翻译策略所做的陈述，考量逐字翻译(ad uerbum)和文意翻译(ad sensum)的策略问题，并援引异化与驯化 的观点以及「沟通动能」(communicative dynamics)的分析法，来 解释逐字翻译策略的优势。

This paper looks at how the Ephesian gubernatorial edict (Ephesos 231 = IK 12.215 p. 27) found near Magnesia ad Maenandrum can be an adequate response to a state of public disorder (ταραχή) and madness (ἀπονοία) caused by bakers refusing to supply the city with the necessary production of bread. The goal of the gubernatorial edict was to restore sense to the demos by edict (διατάγματι σωφρονίζειν) without having to arrest, try, and punish offenders. Specific measures include forbidding bakers to gather according to association (μήτε συνέρχεσθαι κατ᾽ ἑταίρα), and forbidding those who stood as bakers' representatives from behaving rashly (μήτε προεστηκότας θρασύνεσθαι), along with the specific demand that leaders are to obey authority (πειθαρχεῖν) and produce bread. The reference to an agreement, and the subsequent result clause, may suggest that one party to the agreement defaulted and led to widespread discontent, though the fragmentary nature of the inscription makes it difficult to speculate further. But the edict only resorted to banning gatherings, with no comment on the root causes of dissent. Additional assistance provided by the boule would have been necessary and likely given, though the part of the stone has been lost. Recent discussions on how governors dealt with issues pertaining to public order (Fuhrmann 2012) and the eirenarchate (Rife 2002) can be of some guidance. In addition, this paper explores mechanisms and tools accessible to praesidial governors based on the corpus of known gubernatorial edicts collected as part of a larger project to consider possible scenarios.

近年来，西方学界好于比较汉代中国与罗马时期地中海，研究方法主要是梳理并重组已知文字材料，寻找新的研究框架和比较视角,有效推进学界对于古代国家在如官僚系统、税收、管理等具"现代化"特征的研究工作。本文要比较的是这两个古代国家的治理行为，选择的研究对象是两者都有的、也都有强大需求的铁产业。近期中外的古代冶铁研究文献开始关注铁制半成品在铁业各环节之中的重要性。笔者还注意到，半成品生产与世代传承的私家铁业经营者之间存在关联性。笔者结合考古发掘成果与古代文献，讨论秦汉和罗马等古代国家管理者如何参与、适应既有的铁业传统与生态；如何介入、监管、甚至接管铁矿开采和冶炼业务；如何管理或动员铁业从业人力，确保古代国家治理者有可类比为"現代化"的动员能力，获取铁类的必要物资。

The newly discovered gubernatorial edict from Laodicea, in which the proconsul of Asia (likely Marcus Ostorius? Scapula) issued a series of orders, contains references to precedents from his predecessors, including edicts from the proconsul Cornelius Tacitus and his deputy Saenius Sabinus, and a letter from the proconsul Vicirius Martialis. Why did Martialis issue a letter instead of an edict? What was the function of Martialis' correspondence, and what did it achieve? In Oliver, Greek Constitutions, pp. 20-21, Augustus and later principates continued to use written proclamations in edict form as a way of communicating with provincials, a tradition practiced by Roman magistrates in the Republic. We also learn that edicts were essentially "open letters to whom it might concern," and were not unlike epistles in terms of preparation, at times not carefully distinguished by the secretaries that prepared them. If there were edict and epistolary forms, it is not immediately clear how they differed in function and perception, both from the perspective of the senders and their intended recipients. Gubernatorial communications have received treatment by Meyer-Zweiffelhoffer (2002), Kokkinia (2003, 2004) Lavan (2013). Kokkinia states that there are approximately 90 examples, and they point to the pattern in which most governors were acting upon local requests to interevene (Kokkinia 2004: 49). If the purpose was to intervene, at what point will an epistle be no longer enough, but an edict will? This paper will first use Paulus Fabius Maximus' letter-edict to discuss a classical case in which an attempt to write a letter took a sinister turn towards an edict. We will then examine a range of cases including those from the Opramoas dossier to consider the various epistolary approaches that the Roman governors took in responding to local situations. The paper will use this assembled corpus to interpret the Vicirius Martialis' letter from both its immediate communicative context and also the general tradition in official correspondence. This paper also touches on the broader question of why governors need to write letters, when they could have just issued edicts, and what letters can do that edicts could not.

The era was a form of "uninterrupted, irreversible, paratactic, cumulative, endless, and directional" time-reckoning concept (Kosmin 2018: 22) widely adopted in the Roman Greek East: there were provincial eras counting from the foundation of a province, as well as more customised epochs such as the 'Freiheitsära' of Amisos (Leschhorn 1993: 463-465), and the 'Kolonieära' of Sinope (Leschhorn 1993: 150-154). Curiously, Roman Sinope began with the colonial epoch of 45 BCE, but turned to a Lucullan epoch of 70 BCE in the Severan period (Kubitschek 1908: 67-72; Grant 1946: 12, 251; Leschhorn 1993: 151-162). Leschhorn suggested reasons for the switch, including internal rivalry and 'Gräzisierung' (Leschhorn 1993: 162). This paper explores the Graecisation hypothesis by first asking: why the Lucullan era? What was there to gain from the switch? Viewed from historical context, the Lucullan era happened to have been the time-reckoning method of Amastris, a well-developed regional hub in the second to third centuries CE (Marek 1993: 97-100; Brenier 2007), including contributions to several koina in Asia Minor. This paper suggests that Amastrian development may have influenced Sinopean institutions. Syncing time may be one way to maintain relations with a maritime hub with deep historical associations.  A second question this paper asks is how "Graecising" was the adoption of the Lucullan era. The Hellenistic amphora handles produced at Sinope stamped with the Seleucid era suggest that the use of this chronographic method predated the second century BCE (Saprykin & Fedoseev 1999: 135-143; Fedoseev 2019: 16-17). Instead of Caesarian colonists adopting a Hellenising time-reckoning, it may be that the Sinopean establishment modified (or revived) its epoch to mark both the new 'colonial' form of the Sinopean polity and the continuity of pre-colonial institutions (Magie 1950: 1267 n. 33; cf. Strab. 12.3.11 C54). In short, Sinope's changing eras may be viewed from an adaptive point of view.

奥古斯都三度受元老院与人民任命，出任法律道德监管（curator legum et morum, 19 BCE, 18 BCE, 11 BCE, cf. RGDA 6, Dio Cass. 54.30.1, Suet. Aug. 27），推动婚姻立法，塑造新罗马社会，但多有面对社会面不满的压力（RGDA 8; Eck 2022）。本文先考虑奥古斯都时期婚姻立法过程中，持不同立场的人士所使用的说服手段，以诗人贺拉斯和普罗佩提乌斯为代表。再来，本文看迪奥卡西乌斯笔下的奥古斯都面对骑士序列人士的两段演说（Dio Cass. 56.1-10），虽然较贺拉斯和普罗佩提乌斯而言，成文的时间距奥古斯都时期较远，但应有一定的参考价值。最后，本文也考虑一般学界不列入考虑的铭刻材料。公元前17年的《世纪竞赛元老院决议文》（Senatus Consultum de ludibus saecularibus）以及公元8年前后的《涂丽雅悼词》（Laudatio Turiae）等铭文石刻，或有助于我们理解不同层次的反应与反制。铭文勒石不只是一种昭示性质的行为，也是一种表演性质的行为。这两方在婚姻立法过程中立起的石刻，与婚姻、生育、单身、无子等议题相关，应该要与婚姻立法问题更为紧密地考虑。本文主张，这两方石刻可以理解为支持与反对婚姻立法人士要试图说明自己立场、并说服不同立场者的公开尝试，反应的是奥古斯都为道德监管的大环境下，罗马公民仍然留存的共识文化。

As curator of laws and morals (curator legum et morum), a charge bestowed by the Senate and the Roman people on three separate occasions (19 BCE, 18 BCE, 11 BCE, cf. RGDA 6, Dio Cass. 54.30.1, Suet. Aug. 27), Augustus legislated marriage, using the mos maiorum as guidance for a new Roman society that was his to fashion (RGDA 8; Eck 2022). The Lex Iulia de maritandis ordinibus (LIMO) of 18 BCE became a centerpiece legislation with socio-politically comprehensive and enduring impact, leading to subsequent legislative interventions on the Roman institution of marriage from the Augustan period down to the Age of Constantine (Treggiari 1991, 13-36; Grubbs 1993). In some interpretations, the legislative interventions of marriage effectively "collapsed" Roman private life (Raditsa 1980), merging it with a new Roman state apparatus that "officially made proper family behavior part of a citizen's duty," including the obligation "to marry and procreate in a chaste and respectable manner" (Severy 2003, 55). Legislating marriage was effectively a social engineering project (Dolganov 2022), and not without risks to the legislators. Direct evidence of opposition can be found in historial and biographical accounts, and the equestrian order was particularly vocal (Suet. Aug. 34; Dio Cass. 56.4-10). Recently, Warner Eck's study on the commentarius of 5 CE integrated into the Lex Troesmensium provided convincing evidence that significant socio-political resistance against legislative intervention forced Augustus to retract a commentarius of 5 CE which the Lex Papia Poppaea of 9 CE was based upon (ex quo lex P(apia) P(oppaea) lata est), though with noticeable differences in the numbering of chapters (Eck 2022, 2019, 2016). Eck also made the interesting observation that known resistance efforts were not necessarily direct public agitation, but rather could be described as "ingenious attempts" (ingeniöse Versuche) to frustruate the utility of the legislation (Eck 2022, 73). The observation highlights the potentially simplistic approach in describing the range of reactions and counter-reactions associated with Augustan marriage laws as resistance and counter-resistance. The difficulty in taking this approach to study complexities in the range of responses towards the legislating of marriage lies in the availability of sources and the quality of those available. Shades of commentary and other complex reflections on Augustan marriage legislations – for example Horace's Carmina of 23 BCE (C. 3.6, 3.24) and 13 BCE (C. 4.15), Propertius's elegies of 28 BCE (2.7) and 18 BCE (4.11), and Ovid's Ars Amatoria of 2 CE, the latter of which has recently received particular treatment (Hutchinson 2017) – can be elicited from Augustan literary evidence, but hardly straightforward firsthand reports. Historical and biographical accounts may be vivid, as those from Cassius Dio's (54.16; 56.1-10) and to a lesser extent Suetonius (Suet. Aug. 34) and Tacitus (Ann. 3.25-28), but much more removed from immediate context. To extend the scope of discovery, this paper asks what other Augustan inscriptions can inform us on the shades of reactions in the Augustan period. Inscribed texts were more than verbatim transcriptions of documents produced in response to and within the context of social movements. The act of inscribing and setting up were performative aspects of immediate socio-political importance, acting as the legislator/reformer's attempt to impress and opress on the one hand, and responses from those who can afford to engage in a public and formal dialogue regarding an issue.  This paper argues that the performative acts seen on inscribed texts in the Augustan period that specifically respond to marriage legislation or the institution of marriage ought to be understood as persuasive acts. Two inscriptions are discussed in this paper: the SC de ludis saecularibus of 17 BCE and the so-called Laudatio Turiae of 8 CE. Hugh Lindsay (2009) and Josaiah Osgood (2014) focused on aspects of social response regarding the latter, and Warner Eck (2019) has highlighted social resistance regarding the former. This paper seeks to combine the two strands of study on two inscriptions that seem to speak to Roman audiences with deeply entrenched positions on the question of legislating marriage, and read them as attempts of persuasion, both to convey the concerns of their respective parties and impressing upon their respective oppositions on the importance of their approaches toward social order under the curator legum et morum.

In literary sources we find Amastris a thriving second-century civitas with a much frequented port and an intellectual community (cf. Plin. Ep. 10.98; Luc. Alex. 26ff; Luc. Tox. 57ff), but what of the land that supported it? The Amastriane, as Strabo calls it (Ἀμαστρίανη", Strab. 12.3.10), had a lot of good boxwood, but beyond this much is unclear. This paper takes an epigraphic perspective to discuss observable dynamics in the Amastriane, in two steps.The first step attempts to visualize Christian Marek's hypothetical Amastrian territorium – an administratively defined Amastriane – with Google Earth Pro, using epigraphic findspot information and geographical features Marek identified for the representation. GPS coordinates of field surveys collated by Peri Johnson are added to identify potential settlement locations active in the first to third centuries CE within Marek's proposed territorium. Through the cross-referencing attempt one can observe a cluster of twelve "Amastrian" inscriptions and two settlement mounds (Ören Höyük & Çengelli) in the Eflani Plateau south of the Küre Mountains. This correlation between two sets of data seems to have gone previously unnoticed in relevant scholarship. This paper assumes that inquiry into this cluster of inscriptions and settlement mounds may lead to further insights on the dynamics of an extensive and rugged territory under the control of a civitas during the Principate.The second step interrogates this group of evidence: what can we learn from the assemblage regarding communal diversity, social relations, institutional participation, and connectivity on the periphery of the Amastriane? Of importance is an inscription that specifically refers to an Amastrian archon who was also a genearch of what appears to be a local clan, found at Meyre (approx. 70 km southeast of Amastris; Marek Kat. Amastris no. 95). Scholars have focused more on the cult that the genearch's family worshipped and naos they built, and less if any on the genos' involvement with Amastrian civic institutions. The second key inscription is for a nomikos Demetrios son of Kyrenios (Marek Kat. Amastris no. 97). He was perhaps related to a Chrestes son of Kyrenios and a self-designated Amastrian of the tribe Halicarnassus, who set up a funerary monument at Deresameail (Marek Kat. Hadrianopolis no. 29; 10 km northeast of Hadrianopolis) for his brother-in-law Sextus Vibius Epaphroditus, perhaps related to the Trajanic primipilarius Sextus Vibius Gallus from Amastrian Kytoros. While Corsten and Ruscu have suggested and commented on these relationships, there remains considerable potential to discuss how such relationships formed despite geography, territorial boundaries, institutional divisions, and other inhibiting factors.This paper wishes to suggest that Marek' expansive Amastrian territorium would have initially been a highly fragmented social and political space, but familial recruitment, manumission, intermarriage, and mobility between significant urban centers gradually created common ground for integration. Also, the clan at Meyre may have benefited from intensifying interaction between Amastris, Hadrianopolis and Pompeiopolis, leading to its increased importance and greater participation in Amastrian institutions and norms.