There’s Flavius Palmatus, governor of the region, Caria, thronged by a phalanx of clients who shoulder out a path for him through the crowd. I recognize him from his statue (page 546). And I make out Tiberius Claudius Diogenes, granted Roman citizen¬ship by the emperor. When he achieved eminence, he showed his gratitude by con¬tributing a wing of the sculpture-adorned Sebasteion honoring the Julio-Claudian em¬perors. This edifice flanks a processional way that I have only begun to excavate.
Here too come Antonius Tatianus and AristoclesMolossus; both contributed to beautifying the theater precincts. And Theodorus, who dedicated a relief of Aphro¬dite. Also the market overseer—I know his face but not his name (page 546); and Alex¬androsDikaios, of whom the reverse is true, for I have yet to find the head to his statue.
Adrastus, son of Apollonius, pauses to chat in the local Greek with his nephew, an¬other Apollonius, son of Hypsicles. If they had been granted Roman citizenship (which only became general throughout the empire with Emperor Caracalla’s decree of A.D. 212), they would have adopted the trig no-mina (Gaius Julius Caesar, for example) of a Roman citizen. When our custom of three names today.
The trio of slaves, Syrus, Dama, and Dionysius, clad in the same tunic as the arti¬sans and shopkeepers they rub shoulders with in the street, will—if they follow cus¬tom—add their master’s family name to theirs when he frees them in his will.
Boys in tunics play with knucklebones under the colonnades. From dawn until noon they have chanted the alphabet and drilled in the three R’s with slate, wax tablet, and abacus under the rod of an irritable ped¬ant. The street teacher sets his low stool on a corner, in front of a shop, or in a square—a rent-free spot in the public eye. This draws patrons, who pay him a few coppers each month to beat a little learning into their sons.