Guest of CRSA – Prof. Petar Delev, PhD
Prof. Delev, how would you characterize the interest that large and powerful state formations in Antiquity—such as the Persian and Roman Empires—showed toward the Balkans? To what extent did such an interest exist, when does it date from, and did it have any specific features?
The Balkans have always been a meeting‑point of interests, of conflicts, of dramatic events, and in that respect Antiquity does not differ markedly from modern times. There are, of course, certain peculiarities—events that happened in Antiquity and have not been repeated later. One such uniqueness is that in the 4th century BC, in the age of Philip II and Alexander, the Balkans themselves became the centre of world history, conquering the world instead of being conquered, which is the scenario that recurred many times both before and after, in Antiquity and in more recent epochs. Yet, even in Antiquity the more usual pattern was the reverse: the aspiration of outside imperial powers toward the Balkan Peninsula. One thinks of the Persian invasion of the 6th–5th centuries BC and, later, probably the largest and most consequential such event, Rome’s conquest of the Balkans during the Late Hellenistic period—the last two centuries BC and the early 1st century AD—when Rome itself was transforming into an empire and its rule over the Balkans became permanent and took its final shape.
Yes, there was always interest in the Balkans. On the other hand, the peninsula gave birth to one of Antiquity’s cultures with the richest written tradition—Ancient Hellas with its abundant Greek‑language literature. To a great extent, therefore, what we know about the ancient world we know through Greek eyes—or more precisely, through what has survived of that literary heritage, which presents an essentially Balkan‑centred perspective.
There are indeed specificities, since the centres of powerful political forces in Antiquity lay farther south, not only in the Mediterranean but also to the East. Yet the Balkans felt the impact not only of those developed civilizations—the “great empires” of the ancient world—but also of less developed, yet militarily formidable communities to the north, northwest and northeast: Scythians, Celts, Bastarnae, Goths and similar groups that were strong in war and often played a very significant role in Balkan events.
We were all brought up with the idea that the Balkans are the crossroads between East and West and that Bulgaria sits in the middle—every school textbook says so. In Antiquity did the Balkans really occupy that median position, serving as a bridge between East and West, or did things look different? Did the ancients imagine the Balkans as a crossroads of civilizations and cultures?
If we ask what the ancients themselves imagined, the answer is probably “no.” As far as we can interpret the historical evidence, matters were not so one‑way on an East–West axis. In Antiquity the Balkans were more a border and contact zone between the more developed South—the Mediterranean—and the less developed North—Central, Northern and Eastern Europe, the “barbarian” regions as the Greeks conceived them. Thrace, and west of it Illyria and Macedonia, were seen by the Greeks as part of that barbarian world. Insofar as we can speak of a long‑lasting system of interactions—more cultural than political—the traffic ran North–South and South–North, and the Balkans really were a crossroads, a contact zone, an area of intensive exchange.
Another matter is that from very early times, and later as well, migrations and invasions frequently passed through the peninsula. There were always movements of people in every epoch, but those differ from the expansion of great political powers, which usually imposed rule rather than embarking on mass settlement. Genuine migrations occurred even quite late—for example, the Celtic invasion at the beginning of the 3rd century BC or, later still, the settlement of certain Celtic and especially Germanic peoples—Bastarnae, Goths and others—around the Lower Danube, mainly north of the river.
Since we are interested in the Balkans as an area and in the influence of external empires, can you explain why the Balkans became part of the Roman Empire rather than of the Persian Empire?
Part of the Balkans temporarily became an integral province of the Persian Empire in the late 6th and early 5th centuries BC. Exactly how much of the peninsula was involved remains disputed—a question likely to stay unresolved because of the patchiness of the sources. Some scholars suggest that the whole of Thrace, or only southern Thrace—either as far north as the Balkan Range or even up to the Danube—was subject to Persian rule for several decades. This took place in the last decade of the 6th and the first two decades of the 5th century BC. Closely linked to the issue is the debate over whether a Persian satrapy existed in the Balkans, perhaps bearing the name Skudra (or Shkudra) found in contemporary Persian inscriptions. The satrapy’s precise location is uncertain, as is its identification with Persian possessions on the peninsula. An opposing view holds that the Persians seized only the southern coast of Thrace along the Aegean Sea and the Propontis (today’s Sea of Marmara) without penetrating far inland. Either way, there was a Persian presence in the Balkans, albeit brief. The Persians failed to conquer the entire peninsula on a large, lasting scale—the achievement the Romans would realise in a later age. The reasons lie not so much in the military balance during the Greco-Persian Wars (crucial though those conflicts were) as in the fact that Persia seems by then to have exhausted its expansionist drive. The empire had taken shape in the mid-6th century BC, building on more than half a century of “proto-imperial” groundwork laid by the Medes—an Iranian people who, after the fall of Assyria, greatly enlarged their domains westward into northern Mesopotamia and the eastern and central parts of Asia Minor. The Persians inherited that territory and, in the second half of the 6th century BC, expanded it dramatically in their turn. By the time Persian aggression reached the Balkans under Darius I, that conquering momentum seems to have been spent, and the empire began to stall. Persia would endure for more than another century and a half within the same vast borders but made no new conquests. After the Greco-Persian Wars the empire appears to have abandoned the ambition to enlarge its already enormous, self-sufficient territory—so large, indeed, that effective administration posed problems. The Persian kings collected immense revenues in taxes, yet could not expend them and piled them up as treasure. Ancient sources record colossal sums of gold and silver that Alexander found hoarded in Persian palaces when he subdued the empire in the second half of the 4th century BC.
This perhaps brings us to the second major subject in our conversation. We are witnessing pressure applied by large state formations. How do the smaller local entities respond or resist this powerful external pressure—what mechanisms do they devise to counter it? Can we identify any common features, and, accordingly, are parallels with the present day possible?
Throughout their history, the Balkans have passed through different stages. At times, they were more or less fully integrated into great empires; at other times, they were autonomous and independent. Yet in those autonomous periods the peninsula was never politically unified—neither as a whole nor within its smaller regions. Classical Hellas, for example, with its highly developed civilization, was built on a model that presupposed fragmentation: the polis, or city-state. Greece consisted of hundreds of such little states, which found it hard to agree on common action even when circumstances made it imperative. That was the case during the Persian invasion: some cities joined the fight, others surrendered outright, still others waited to see what would happen, so only a few bore the struggle on their shoulders. The same applies fully to the other areas of the Balkans.
Herodotus offers a memorable formula in his brief sketch of ancient Thrace: the Thracians, he says, are divided into many tribes; they are one of the most numerous peoples in the world, second only to the Indians, yet they are weak because they are disunited. Herodotus’s observation holds true for every period of Balkan history: the Balkans are weak because they are divided. The principle projects directly into modern times, even though the actors differ in scale and size—still, it remains: the Balkans are divided, the Balkan peoples quarrel among themselves, and therefore they are weak and, as a rule, become the victims of others.
Because we have been talking about responses—some Balkan actors under Persia accepted Persian rule, others waited, still others resisted—can we discern any general pattern in that resistance? For example, did those who lived right next to the Persians submit first, or are there cases of desperate resistance even among the first victims of a Persian or Roman attack, while more distant political units behaved more cautiously? In short, how strongly did geo-strategic and geopolitical factors shape events?
Herodotus—our principal source for the Persian campaigns in the Balkans—shows precisely such variety. During Darius I’s Scythian expedition (late 6th century BC) some Thracian tribes in the Black-Sea hinterland—the Skirmiadai and Nipsaei—“voluntarily put their necks under the yoke,” while the Getae “foolishly resisted,” were defeated and forced to follow the Persian army beyond the Danube.
A similar range appears in Xerxes’ great invasion of 480 BC. As his host moved west along the north Aegean shore, most Thracian tribes on the southern coast submitted without a fight—except the Satrae, who, Herodotus says, have never obeyed anyone because they live high in the mountains and are warlike and fiercely free. He also notes that the Bisaltae refused submission: their king led them into the hills, and when his six sons—left nearer the coast—ignored his order and joined Xerxes, he blinded them all upon their safe return. Such episodes are scant, but they show that proximity to an invader did not guarantee capitulation, nor distance ensure safety; local geography, cohesion and confidence mattered greatly.
Under Rome the picture is even clearer and better documented. From the 2nd century BC onwards, Thracian tribes, Greek poleis, Illyrian and Macedonian communities all weighed their options. Some chose voluntary cooperation—later rewarded with autonomy, land or Roman friendship—whereas others mounted desperate, sometimes suicidal, resistance. Both paths are well attested: client rulers prospering under Roman protection, and rebels fighting to the last breath. In Thrace that cycle lasted nearly two centuries, ending only with the creation of the province of Thracia in AD 45–46.
That massacre, carried out in 88 BC during the First Mithridatic War, was indeed a dramatic event. Mithridates VI Eupator, king of Pontus—roughly ancient Cappadocia on what is now Turkey’s northern Black-Sea coast—had, in the late 2nd and early 1st centuries BC, greatly expanded his state. Foiled by Rome in attempts to enlarge south-westward in Asia Minor, where Rome already controlled its province of Asia (the former Attalid kingdom bequeathed in 133 BC), Mithridates turned north. There he forged a Black-Sea empire, adding the Bosporan Kingdom and the Crimea to his southern possessions; the Greek cities along both coasts and many neighbouring peoples—Getae, Scythians and others—became his dependants. The clash with Rome—most acute in the First Mithridatic War—was decided, initially at least, on the Balkans after Mithridates brought the conflict there. Yet the slaughter occurred earlier, in Asia Minor. Seizing on Rome’s temporary but grave crisis—the Social War in Italy (90–88 BC), a brutal civil conflict that paralysed Rome—Mithridates launched a lightning campaign, overrunning the entire peninsula and taking the Roman holdings. Besides the province of Asia, Rome had interests throughout Asia Minor. The victims were not only Roman citizens but also Italians—men, women and children—living mainly in the province’s western cities. Ancient sources put their number between 80 000 and 100 000. All were exterminated on Mithridates’ orders. The purpose was clear: by spilling Roman blood, he meant to lock those newly conquered Greek cities irreversibly to his side. If Rome won—as it eventually did—the cities would face terrible punishment, so Mithridates bound them to him by an act of irredeemable violence. Politically it was a shrewd, if monstrously cruel, calculation. The Mithridatic Wars—especially the first—rank among the era’s most dramatic struggles, many decisive episodes of which unfolded on the Balkans. During the First War vast Anatolian contingents invaded the peninsula. A 100 000-strong army under Mithridates’ son Ariarathes swept through Thrace and Macedonia (88–87 BC) but was crushed by Lucius Cornelius Sulla. In the peace of 85 BC Rome dictated terms that returned Mithridates to his original borders. Two further wars followed; Mithridates still sought dominion, perhaps global power, but with dwindling prospects and was ultimately defeated. Rome’s victory in the Mithridatic Wars marked its last great showdown with the Hellenistic East—after the earlier Macedonian and First Syrian Wars of the 2nd century BC that had first brought Rome into the Balkans and the eastern Mediterranean.
That is a wide cluster of problems, but first of all we must say that political decisions in the ancient world were taken in accordance with each state’s constitutional form, and those forms differed greatly. One thing are the Greek city‑states with their more or less democratic systems and their habit of taking collective decisions on war and peace in the popular assembly after public debate and voting—a procedure that could make it hard to reach timely and adequate resolutions. Quite another are the monarchies, which in Antiquity were by definition autocratic: the monarch alone possessed full will and full power to decide. That holds from tribal kingdoms with their chieftains to the large Hellenistic monarchies, where the king decided. How he decided is another matter. For the tribal states (Thracian and others) our information is scant, but in the great Hellenistic kingdoms the ruler, despite his absolute authority, normally had advisory bodies—the “royal council,” composed of members of the royal entourage with whom he regularly consulted on matters of government.The other side of the question is how people reacted when a decision actually had to be taken, and here, as I already noted, we see many variants of action or counter‑action. Local political actors faced stark choices whenever storm clouds gathered. We touched a moment ago on the Mithridatic Wars. When the First Mithridatic War broke out, the Thracian tribes, for instance, were confronted with a hard choice—Mithridates or Rome. The conflict was clear: they understood both powers and had to pick the lesser evil. Some chose one side, some the other. Some Thracians, apparently spurred by Mithridates’ agents, mounted several large‑scale incursions southward into Macedonia and Greece, striking Sulla’s rear and, together with Dardanians (Illyrians) and Scordisci (Celts), reached as far as Dodona in Epirus and the Delphic sanctuary in central Greece, which they plundered and burned in 86 BC. Other Thracians remained loyal to their existing alliance with Rome: King Sadalas of the Astae in south‑eastern Thrace, for example, sent Sulla a thousand Thracian horsemen who, according to a well‑preserved Boeotian inscription from the time of the great battles, distinguished themselves in the war. That pattern recurs later.A particularly intriguing case comes in 42 BC, when the Thracians once again faced a severe test. In the latter half of the 1st century BC three civil wars of huge importance to Rome were decided precisely in the Balkans: Pharsalus in 48 BC (Caesar versus Pompey), Philippi in 42 BC (the Liberators versus the Second Triumvirate) and Actium in 31 BC (Octavian versus Mark Antony). Each time vast Roman armies converged and fought, and each time they summoned local auxiliaries. Appian relates in detail how, on the eve of Philippi, two Thracian brothers—Rhascus and Rhascyporis, chiefs of the Sapaeans in the Rhodope area near the battlefield—split their forces. Each, with three thousand cavalry, joined a different side, one the Liberators, the other the Triumvirs. Both served conscientiously and rendered great services to their respective allies, clearly intending that whichever side proved victorious would then plead for the other’s pardon—which, in fact, happened. There are grounds to suspect these same Sapaeans deployed the same tactic later at Actium. Their reward was considerable: once Octavian became sole ruler, he destroyed the rival Astaean dynasty and handed its lands and capital Bizye to the Sapaeans. They thus became the last Thracian royal house, governing the region until AD 46. Under Roman aegis, virtually as client‑kings, the Sapaeans managed for about half a century to bring under their sway almost all Thrace south of the Danube—a scale of unity never previously achieved in ancient Thracian history.This was, however, a very special situation. It stemmed above all from the fact that Rome was in no hurry, nor had any desire, to impose direct rule on Thrace—a course that would have required garrisons and an administrative apparatus. Moreover, in the Late Hellenistic age the Late Roman Republic generally avoided turning eastern lands into provinces too quickly. Beyond the early provinces of Macedonia and Asia, Rome’s eastern policy relied on a network of subordinate, “client” kingdoms—so modern scholarship calls them—among which the united Thracian kingdom of the Sapaeans, in the late 1st century BC and early 1st century AD, is a prime example.
Let us return to the question of political decision-making and the role of information about the enemy. Some studies claim that Persia, Carthage, or Hannibal possessed excellent military intelligence and an established system for gathering information on the opponent—unlike the Roman Empire, which, it is said, achieved no great brilliance in that field. On the other hand, Rome proved the more durable formation. Can we detect a pattern here: weaker states strive to maintain better intelligence networks, which in the end do not save them because imperial might is decisive?
It is a mistake to think that the Romans failed to gather information or were poorly informed. It is equally wrong to exaggerate the role of spies and informers. The Persian Empire had a very developed intelligence network within its own borders as part of the state’s administrative system. Beyond those borders, too, it maintained agents, especially in regions where it held political interests—for instance, in Greece during the 5th and 4th centuries BC, where the Persians are thought to have attracted local “supporters” with generous bribes, thus sustaining a political status quo favourable to the empire. Yet this practice was not Persia’s alone. In the 4th century BC both the Persians and Philip of Macedon bribed the Greeks; in Athens mid-4th-century politicians accused one another of carrying Persian gold in one pocket and Macedonian gold in the other. Intelligence, however, was only one—and by no means the most essential—aspect of great-power expansion in Antiquity. Reconnaissance and information-gathering mattered just as much to small states: everyone tried to stay informed in order to decide sensibly.
The real political conflicts, though, were settled more often on the battlefield. In Antiquity the crucial factors were the forces you could field, the generals who could command them wisely and the measured, rational policy of states that had to act within their economic, social and military means. Roman policy is instructive here. In the Late Republic, when Rome expanded most dramatically by creating provinces, scholars have long noted a certain reluctance to seize quick, maximal conquests. The Romans won on the battlefield but did not hurry to annex the defeated territories. That tradition dated back to the conquest of Italy, which Rome politically dominated but did not absorb: Rome remained Rome, and more than a hundred other political communities in Italy became Roman allies. At one point debate even arose in Rome over extending the alliance system beyond Italy, yet the more conservative and aggressive parties prevailed, making external lands possessions of the Roman people and thus creating the provincial system with direct administration.
Rome did not rush to apply that direct control everywhere. In the mid-2nd century BC the provinces of Macedonia and Illyricum were founded in the Balkans; for more than 150 years they remained the only Roman provinces there, although in that period (late 2nd and 1st centuries BC) the entire peninsula came under Roman influence—exercised, however, from the province of Macedonia. Its governors, with two or more legions, could control the region without its formal annexation. Achaea (mainland Greece) became a province only under Augustus. Thrace became a province in AD 46, and a few decades earlier Moesia had been formed along the Danube, later split into Upper and Lower Moesia—developments again belonging to the Augustan era and after, when provincial status was gradually imposed on the remaining territories. Otherwise the Romans preferred another model and did not hurry to place lands under direct rule—that was their formula for mastering new regions.
As to your question about intelligence: the Romans, like everyone else, had their own networks—how effective they were is hard to say, because such secret activities leave few traces. Your second question, concerning embassies and delegations, is easier to track. Such missions were plentiful. When the Romans needed to negotiate or impose terms, they usually sent delegations—commonly three, five or ten senators—who, often apart from the generals, took the real decisions about treaties, conditions and procedures. Those decisions were later ratified by the Senate, and, when necessary, the popular assembly. The reverse was also true: cities and rulers—large and small, including Thracian tribes—rushed to send embassies to Rome. We know of several such missions by Thracian tribes and kings seeking alliance. One early-2nd-century-BC case involves three tribes (their names poorly preserved) that sent a joint delegation on the eve of the Third Macedonian War to request Roman protection; they were lavishly received, richly rewarded and granted alliance.
A fine example is King Cotys of Thrace, an ally of the last Macedonian king, Perseus, in that war. Cotys fought Rome vigorously, but after Rome’s victory at Pydna his son Bithys was taken prisoner to Italy. Cotys sent envoys to plead for his son’s release; Rome agreed, returned the captives and even refused the ransom Cotys had offered—hoping, no doubt, to gain another ally. Whether that alliance endured we cannot tell. Other reports say the same Cotys, using his new friendship, tried through agents in Rome to bribe senators to secure decisions favourable to him and harmful to Abdera, the great Greek city on the Aegean—probably over disputed lands. We do not know whose “agency” succeeded, but this was how some operated: you sent agents with ample funds to persuade the Romans—who ruled the world—to take decisions in your favour.
How does foreign “agent activity” motivate one or another political decision? The oldest method is largely clear—it still works today. Yet are there other mechanisms that help exert influence to some degree? Does religion, for instance, play a part in this process, given that in later times religion can be a very important and decisive factor? Is there any element besides sheer financial inducement that can be used to sway a political decision one way or another?
No—religion in that era was not such a factor, because there were no great, unified, universal religions. With few exceptions, the faiths of the ancient world were polytheistic; there were hundreds, even thousands of gods, and everyone believed in whatever deities they wished. In that sense religion was not the basis for particular political actions or reactions. Something else must be kept in mind: it is the manner of acting that counts. “Agent activity” was not the decisive method. The decisive methods were more direct and more brutal—raw force or open bribery. Relations were two-sided.
In the 2nd–1st centuries BC, for example, we observe a string of conflicts in the Balkans. Focusing on Thrace, those conflicts pitted Thracian tribes and kings against the Romans, who had established a permanent presence in the province of Macedonia, whence they tried to manage all other territories. We see a long series of open, hostile military actions of various kinds; the most typical were Thracian raids into the Roman province or against Greek cities outside it but under Roman protection. Such predatory raids were made not only by Thracians but also by Celts and Illyrians, who likewise invaded and plundered. At that time the Balkans lay along the frontier between Roman territory and the barbarian tribes beyond it. The barbarians raided and pillaged; the Romans responded with military blows—preventive or punitive—to “teach the raiders a lesson,” which of course never fully worked. Rome never succeeded in stopping such incursions; they went on for centuries. Hence, in a later phase, the Romans adopted a far more sensible policy: intervening from a distance and trying to unite the fragmented, independent petty powers of Thrace into a larger, more manageable political unit—the client Thracian kingdom of later times—through which they to some extent stabilised the situation.
A striking, early example in this long chain of events took place decades before the province of Macedonia was created: probably the first time Roman troops entered Thracian territory, during the First Syrian War. Rome clashed with the Seleucid king Antiochus III the Great, who, urged on by Hannibal (then a fugitive from Rome), attempted to seize part of the Balkans. The war began in the Balkans, then shifted to Asia Minor after Antiochus, alarmed, withdrew. A large Roman army followed him through Thrace to Asia Minor and, at the great battle of 190 BC, destroyed his forces. Two years later, in 188 BC, that army—commanded by Gnaeus Manlius Vulso—was marching home, crossing the Hellespont back into Thrace, when it was ambushed near Cypsela by four local Thracian tribes, the most prominent being the Astae and the Ceni. They surprised the Romans in a defile late at night and looted the entire baggage train laden with spoils from Asia Minor. Worse, when the Roman troops next day crossed the Hebrus (Maritsa) to the opposite bank, other plunder-hungry Thracians were waiting; seeing no baggage, they turned away in disappointment. Thus, on one side we have raids and counter-raids; on the other, the various alliances by which local tribes and rulers sought Roman help and protection, usually to settle their own problems.
Cicero gives a curious example in one of his speeches: the Thracian king Cotys bribed the governor of Macedonia, Piso, with 300 talents—about seven and a half tonnes of silver—to kill his political rival, the Bessian leader Rabocentus. Rabocentus had come to Rome heading a delegation that offered military assistance in exchange for alliance. His head was cut off and sent to his enemy King Cotys, while the Roman kept the bribe. Such things happened.
Because the Balkans today once again lie at a crossroads—especially regarding recent migration flows—the question arises about ancient migration waves. Can we differentiate between movements that merely passed through and those recorded as barbarian invasions? Were there attempts to contain such invasions not only by force but, say, by paying allied rulers?
We have one well-documented large-scale incursion for which sources are rich: the Celtic invasion of the 3rd century BC. Other invasions exist, but often we cannot tell whether they were migrations or aggression; opinions vary. The Scythian invasion of the 4th century BC—when a group led by King Ateas crossed south of the Danube and, in the Hellenistic age, again settled permanently in Dobruja—has been viewed either as Scythian aggression aimed at new peripheral lands or, conversely, as a westward flight driven by Sarmatian pressure. When Ateas first crossed the Danube, he was repelled by Philip II, who killed him in a great battle and drove the Scythians back.
The Celtic invasion of the Balkan Peninsula in the 3rd century BC is better documented, although the wider Celtic migration spanned centuries. Beginning in mid-1st-millennium movements from today’s France and neighbouring regions north of the Alps through southern Germany to the Middle Danube and Pannonia, and from there and northern Italy, the Celts moved into the Balkans at the start of the 3rd century and some even crossed into Asia Minor. The “great” Celtic invasion, from the Balkan perspective, unfolds in the early 270s BC. How much the Celts were checked—or needed checking—earlier is unclear; evidence is sparse, partly archaeological and partly in stray textual references. Some Celts appeared before Alexander in 335 BC during his Danube campaign; Cassander fought Celts in “Haemus” late in the 4th century BC, suggesting an earlier southward drift.
Many scholars link the great invasion to the collapse of the most powerful Balkan state, Lysimachus’s kingdom, which in the 280s controlled the coasts of Thrace and Macedonia, Thessaly and hegemony over many Greeks. Lysimachus fell at Corupedium in 281 BC, and his conqueror Seleucus—last of Alexander’s successors—was murdered months later while attempting to cross into Europe and seize Lysimachus’s lands. In the resulting vacuum the Celts poured in, plundering first the Balkans and then Asia Minor for several years. They settled in many places and later played major roles. The Scordisci established themselves in today’s Serbia and would repeatedly raid south into Macedonia, clashing with Rome’s eastern policy. In Thrace a Celtic kingdom lasted about sixty years before rising Thracian forces destroyed it at the end of the 3rd century BC. In central Anatolia three Celtic tribes created the kingdom the Greeks called Galatia.
Yes, this was a mass migration from Western Europe that reached even Asia Minor. The Celts conquered mainly by arms, relying on numbers and martial skill. Their movement was episodic: they reached areas, stayed long, and when conditions or surplus population prompted, moved on to seize new lands. How were they received? Locals resisted as best they could, but after Lysimachus’s kingdom vanished no single power could resist the numerous Celtic bands. Brennus’s army, said to number one hundred thousand, marched south to plunder Delphi, and only a violent storm of hail and lightning drove them back at the critical moment.
Parallels and analogies are always possible. In Antiquity the Balkans as a whole experienced one of their most flourishing periods when they were integrated into the Roman Empire. The archaeological record proves it: that era left everywhere the most impressive monuments of enduring prosperity—Roman towns, countryside villas and, above all, cities with their marble theatres, stadiums, baths and other public buildings. It was a time of splendour and ostentatious luxury that speaks of considerable wealth, as well as stability and security. The empire supplied that security within its borders and created the conditions for several centuries of progressive economic development and accumulation, which, of course, had social consequences.
I do not mean that everyone prospered and was wealthy. Social stratification remained—there were slaves, the poor and dependent populations—but everywhere there emerged a numerous, thriving, and locally based elite, aided by significant population movement within the empire. Thracians, especially as soldiers, spread throughout the empire; many people from Asia Minor, Italy and elsewhere settled in Thrace, yet the bulk of the population there remained native Thracians. We have ample evidence for the position of the Thracian upper class—largely the old aristocracy, which adapted easily and which the Romans co-opted and relied upon. That is sensible governance: when someone conquers, the aim is not to wipe everyone out or enslave them, but to lean on the existing elites. Philip did likewise when he conquered the Balkans, leaving the Odrysian aristocracy in place. True, he founded several Macedonian military colonies in inner Thrace, but he mainly used the local aristocracy—and we see Thracian nobles in Alexander’s army, some appointed as governors in newly conquered territories. Sitalces, for instance, commanded a large Thracian contingent and was left by Alexander as satrap in Asia (he was later executed for misrule, yet the point is the preserved role of local elites under Macedonian power).
How do things look in our own time, and what prospects lie ahead? If we start from the premise that the Balkans were relatively strong and prosperous whenever they possessed a measure of unity—and that when divided, as was more common in Antiquity, they fared poorly—then EU prospects appear favourable for the Balkans. The Union removes the most drastic contradictions among Balkan states. Yet I am not optimistic that the Balkans will be integrated into the EU easily or quickly. Considering the Western Balkans, with the problems accumulated in recent decades, and the growing hesitations within the EU itself about further enlargement, I doubt we will soon see those less pacified and less prosperous countries integrated as members. None of us, in fact, knows what will happen to the EU even within its present boundaries: talk has revived of a “two-speed” Europe, and the British decision to leave encourages gloomy predictions of total dissolution—something that is not impossible. From the perspective of the Balkans and of Bulgarian interests, however, integration is clearly the positive path for future development.