In 498, Anastasius I reformed bronze coinage, striking large denominations like the 40‑nummi follis marked “M.” Bakers could count change; soldiers knew their pay. The bright new bronzes paired with the gold solidus to make a legible, dependable currency system [15][17].
What Happened
By the late fifth century, a gold coin—the solidus—anchored imperial finance, but small transactions still felt like guesswork. Anastasius I, a meticulous administrator, attacked the problem in 498 by recasting bronze. He ordered large-module coins with clear marks of value: M for 40 nummi, K for 20, I for 10, E for 5. The reform turned clinking confusion into arithmetic you could do at a market stall [15][17].
In the mint at Constantinople, dies cut crisp letters; bronze planchets took the strike with a satisfying ring. The new folles moved quickly across the empire: through the arcades of Antioch, on the piers at Alexandria, and into the pay chests of frontier forts near Thessaloniki. The big M on the 40‑nummi piece was as legible as a chalk mark on a baker’s board. Prices could be posted. Arguments shrank [15].
The gold solidus kept doing the heavy lifting for taxes and salaries, its unblinking weight trusted from Carthage to Ravenna. But now the bronze side of the system spoke clearly to everyday life. A soldier’s stipend might be reckoned in gold and paid out across ranks in bronze; a ferry across the Golden Horn could charge an amount that matched an actual coin rather than a haggled handful. Commerce found a rhythm in the creak of scales and the click of large bronzes stacking.
Clarity had military and administrative consequences. Reconquest would demand provisioning; every sack of grain, each cart of spearheads, had to be priced and paid. When Belisarius later assembled his fleets, the state’s ability to buy in North Africa or Sicily depended on coin that locals accepted and understood. Anastasius’s reform taught the language of those transactions [10][15][17].
In archives and accounts, numbers began to match coins more reliably. That helped when crisis hit—after riots, during plague, or amid the Gothic War. The machine of empire needed both a golden engine and a bronze gearbox. Anastasius supplied the latter, and the gears meshed with a cleaner hum.
Why This Matters
Anastasius’s reform reduced transaction costs across the empire. Large, clearly denominated bronze coins stabilized small purchases and wages, making provisioning and payroll faster and less fraudulent. That mattered for military campaigns and for urban food supply—two pillars of imperial stability [15][17].
The event embodies “Money as Military Muscle.” With legible coin, the state could convert tax revenues into supplies and loyalty more efficiently. The reform paired with the solidus’s reliability to create a two-tier system that turned imperial ambition into practical logistics, from shipyards on the Golden Horn to depots at Carthage [14][15].
This monetary clarity connected forward to Justinian’s wars and to recovery after the Nika riots. When Hagia Sophia rose, work crews and suppliers needed steady payment; bronze did the daily work, gold set the frame. Later, during the plague, coin still changed hands—to hire gravediggers, pay garrisons, and keep courts open—showing institutional resilience [3][11].
Numismatists trace the reform through surviving folles, their M’s still bold after 1,500 years. The coins aren’t just artifacts; they are proof of a policy that let the empire count, feed, and fight [15][17].
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