Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th-9th centuries AD) 2503596843, 9782503596846

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Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology

Archaeo­logy of the Mediterranean World VOLUME 2

General Editors Lin Foxhall, University of Liverpool Peter van Dommelen, Brown University

Editorial Board Laurel Bestock, Brown University Andrea De Giorgi, Florida State University Francesca Dell’Acqua, Università degli Studi di Salerno Lieve Donnellan, University of Melbourne Claudia Glatz, University of Glasgow Paul S. Johnson, University of Nottingham †Joan Sanmartí Grego, Universitat de Barcelona Luca Zavagno, Bilkent Üniversitesi

Previously published volumes in this series are listed at the back of the book.

Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries)

Edited by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia

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British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

© 2022, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. ISBN: 978-­2-­503-­59684-­6 e-­ISBN: 978-­2-­503-­59685-­3 DOI: 10.1484/M.AMW-­EB.5.126097 Printed in the EU on acid-free paper. D/2022/0095/169

Table of Contents List of Illustrations

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Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia 1. Shifting Paradigms in a Shifting Background: An Introduction

13

Cities Konstantinos T. Raptis 2. Thessaloniki in Transition (Sixth to Ninth Centuries): The Transformation of a Late Antique Imperial Metropolis into a Medi­eval Urban Centre

23

Lucrezia Spera 3. Rome — The Legacy of the Gothic War in the Urban Defensive Systems

43

Enrico Cirelli 4. Ravenna, the Last Capital of the Western Roman Empire

65

Landscapes Basema Hamarneh 5. The Justinian Renaissance in the East: Reality or Illusion?

81

Carmelo Pappalardo 6. Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a ( Jordan) along the Limes Arabicus: Transformation and Resilience of a Cultural Landscape between the Byzantine and Early Islamic Period

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Priscilla Ralli 7. Settled Landscapes in the Late Antique Peloponnese: A Review for a Topo­graphical Reassessment

107

Ivan Gargano 8. Aquae in the De Aedificiis: Territorial and Administrative Issues in Dacia Ripensis during the Sixth Century

123

Paul Arthur 9. From Twilight to a New Dawn: Byzantine Southern Italy

131

Giuseppe Cacciaguerra and Angelo Castrorao Barba 10. The Sicilian Countryside during the Byzantine Period: Archaeo­logical Perspectives on Settlement Patterns

141

Gabriele Castiglia and Philippe Pergola 11. Shaping a Christian Empire: Early Christianity in the Horn of Africa from Alexandria to Byzantium

165

Material Culture Flavia Marani 12. The Circulation of Coinage in Two Byzantine Cities: Rome and Naples in Comparison

185

María de los Ángeles Utrero Agudo 13. Movable Churches, or How Byzantium Influenced Hispania: An Archaeo­logical Reflection on a Current Debate

209

Joanita Vroom 14. Material Encounters in a Byzantine Setting: Sixth/Seventh to Tenth Centuries ad)

221

List of Illustrations 2. Thessaloniki in Transition (Sixth to Ninth Centuries) — Konstantinos T. Raptis Figure 2.1. Thessaloniki. The city and its monuments.

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Figure 2.2. Thessaloniki. Eastern Walls. 

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Figure 2.3. Thessaloniki. Rotunda. View from south.

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Figure 2.4. Thessaloniki. Acheiropoietos basilica. View from north-­east.

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Figure 2.5. Thessaloniki. Acheiropoietos basilica. Interior view from the narthex to the east.

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Figure 2.6. Thessaloniki. The decumanus maximus, with sixth-­century repairs.

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Figure 2.7. Thessaloniki. Latomos monastery. View of the katholikon from the north-­east.

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Figure 2.8. Thessaloniki. Latomos monastery. The Theophany mosaic on the semidome of the apse. 27 Figure 2.9. Thessaloniki. The decumanus maximus. Masonry collapsed on the marble paved street.

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Figure 2.10. Thessaloniki. Saint Demetrius basilica. View from south-­west.

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Figure 2.11. Thessaloniki. Saint Demetrius basilica. Interior view from the narthex towards the east. 31 Figure 2.12. Thessaloniki. Saint Demetrius basilica. Mosaic decoration: Saint Demetrius with the founders of the basilica.

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Figure 2.13. Thessaloniki. Acheiropoietos. Mosaic decoration on an intrados of the south gallery arched colonnade.

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Figure 2.14. Thessaloniki. Hagia Sophia cathedral. View from south-­west.

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Figure 2.15. Thessaloniki. Hagia Sophia cathedral. The iconoclastic mosaic crosses on the barrel vault of the sanctuary.

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Figure 2.16. Thessaloniki. Rotunda. Interior view towards the apse.

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Figure 2.17. Thessaloniki. Rotunda. The wall painting of the Ascension on the semidome of the apse. 36 Figure 2.18. Thessaloniki. Hagia Sophia cathedral. Mosaic decoration: enthroned Virgin with Child on the semidome of the apse.

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Figure 2.19. Thessaloniki. Hagia Sophia cathedral. Mosaic decoration: the Ascension of Christ on the dome.

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Figure 2.20. Thessaloniki. Saint Demetrius basilica. Mosaic decoration: the Virgin with Saint Theodore.

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3. Rome — The Legacy of the Gothic War in the Urban Defensive Systems — Lucrezia Spera Figure 3.1. Porta Pinciana: keystone on exterior of gateway.

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Figure 3.2. Porta Latina: keystone on interior of gateway.

44

Figure 3.3. Porta Appia: keystone on interior of gateway.

44

Figure 3.4. ‘Akaba: capital with a representation of St Longinus.

48

Figure 3.5. Porta Maggiore: Hypothesis of location of the church of St Theodore during the tenth century.

49

Figure 3.6. Porta Maggiore: internal side. Engraving of Cipriani – c. 1800.

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Figure 3.7. Terra Sigillata Plate from the excavation in the area near Porta Maggiore.

52

4. Ravenna, the Last Capital of the Western Roman Empire — Enrico Cirelli Figure 4.1. Roman Ravenna, second to the fourth centuries ad.

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Figure 4.2. A reconstruction of Roman Ravenna.

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Figure 4.3. Ravenna in the fifth century.

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Figure 4.4. The line of the city walls of Ravenna.

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Figure 4.5. Imperial Palace complex of Ravenna Moneta Aurea and the Via Porticata connecting the Imperial to the Bishop’s Palace.

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Figure 4.6. Bishop’s Palace and the new Cathedral.

69

Figure 4.7. African Red Slip dish found at Classe.

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Figure 4.8. Via D’A zeglio Domus and the ‘Four Seasons mosaic Panel’, a Late Antique residence close to the ancient Forum.

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Figure 4.9. Sunken-­house built inside one of the warehouses after ad 640.

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Figure 4.10. Distribution and thematic map of early medi­eval Ravenna.

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5. The Justinian Renaissance in the East — Basema Hamarneh Figure 5.1. Map of the area of South Levant.

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Figure 5.2. Follis of Justinian struck in Constantinople in the sixteenth regnal year.

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Figure 5.3. Main episcopal sees in Arabia and Palaestina Tertia.

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Figure 5.4. Burial epitaph of Stefanos.

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Figure 5.5. Burial epitaph of Nonna.

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Figure 5.6. Burial epitaph.

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list of illust r ati o n s

6. Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a (Jordan) along the Limes Arabicus — Carmelo Pappalardo Figure 6.1. Map showing the area of interest of this article.

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Figure 6.2. Aerial view of the Castrum and the northern urban quarter with the Roman reservoir at the lower right corner.

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Figure 6.3. Iconophobic intervention on a human figure in the mosaic floor of St Stephen’s church. 99 Figure 6.4. The tower, the two-­storey building, and the northern quarry.

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Figure 6.5. Aerial view of Umm al-­R asas with farming activities of various periods visible to the north, towards the tower area.

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Figure 6.6. The wine press area inside the St Paul’s complex.

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Figure 6.7. The housing compound facing the northern gate of the Castrum.

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7. Settled Landscapes in the Late Antique Peloponnese — Priscilla Ralli Figure 7.1. The bishoprics in Peloponnnese (fourth–seventh centuries) according to the documentary sources.

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Figure 7.2. The Peloponnesian Late Antique settled landscape: some case-­studies to illustrate the region.

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Table 7.1. Late antique Peloponnesian settlements from contemporary documentary sources.

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8. Aquae in the De Aedificiis — Ivan Gargano Figure 8.1. The Illyricum in Late Antiquity.

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Figure 8.2. Aquae’s territory.

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10. The Sicilian Countryside during the Byzantine Period — Giuseppe Cacciaguerra and Angelo Castrorao Barba Figure 10.1. Archaeo­logical survey areas mentioned in the text; Roman villas with Byzantine occupation mentioned in the text.

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Figure 10.2. The Sicilian Roman villas in the Byzantine period.

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Figure 10.3. The settlement of Philosophiana; the settlement of Manomozza — San Foca.

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Figure 10.4. Map of Byzantine fortifications in Sicily.

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Figure 10.5. The hilltop plateau of Monte Kassar (Castronovo di Sicilia, Palermo) and the Lidar-­based DTM.

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Figure 10.6. Pantalica. Early medi­eval settle­ment.

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Figure 10.7. Syracuse. Euryalus Castle, Byzantine phase.

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Figure 10.8. The type-­A rupestrian settlement of Cava Belluzza (Melilli).

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11. Shaping a Christian Empire — Gabriele Castiglia and Philippe Pergola Figure 11.1. The main sites mentioned in the text.

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Figure 11.2. The great Christian Basilica in Matara.

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Figure 11.3. The location of the three churches of Adulis in the topo­graphy of the town.

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Figure 11.4. The eastern church of Adulis; the eastern church of Adulis; radiocarbon table for the eastern church.

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Figure 11.5. Photogrammetry of the ‘British’ church.

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Figure 11.6. General plan of the ‘British’ church; the main building phases of the ‘British’ church.

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Figure 11.7. Alabaster slab with a Q in Late Sabaic, used as a production mark; evolution of the Q in Himyar.

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Figure 11.8. Selection of small finds and pottery from the layer topping the fons baptismalis of the ‘British’ church.

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Figure 11.9. ‘British’ church (Adulis). Location of the chapel added in the second phase of the church; the chapel during the excavation; the chapel at the end of the excavation.

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Figure 11.10. The transition from ‘paganism’ to Christianity in the Aksumite coins.

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Figure 11.11. The Christian inscription of Ezana.

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Figure 11.12. The area of Adulis, from Cosma Insdicopleustes Χριστιανικὴ τοπογραϕία; general view of Adulis; the site of Gabazan; the site of Samidi.

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12. The Circulation of Coinage in Two Byzantine Cities — Flavia Marani Figure 12.1. Rome. Localities of coin finds from strati­graphic contexts.

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Figure 12.2. Map of the findings of minimi of the fifth–sixth centuries and Byzantine bronze coins between the sixth–early seventh centuries in the interior of southern Latium.

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Figure 12.3. Naples in late Roman to early Medi­eval times; harbour area in the south.

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Figure 12.4. Naples harbour area: chrono­logical distribution of coins.

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Figure 12.5. Half follis of Constantine IV (668–685) and silver coin of Constantine V (741–775).

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Figure 12.6. Chrono­logical distribution of recoveries (single and multiple finds) of Byzantine bronze and silver coins, inclusive of all nominals, in the Duchy of Rome.

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list of illustr ati o n s

13. Movable Churches, or How Byzantium Influenced Hispania — María de los Ángeles Utrero Agudo Figure 13.1. Map with the main sites mentioned in the text.

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14. Material Encounters in a Byzantine Setting — Joanita Vroom Figure 14.1. Distribution of Glazed White Ware I in the Mediterranean.

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Figure 14.2. Distribution of Glazed Wares: map of Glazed White Ware I and II on Cyprus.

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Figure 14.3. Distribution of main types of ‘globular amphorae’ and their production zones.

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Figure 14.4. Evolution of Riley’s ‘LRA 13’ types (after Riley 1979 and Pieri 2005).

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Figure 14.5. LRA 2/13 production and distribution in the Aegean.

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Figure 14.6. LRA 2/13 production and distribution on Cyprus.

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Figure 14.7. LRA 2/13 production and distribution on Crete.

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Figure 14.8. LRA 2/13 and the production and chronology of other amphorae in North Africa.

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Figure 14.9a. LRA 2/13 production and distribution in Italy, excluding Sicily.

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Figure 14.9b. LRA 2/13 production and distribution on Sicily and Malta.

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Figure 14.10. Production zones of LRA 2/13 and their imitations in the Mediterranean.

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Figure 14.11. Finds of LRA 2/13 connected to the outbound voyage of Saint Willibald of Wessex (c. 700–787) in the Mediterranean.

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Table 14.1. Riley’s ‘Late Roman Amphora 13 (LRA 13)’ from Benghazi, Libya, in a new division.

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Table 14.2. A selection of the heterogeneous group of ‘LRA 2/13’ and ‘LRA 2/13 et similis’ showing amphorae with different shapes and fabrics.

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11

Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia

1. Shifting Paradigms in a Shifting Background An Introduction The idea for this book was first conceived during the planning of a one-­day conference, organized by the two editors of this volume. Originally entitled Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeo­logy from Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), the conference was to be held in Rome in March 2020 at the Escuela Española de Historia y Arqueo­logía in Rome. Unfortunately, the conference never took place because of the dramatic rise and spread of the COVID-­19 pandemic. Nevertheless, we have decided to convert the conference into a book, both to justify the great efforts made by the invited speakers and to present a series of new and ongoing research projects in different areas of Byzantine history. For making this volume possible, we wish to extend our deepest thanks to Rosie Bonté at Brepols and the editorial board of the new series, Archaeo­logy of the Mediterranean World. But why this book? The editors of this volume are in charge of two ongoing projects in two key areas of the Byzantine world, one in Sicily (Castrorao Barba and others 2021) and the other in the Horn of Africa (Castiglia and others 2021), specifically in present day Eritrea. As our projects grew, we felt the need to figure out their place within the larger context of Late Antique and early medi­eval society, taking advantage of the fact that we could have at our disposal brand new and unreleased data. We wanted to compare these data with other areas and key contexts, and so the idea of organizing the conference (and publishing this book) was born. A first key issue that we would like to raise is the use of the term ‘Byzantine’; given the fact that the papers collected in this book embrace a very wide and multifaceted geo­graphical (and cultural) context, we are fully aware of the fact that the concept of ‘Byzantine’ does not apply in the same way in every area discussed. For example, Byzantine Thessaloniki has different connotations from Byzantine Spania.

Nevertheless, we believe that the term ‘Byzantine’ frames well the geo­graphical, political, and cultural setting that influenced the different areas in the Mediterranean and beyond. As an example, the kingdom of Aksum, in the Horn of Africa, was never fully under the control of Byzantium, but the direct contacts and influences it had with the Eastern Empire, mostly under Justinian, played a crucial role in shaping the evolution of Aksum as a leading force in the formation of an African Christianity (see Castiglia and Pergola, this volume). Thus the authors involved in this volume will use the term ‘Byzantine’ with a wide perspective, well aware of the different peculiarities and traits it had in the specific geo­graphic areas under debate, and with no pretension to extend it as a unifying model and even less as an all-­encompassing and comprehensive overview of every single macro and micro region under Byzantine rule. It is in fact well known that during the last decade interest in Byzantine archaeo­logy has increased in various contexts, with a major focus on regional studies of the eastern Mediterranean, for example Anatolia (Niewohner 2017; Kontogiannis and Uyar 2021), Cyprus (Zavagno 2017), Naxos in the Aegean (Crow and Hill 2018) or the Levant (Avni 2014; Eger 2014). Within the field of Byzantine studies, archaeo­logical and material culture perspectives are increasingly valued (Crow 2008), and the role of archaeo­logical data has become more and more prominent in historical studies (Böhlendorf-­Arslan and Schick 2021; Consentino 2021). Material culture and trade (Mango 2009; Vroom 2014) is another aspect of Byzantine archaeo­logy that is continuously providing fresh data from new discoveries, e.g., the Yenikapı Byzantine shipwrecks in Istanbul (Kocabaş 2008) or the recent Ma‘agan Mikhael B shipwreck in Israel dated to the mid-­seventh to mid-­eighth centuries (Creisher and others 2019).

Angelo Castrorao Barba ([email protected]) Institute of Archaeo­logy and Ethno­logy, Polish Academy of Sciences (IAE-­PAS) Gabriele Castiglia ([email protected]; [email protected]) Pontificio Instituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana (PIAC) Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 13–19 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130669

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With these premises, then, the aim of this book is to collect new advances and perspectives from the field of ‘Byzantine’ archaeo­logy over the longue durée, from the Mediterranean basin and beyond, by providing an updated overview of many different geo­graphical contexts ( Jordan, Greece, the Danube region, the Italian peninsula, Sicily, Spain, and the Horn of Africa). One of the innovative keys of this book is the fact that it compares well known areas and contexts (such as Thessaloniki or Ravenna) with other areas that in the tradition of Byzantine studies have always been somehow marginal, like Spain, Aksum, or others that until a few decades ago were a sort of periphery to post-­classical archaeo­logy, but today are experiencing a new flourish of interest characterized by many projects on the Byzantine period such as Sicily or Southern Italy. Moreover, the book presents what is in many cases brand-­new archaeo­logical data, that will contribute to enrich the debate, sided also by new approaches to some key contexts, like the process of Christianization of the defensive system of Rome, the provocative approaches to architecture in the Iberian Peninsula, or the ‘Justinianic Renaissance’ in the Near East, just to mention a few. Using original and new data coming from surveys, excavations, material culture, and written sources, this volume addresses many different questions. What was the impact of the reconquest of Justinian? How did the territory change across the Byzantine Empire? What are the archaeo­logical indicators of the urban and rural transformations that occurred in this historical background? Did architecture represent a marker of socioeconomic and cultural change in the cradle of a ‘Byzantine space’? What issues of connectivity developed across the Byzantine and Islamic worlds? The volume is organized in three sections, beginning with cities, passing through landscapes and, in the end, focusing on material culture. Since we could not hope to cover all the contexts, we preferred to concentrate our attention on those sites where significant new research is in progress. Konstantinos T. Raptis’s essay on Thessaloniki offers a brilliant perspective on the longue durée of the imperial city, focusing on its evolutions from Late Antiquity until the sack by the Saracens in 904 ad. It is well known that the city gained its pivotal role with the tetrarch Galerius, who, after 308 ad, transferred his official court here from Serdica. One of the most interesting points offered by Raptis is the fact that Thessaloniki was not characterized, in either its topo­graphy or its monuments, by what we might call a ‘Justinianic mark’, since the extensive building programmes promoted by Anastasius I (and also by Justin I) left

basically ‘nothing […] to be done’ (see Raptis, this volume). Indeed, the erection of the great Christian monuments represented a turning point in the urban assets from the fifth century onwards, reshaping the topo­graphy of the town. Thessaloniki, in these phases, changed its internal balance, with its core no longer being the ancient forum, but the south-­ eastern area, around the imperial palace and the Rotunda (already built by Galerius), and the monumental decumanus maximus, which crossed the whole southern part of the city. The only activities attributable to Justinian are those relevant to the restoration of the decumanus itself and the building of the small funerary church of Hosios David, at the northernmost edge of the town. Another key point offered by Raptis deals with the long transition period from the seventh to the ninth centuries. Despite the incursions of the Slavs and the Avars in the Illyricum and the intense seismic activities that affected the area, it is possible to document a general trend of continuity in the urban framework, even though significant and irreversible metamorphoses irremediably changed the profile of the city. Notwithstanding the repairs to the fortifications and in parts of the decumanus, we can see from the seventh century onwards a reconfiguration of most of the former spaces and structures. This is the case of both the decumanus and the agorà, which were partially abandoned and then partially reoccupied with private and artisanal facilities, thus conforming to a trend found in many towns of the Orbis in these centuries. Thessaloniki, then, went through a contraction of its density, with most of the population concentrated in its southern area. Moreover, in this period — mostly after the earthquakes of the 620s — many of the churches were restored as well, even though they probably never went back to their original magnificence, with the exception of the Saint Demetrius pilgrimage basilica, the only one erected ex novo in the seventh century. To sum up, then, Thessaloniki, despite going through many evolutions and difficulties, culminating in the Saracen raids in the early tenth century, proved its resilience, as Raptis says, with a ‘continuous urban life’. Lucrezia Spera’s paper offers an interesting and original view of sixth-­century Rome by focusing on the urban defensive system at the time of the Gothic War. During the conflict, in fact, the Aurelian Walls saw significant interventions, with a peculiar innovation represented by the accentuation of Christian elements, ‘evoking in various forms the presence of the Saints’ (see Spera, this volume). This process was marked both by the frequent renaming of the city gates (such as the Porta Tiburtina, which became

1. shi f t i ng parad i gms i n a shi f t i ng b ackground

Porta San Lorenzo, or Porta Ostiense, renamed as Porta San Paolo), and by the building of churches and oratories in strict relation to the gates and the walls themselves. Spera also highlights a major connection with cults of military saints coming from the eastern bounds of the Empire. One of the best examples is the case of Saint Theodore, the martyred soldier from Amasea, whose presence had significant topo­graphic repercussions, not only in Rome (for example in the Church of Cosmas and Damianus in the Roman Forum or in the cult building by the Palatine hill), but also in Ravenna and Constantinople. The author, moreover, suggests that ‘the foundation of the San Teodoro church near Porta Prenestina-­Labicana is to be associated with the period of church building that unfolded when Rome was under Byzantine control’ (Spera, this volume). This leads to one of the most important conclusions of the paper: the topo­graphic distribution of the sixth-­century Christian buildings near the Aurelian Walls may have been directly related to the presence of Byzantine troops (like the Theodosiaci). Enrico Cirelli’s work presents an updated overview of Ravenna in the long term, summing up many years of research on this key city of Late Antique Italy. Cirelli offers different thematic approaches by analyzing the evolution of the urban defensive system (which was widely enlarged under the emperor Honorius when the capital was transferred from Milan to Ravenna in 402 ad), places of power (both secular and religious), the economy, private housing, changing patterns in building materials, and the ‘landscapes’ of the dead. It is well known that the heyday of Ravenna began with its ‘promotion’ to capital status, with numerous churches and places of imperial authority, such as the palace and the mint, appearing in the urban fabric. This zenith continued until at least the eighth century, which has been understood to mark the beginning of the city’s decline. Nevertheless, Cirelli stresses how even in the eighth century it is possible to discern the presence of different settlement units, all ‘organized around the main ecclesiastical buildings, close to the great monuments of the Imperial Palace and the Episcopal area, or along the river that ran through the inhabited area’ (Cirelli, this volume). This reveals on the one hand how Ravenna — perhaps also because of its crucial position as trade centre — experienced regression and crisis later than other towns in the West and, on the other hand, the role played by these centres of power. Churches and the imperial palace acted as crucial cores that shaped new urban topo­graphies, guaranteeing a sort of ‘selective maintenance’ (as recently defined in Dey 2014), meaning the ability of the central powers to guarantee

the continuity and monumentality only of selected buildings and areas in post-­classical towns. Basema Hamarneh provides a very useful and important reconsideration of the sixth century in the Levant. Using both written sources and archaeo­logical data, the author focuses mostly on the sixth-­century plague and the effects that it had on the social and economic fabric of the Byzantine Empire. The interpretation given by Byzantine historians regarding the outbreak of Yersinia pestis was inevitably related, in most cases, to divine punishment and anger. It is evident that these same authors somehow emphasized the impact of the plague on the population. But as Hamarneh rightly points out, since we lack exact demo­graphic data, current interdisciplinary projects are still debating the extent of the impact of the Justinianic plague (Eisenberg and Mordechai 2019; Mordechai and Eisenberg 2019). Another breaking point of the sixth century was the significant climatic downturn that had lasting effects on agriculture and, more generally, on daily life. Turning attention to the archaeo­logical data, one of the richest sources of information lies in the epi­graphic record; while Hamarneh underlines that the cause of death was almost always omitted from inscriptions, there are some recurring formulas that may quite reasonably be attributed to the effects of the plague, as well as some changes in standard burial practices. Nevertheless, Hamarneh’s final conclusion is that ‘the plague was certainly one of the factors that led to a short period of decline and recession, but not necessarily the most serious one. The wars and enemy incursions of first the Persians and then the Arabs were often accompanied by mass deportations and migratory movements, while natural disasters such as earthquakes and climatic downturns undoubtedly contributed to the gradual transformation of the social and economic fabric of the empire’ (Hamarneh, this volume). The paper by Carmelo Pappalardo proposes new readings on a landscape along the Limes Arabicus in transition between the Byzantine and the early Islamic periods, by analysing the site of Umm al-­ Rasas / Kastron Mefa’a in central-­eastern Jordan, and its changes from a military post to an inhabited settlement with numerous churches and agricultural installations. The use of resilience theory and the adaptive cycle (Redman and Kinzig 2003) — which in recent years has had great success in many archaeo­ logical applications, even if more as a metaphor than as an analytical tool (Bradtmöller and others 2017) — have framed a new perspective on the changes that occurred in this area. Pappalardo has identified specific indicators of resilience and evidence of the reaction of the local community to new political,

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sociocultural, and environmental changes: development outside the city walls in relationship to the weakening of military needs; the iconophobic phenomenon in the churches of Jordan beginning in the first half of the eighth century, which may be read as an attempt by Christian communities to adapt to the emergence of Islam; the planning of rainwater harvesting and distribution systems for residential, quarrying, and agricultural purposes; and the continuous building and restoration phases in residential areas and in the churches. Another Limes, along the Lower Danube, was analysed by Ivan Gargano using an approach focusing on written sources. The paper is a critical perspective on the use of Procopius’s De Aedificiis, which Gargano believes cannot be considered a reliable source on changes in the administrative structure of Dacia Ripensis in the sixth century. Gargano also argues for the need to integrate the reading of De Aedificiis with other texts, such as the Iustiniani Novella. Gargano, based on a comparative analysis of De Aedificiis and Iustiniani Novella, hypothesizes that the definition of Aquae as a χώριον was not a reflection of its legal status. A reconsideration of early Byzantine (fourth to sixth centuries ad) Peloponnesian settlements and Christian churches has been proposed by Priscilla Ralli within a dataset of archaeo­logical (excavations and surveys) and documentary sources. As underlined in Gargano’s paper, the use of written source data needs a substantial critical reconsideration and may indeed come to inform an indispensable comparative approach, as evidenced by the comparison between the settlements mentioned in the Synekdemos administrative list and the Tabula Peutingeriana. The formation of a Christian topo­graphy is fundamental to understanding cities such as Corinth, Patras, and Argos in the early Byzantine period. In particular, the city of Argos reveals various phenomena also found in other cities of the Late Antique Mediterranean: an urban shift from the ancient monumental centre, settled around the Larissa hill; new road layers showing resurfacing with spolia and reused building materials; the reconfiguration of the entire agora into a private residential space; the repurposing of the ancient monumental centre for craft and metallurgical activities from the late fifth century; and the foundation of a great baptismal basilica around the sixth century in the south-­eastern area, which was later replaced by a new, bigger church located on the Profitis Ilias hill, incorporating the structures of the former temple of Apollo. In the interaction between city and countryside, the emergence of ‘third-­spaces’ is emphasized (Veikou 2009) — something beyond the usual dichotomy of urban

and rural. For example the ‘ruralization’ of Nemea involved a Christian community building a church close to the gymnasium and burying their dead in the area of the temple of Apollo. Some of these burials contained jewels that attest to the presence of rural elites. Rural aristocracies are also attested in the countryside, as in the case of the lavish Late Antique villa of Loukou (Eua, Arcadia). The landscapes of Byzantine Italy — or the many Byzantine Italies (Zanini 1998) — have received renewed interest in recent years in parallel with the growth of post-­classical archaeo­logy, especially in southern Italy. Paul Arthur in his article asks: ‘What effects did half a millennium of Byzantine rule have on medi­eval and modern Italy and the Italians?’ (Arthur, this volume) In light of many years of research in Salento (southern Puglia), this question is at the centre of Arthur’s ambitious new project called ‘Byzantine Heritage of Southern Italy’. The impact of the Byzantine presence in Italy is presented in the light of new questions and new interdisciplinary approaches (isotope analysis, environmental archaeo­logy, archaeometry) aimed at understanding the change in the management strategies of agricultural spaces due to shifting political conditions and climate change, the formation of new settlement models and defensive structures, new regional productions (such as the so-­called ‘Rocchicella’ or ‘a stuoia’ cooking pots identified in Sicily in the late eighth to ninth centuries) and Mediterranean economic connectivity, the transformations in food habits reflected in archaeo-­botanical findings and changes in material culture, as well as the impact of new waves of migrations. In the framework of this renewed interest in the archaeo­logy of Byzantine southern Italy, Sicily has provided new and interesting data in recent years regarding the archaeo­logical approach to the formation of both rural and urban Byzantine landscapes and the complex dynamics of transition into the Islamic period. Angelo Castrorao Barba and Giuseppe Cacciaguerra (this volume) reveal the presence in the Byzantine countryside of Sicily of elements that break with the previous villa system through the various rounds of reuse and reoccupation of the Roman and late Roman aristocratic villae. In spite of this, continuity of occupation and complexity with respect to the late Roman past is recorded in the large secondary settlements (e.g., Sofiana/Philosophiana) — the so-­called agro-­towns — which constituted crucial edges in the settlement network until the early Middle Ages. The formation of the thema of Sicily during the late seventh century was identified as the key moment for structuring new settlement patterns. The planning of a terri-

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torial defence based on the castra system (e.g., the state fortification of Monte Kassar in Castronovo di Sicilia) in the face of the insecurity brought by the first Islamic raids, as well as unprecedented forms of occupation like the circular huts found in Contrada Edera (Bronte) in eastern Sicily (late eighth to ninth centuries), are all examples of these new patterns. Gabriele Castiglia and Philippe Pergola (this volume) give a broad overview of a geopolitical context not often considered from the perspective of the Byzantine world: the Horn of Africa. By analysing both written sources and new archaeo­logical data (mostly from the town of Adulis in present day Eritrea) they describe the long process that led to the birth, formation, and full development of early Christianity in the Aksumite kingdom. Although the ‘new’ religion was already rooted in the kingdom from the first decades of the fourth century (following the conversion of King Ezana and his court), it was only from the sixth century onwards, with the first instances of church building, that Christianity took off as a monumental and topo­graphic asset. At about the same time Aksum entered into direct contact with Byzantium, first with Justin and then with Justinian, in the wider context of the Persian wars and the subsequent struggle for a monopoly over the silk trade. What Castiglia and Pergola stress is that this link with the siege of Constantinople may have represented the definitive catalyst for the affirmation of Christianity, with an architecture that revealed deep influences coming from the Byzantine koine. Joanita Vroom focuses mainly on the shifting and changing patterns of commercial networks in the eastern Mediterranean from the seventh to the ninth centuries by exploring them with ‘resilience’ as a key metric. One of the main points of her essay is that ‘archaeo­logical data can contribute to the understanding of how the Byzantine Empire managed to maintain the economic and commercial domination of its shrinking territory after the seventh century by carefully looking at the circulation of ceramics between the capital and its core areas during this period’ (Vroom, this volume). The author deals with three larger subjects: the distribution of imperial ceramics within the Byzantine Empire, the early Byzantine amphorae from a general point of view, and an in-­depth analysis of the ‘LRA 2/13’ amphora type. One of the crucial points stressed by Vroom in her chapter is the fact that from the seventh century onwards the trade of amphorae with small-­status ships proved to be ‘more prevalent than previously known’. This interpretation is well supported by the detailed overview of the ‘LRA 2/13’ type. Dated mostly from the mid-­seventh to the early ninth cen-

turies, these amphorae had fairly standardized forms and were related mainly to ‘coastal small-­scale local and regional pottery workshops near oil and wine producing areas. This trend is evidence that after the seventh century, despite a general crisis, the central administration of the Byzantine Empire still had a top-­down control on trade, often functional, to supply the army. Vroom also stresses that the church may have had a crucial role as a production centre of such amphorae. All of this, then, may be a sign of the resilience of the empire itself, capable, as we have seen, of maintaining a ‘system of (military or ecclesiastic) exchange nodes, of connected and interlocking urban centres, and of durable coastal networks. Flavia Marani offers a very interesting and useful overview on the monetary circulation in Rome and Naples during the early Byzantine periods using a comparative approach. Both cities played a central role in the turbulent events of the Gothic War, being sites of important mints. Despite the disparity of the indicators coming from the two cities, with Rome being inevitably better known than Naples, the author presents some significant comparisons, thus bringing new light to some outdated interpretations. In Rome the crucial evidence is still that of the excavations carried out at the Crypta Balbi, which revealed indications of significant circulation of various goods, mainly related, in the seventh century, to the monastery of San Lorenzo in Pallacinis. Among this evidence, the study of coins — already completed by Alessia Rovelli — shows a meaningful continuity in the minting activities in Rome and a good amount of monetary circulation between the seventh and the eighth centuries, mostly related to the use of the minimi produced in the fifth and sixth centuries, and is a clear indicator of the long term use of such coins. It was only after the 730s, in Marani’s analysis, that the minting activity in Rome ended, in strict relation to the progressive dismissal of Byzantine power. The situation in Naples was in many ways similar to that in Rome. The opening of a mint in the middle of the seventh century represents a crucial aspect of the economic and political scenario and, just as in Rome, it is possible to document a prolonged circulation of minimi, probably minted in Rome itself. However some fundamental differences can be traced, and it is worth quoting directly Marani’s words: ‘The difference between Rome and Naples lies in the possibility of the former to melt down the coinage left by the Ostrogoths, and specifically by Totila (thus erasing the propagandistic message), for the minting of new coins, while in the latter the Byzantine authority could not apply the same con-

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trol, having need of coinage and being dependent on Rome for supply’ (Marani, this volume). Critical reflections are discussed by María de los Angeles Utrero Agudo about the Byzantine influence in Visigothic religious architecture and on the real material consistency of Byzantine Spania (552–624), limited to the south and east coastlines of the Iberian Peninsula and the Balearic Islands. In light of recent re-­evaluation, Utrero Agudo proposes a radical reimagining of the traditional vision of the influence of Byzantium on Visigothic churches. Furthermore, the evidence does not indicate any specific characteristics reflecting a Byzantine ‘patronage’ of religious architectures in Spania between the fifth and seventh centuries. Churches from this period maintain the typical elements of Late Antique Mediterranean architecture, such as the presence of a wooden roof, vaulted apses, rough stone masonries, and the use of single elements of spolia. Furthermore, some churches traditionally considered typically Byzantine have recently been reconsidered. For example, the basilica of Algezares (Murcia) is most likely from the early seventh century and not the second half of the sixth century; the church of La Alcudia (Alicante), whose mosaic pavement with a Greek inscription had been previously dated to sixth century, has been redated to the late fourth century; and the site of El Monastil (Elda, Alicante), which has recently been defined as ‘the first Byzantine monastery’, actually appears to be a Late Antique complex, and ‘no solid reasons

Acknowledgements We are grateful to the Escuela Española de Historia y Arqueo­logía en Roma (EEHAR-CSIC) and its director Dr Antonio Pizzo for having agreed to host the conference. Angelo Castrorao Barba thanks the Spanish MINECO for support in this work within the research fellowship Juan de la Cierva-­Incorporación (IJCI-­2017-­31494) at the Escuela de Estudios Árabes (EEA-CSIC) of Granada (Spain). During the last revision of this book, Angelo Castrorao Barba was supported by the PASIFIC fellowship (Project #260766 “IS_LANDAS Islamicate landscapes in Southern Andalusia and Western Sicily: patterns of change in settlements and rural communities between Late Antiquity and the Islamic age”) funded by Marie Skłodowska-­Curie Actions (H2020-­MSCA-­COFUND-­2018), hosted by Institute of Archaeo­logy and Ethno­logy/Centre for Late Antique and Early Medi­eval Studies (Warsaw/Wrocław, Poland) of the Polish Academy of Sciences. Gabriele Castiglia deeply thanks the Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana (Rome) for its invaluable support, L’Œuvre d’Orient, the ALIPH Foundation (International Alliance for the Protection of Heritage in Conflict Areas), and the Congregazione per le Chiese Orientali. We also wish to thank Prof. Marco Valenti of the University of Siena, our first mentor and source of inspiration.

can be shown to defend the presence of a Byzantine monastery’ (Utrero Agudo, this volume). However, a connection with the Byzantine Mediterranean is attested by the material culture, especially in the Balearic Islands, although many religious buildings seem to have been built before the arrival of Byzantine militias in Iberian territory and continued to be used afterwards. This article by Utrero Agudo seriously questions the archaeo­logical indicators of an effective definition of ‘Byzantine’ with regard to certain architectural and material evidence, and concludes that for many contexts, ‘although they are located in the Byzantine strip, this fact does not make them necessarily Byzantine’ (Utrero Agudo, this volume). With this book, then, we present a series of different observations on the Byzantine world using some well-­known contexts and also brand-­new areas and perspectives. What emerges is a heterogenous fresco with many shifting paradigms (economic, social, and religious) in a shifting background, a mirror of an ever-­changing ‘Byzantine world’. The data presented in this book, moreover, often also pushes us to go beyond the canonical debate over continuity/ transition, since we can often see traits of osmosis and resilience that contribute to shape an even more multifaceted complexity in a ‘global’ world that, even though it may not have been ‘Byzantine’ everywhere in the same ways, it was indeed the result of a series of influences that often had Byzantium (lato sensu) as a common denominator.

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Works Cited Avni, Gideon. 2014. The Byzantine-­Islamic Transition in Palestine: An Archaeo­logical Approach (Oxford: Oxford University Press) Böhlendorf-­Arslan, Beate, and Robert Schick (eds). 2021. Transformations of City and Countryside in the Byzantine Period (Mainz: Römisch-­Germanisches Zentralmuseum) Bradtmöller, Marcel, Sonja B. Grimm, and Julien Riel-­Salvatore. 2017. ‘Resilience Theory in Archaeo­logical Practice — An Annotated Review’, Quaternary International, 446: 3–16 Castiglia, Gabriele, Philippe Pergola, Marco Ciliberti, Božana Maletić, Matteo Pola, and Omar Larentis. 2021. ‘For An Archaeo­ logy of Religious Identity in Adulis and the Horn of Africa: Sources, Architecture and Recent Archaeo­logical Excavations’, Journal of African Archaeo­logy, 19.1: 25–56 Castrorao Barba, Angelo, Claudia Speciale, Roberto Miccichè, Filippo Pisciotta, Carla Aleo Nero, Pasquale Marino, and Giuseppe Bazan. 2021. ‘The Sicilian Countryside in the Early Middle Ages: Human–Environment Interactions at Contrada Castro’, Environmental Archaeo­logy Consentino, Salvatore (ed.). 2021. Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World, viii: A Companion to Byzantine Italy (Leiden: Brill) Creisher, Michelle, Yuval Goren, Michal Artzy, and Deborah Cvikel. 2019. ‘The Amphorae of the Ma‘agan Mikhael B Shipwreck: Preliminary Report’, Levant, 51.1: 105–20 Crow, James. 2008. ‘Archaeo­logy’, in Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies, ed.  by Robin Cormack, John  F. Haldon, and Elizabeth Jeffreys (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 47–58 Crow, James, and David Hill (eds). 2018. Naxos and the Byzantine Aegean: Insular Responses to Regional Change, Papers and Mono­graphs from the Norwegian Institute at Athens, 7 (Athens: The Norwegian Institute at Athens) Dey, Hendrik W. 2014. The Afterlife of the Roman City: Architecture and Ceremony in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) Eger, A. Asa. 2014. The Islamic-­Byzantine Frontier: Interaction and Exchange Among Muslim and Christian Communities (London: IB Tauris) Eisenberg, Merle, and Lee Mordechai. 2019. ‘The Justinianic Plague: An Interdisciplinary Review’, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 43.2: 156–80 Kocabaş Ufuk (ed.). 2008. The ‘Old Ships’ of the ‘New Gate’, Yenikapı’nın Eski Gemileri, i (Istanbul: Ege Yayınları) Kontogiannis, Nikos D., and B. Tolga Uyar (eds). 2021. Space and Communities in Byzantine Anatolia – Papers From the Fifth International Sevgi Goenul Byzantine Studies Symposium (Istanbul: Koc University Press) Mango, Maria Mundell. 2009. ‘Byzantine Trade, 4th–12th Centuries: The Archaeo­logy of Local, Regional and International Exchange’, in Papers of the Thirty-­Eighth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, St John’s College, University of Oxford, March 2004 (Farnham: Ashgate) Mordechai, Lee, and Merle Eisenberg. 2019. ‘Rejecting Catastrophe: The Case of the Justinianic Plague’, Past & Present, 244.1: 3–50 Niewohner, Philipp (ed.). 2017. The Archaeo­logy of Byzantine Anatolia: From the End of Late Antiquity until the Coming of the Turks (Oxford: Oxford University Press) Redman, Charles L., and Ann P. Kinzig. 2003. ‘Resilience of Past Landscapes: Resilience Theory, Society, and the Longue Durée’, Conservation Eco­logy, 7.1. Available on-­line: [accessed October 2022] Veikou, M. 2009. ‘“Rural Towns” and “In-Between” or “Third” Spaces: Settlement Patterns in Byzantine Epirus (7th–11th Centuries) from an Interdisciplinary Approach’, Archeologia Medievale, 36: 42–54 Vroom, Joanita. 2014. Byzantine to Modern Pottery in the Aegean: An Introduction and Field Guide, 2nd rev. edn (Turnhout: Brepols) Zanini, Enrico. 1998. Le Italie Bizantine: Territorio, insediamenti ed economia nella provincia bizantina d’Italia (VI–VII secolo) (Bari: Edipuglia) Zavagno, Luca. 2017. Cyprus between Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (ca. 600–800): An Island in Transition (London: Routledge)

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Cities

Konstantinos T. Raptis

2. Thessaloniki in Transition (Sixth to Ninth Centuries) The Transformation of a Late Antique Imperial Metropolis into a Medi­eval Urban Centre

ABSTRACT Taking into consideration the still

standing Byzantine monuments of ecclesiastical and secular architecture erected or restored between the early seventh and the late ninth centuries, and the urban reshaping of the intra-­muros area of Thessaloniki during the transitional period, as it has been traced in rescue excavations, along with the aid of literary sources of the same period, the present study attempts to draw, even vaguely, the urban face and character of the city from its definite shaping as a Late Antique, Christian, imperial metropolis during the early decades of the sixth century, until its conclusive transformation into a medi­eval urban centre from the early seventh until the late ninth or the dawn of the tenth centuries. The essay examines the urban transformation of the city through the difficult seventh century, which was marked by the unsuccessful sieges of the Avars and Slavs, and the notorious series of earthquakes in the 620s, which devastated the pre-­existing monuments and the urban infrastructure of the city, and were then followed by the subsequent — probably flourishing for Thessaloniki — Iconoclastic period, marked by the erection of the Hagia Sophia cross-­ domed cathedral, until the siege and the sack of the city by the Saracens in 904. In this way, it features the continuity of Thessaloniki’s urbanism through a difficult and dark period for the Byzantine Empire.

KEYWORDS Thessaloniki; Transitional period;

Byzantine urbanism; ecclesiastical architecture; Secular architecture

From the Foundation of the Hellenistic City to the Shaping of a Late Antique Imperial Metropolis Thessaloniki was founded in 316/315  bc by the Macedonian king Cassander (r. 317–305, 305–297 bc), and was named after his wife, the daughter of Philip II (r.  359–336  bc) and half-­sister of Alexander  III (r. 336–323 bc). However, notwithstanding its prominent founder and the strategic importance of its location at the head of the Thermaic gulf, the city that became the third capital of the Macedonian kingdom did not play an important role in the Balkans until after the Roman conquest of Macedonia in the second century bc. The city served as the provincial capital of Macedonia from 146 bc and became a focal point on the broad road network implemented by the Romans (Adam-­Veleni 2003, 134–37; Allamani-­Souri 2003, 67–69; Tourta 2013, 76–77, Raptis in press a). The fortified Roman city was developed around the Agora, its civil and administrative centre, which was constructed at the end of the second and during the third centuries ad, and was most probably functioning until the middle or the third quarter of the fifth century (Bakirtzis 1977, 257–69; 1984, 5–19; Spieser 1984, 82–89; Hattersley-­Smith 1996, 120–22; Vitti 1996, 93–104; Adam-­Veleni 2003, 146–56; 2013, 10–12; Raptis 2015, 243 n. 37; 2017a, 113–14). The urban area was planned around the Agora according to the Hippodamian system with large rectangular insulae, shaped by parallel decumani — the two wider and most important of which connected the main gates of the fortification — and transverse cardines (Vitti 1996, 67–86, plan 2–3, 5).

Konstantinos T. Raptis ([email protected], [email protected]) Ephorate of Antiquities of Thessaloniki City Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 23–42 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130670

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Figure 2.1. Thessaloniki. The city and its monuments (map by author).

Figure 2.2. Thessaloniki. Eastern Walls. (All images from the archives of the Ephorate of the Antiquities of Thessaloniki City and reproduced with permission, unless otherwise stated.)

2. t he ssalo ni k i i n t ransi t i o n (si xt h to ni nt h ce nturies)

Figure 2.3. Thessaloniki. Rotunda. View from south.

Figure 2.4. Thessaloniki. Acheiropoietos basilica. View from north-­east.

Notwithstanding its prior importance as a provincial capital, Thessaloniki (Fig. 2.1) evolved into a major urban centre with ‘worldwide’ significance during the period of the first Roman Tetrarchy, when Caesar Galerius (r. 293–311 ad) decided to make the city his seat during the war against the Persians, and especially after 308, when, as sole Augustus of the East, he officially transferred his court from Serdica to Thessaloniki, designating the city one of the four new Tetrarchic capitals along with Milan, Trier and Antioch (Ćurčić 2010a, 19; Tourta 2013, 78; Velenis 2018, 52; Raptis in press c). Galerius’ large palatial complex, founded at the south-­easternmost part of the city, marked the transfer of the city’s ‘headquar-

ters’ from the Agora and the Roman Praetorium, which was located at the north-­east sector of the lower city (Kanonidis 1996, 559–70) (Fig. 2.1), to the Imperial court at the newly founded Tetrarchic palace at the edge, and outside the limits of the formerly urban area. For details of the palatial complex of Thessaloniki, see: Adam-­Veleni 2003, 164–68; Stefanidou-­Tiveriou 2006, 163–88; Ćurčić 2010a, 18–19; Mentzos 2010a, 333–59; Athanassiou and others 2015). Over the course of the fourth and mainly the fifth centuries, after Thessaloniki had reached its final size, marked by the outline of the early Byzantine, trapezoidal fortifications (Velenis 1998, 171–73; Rizos 2011, 450–68; Tzevreni 2019, 50–53) (Figs 2.1–2.2), and until the two first decades of the sixth century, Thessaloniki passed through a gradual Christianization process, the result of which was the transformation of the former Tetrarchic capital into a Late Antique Christian metropolis, following the urban model of Constantinople (Ćurčić 2010b, 213–44; Raptis 2021a, 580; in press c). This Early Byzantine urban development was monumentally marked by a large, carefully designed, imperial building project, which involved the re-­design of the urban space with the addition of several rectangular, circular and sigmoid fora along the colonnaded decumanus maximus of the city (Vasileiadou and others 2018; Konstantinidou and Miza 2020, 9–34; Raptis 2021a, 579; 2021b, 17–25; in press c) (Fig. 2.1), as well as the restoration and the erection of several ecclesiastical monuments. Among the architectural oeuvres constructed in this framework are the secondary, Christian, phases of both the palatial Rotunda (Moutsopoulos 1984, 376; Spieser 1984, 113–64; Torp 1991, 13–28; Theocharidou 1992, 57–76; Hattersley-­Smith 1996, 149–52; Ćurčić 2010a, 202–04; 2010b, 216–22; Tourta 2013, 79; Velenis 2018, 53; Torp 2018, 13–51; Akrivopoulou 2020, 23–31; Raptis 2019a; in press c) (Figs 2.1, 2.3), and the Octagon near the Golden Gate (Fig. 2.1) (Marki 1983, 117–33; Hattersley-­Smith 1996, 163–64; Ćurčić 2010a, 104–05; 2010b, 224–25; Raptis 2021a, 579; 2021b, 17–25, in press

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Figure 2.5. Thessaloniki. Acheiropoietos basilica. Interior view from the narthex to the east.

Figure 2.6. Thessaloniki. The decumanus maximus, with sixth-­century repairs (Venizelou Metro station).

c), which were redesigned as double-­shelled buildings (Raptis 2019a; 2021a 24–25; in press c), the foundation of the Episcopal five-­aisled basilica (Fig. 2.1) (Mentzos 1981, 201–21; Theocharidou 1992, 57–76; Hattersley-­ Smith 1996, 141–44; Ćurčić 2010a, 105–06; 2010b, 226; Tourta 2013, 81; Raptis 2021a, 575–76; 2021b, 25–30), and the Acheiropoietos three-­aisled basilica (Figs 2.1, 2.4–2.5) (Raptis 2019b, 29–60; 2019c, 115–17; 2021a, 573–75; in press c), in the centre of the city, as well as the church of St Menas near the Constantinian harbour (Fig. 2.1) (Kampouri-­Vamvoukou 1989, 29–30; Mantopoulou-­Panagiotopoulou 1996, 256–62; Velenis 2003, 36–37, n. 44; Raptis 2021a, 576–77; in press c). It seems that this building programme was an ambitious plan ordered by and probably implemented during the long reign of Anastasius I (r. 491–518), who tried to strengthen the religious and political domination of the Constantinopolitan court against the papal Rome in the capital of the Illyricum (Raptis 2021a, 581; in press c). This extensive urban development of the main monumental axis of the city during the reign of Anastasius I is marked by major architectural endeavours, comprising both secular and ecclesiastical monuments — even though some were possibly only planned by Anastasius I, and were actually completed in the following period, during the reign of Justin I (r. 518–527) —, possibly explains why Thessaloniki lacks ecclesiastical monuments characterized by the innovative architecture of the Justianianic era. It must be noted that the Justinianic architectural sculptures that have been documented in Thessaloniki are rather few, when compared to Constantinople and other significant cities of the Byzantine world. At least in terms of monumental urban development, it seems that there was little to nothing left to be done in Thessaloniki by the time of the accession of Justinian (Raptis in press c).

Thessaloniki during the Reign of Justinian I

Figure 2.7. Thessaloniki. Latomos monastery. View of the katholikon from the north-­east.

As they have emerged from recent excavations in the centre of the city, it seems that the only urban project that could be attributed to the reign of Justinian I (r. 527–565) or to that of his immediate successors — Justin II (r. 565–578), Tiberius II (r. 578–582) and Maurice (r. 582–602) — are the extensive, though partial, repairs and the topical widening of the pre-­ existing marble-­paved decumanus maximus with large rectangular paving stones cut from extremely hard metamorphic volcanic rock (Fig. 2.6) (Vasileiadou and Tzevreni 2020, 35–56). No building of the innovative domed architecture, introduced during the age of Justinian I in

2. t he ssalo ni k i i n t ransi t i o n (si xt h to ni nt h ce nturies)

Figure 2.8. Thessaloniki. Latomos monastery. The Theophany mosaic on the semidome of the apse.

Constantinople and other significant cities of the Byzantine periphery, has ever been documented in Thessaloniki. Until the erection of the transitional cross-­domed cathedral of Hagia Sophia two centuries later, the architecture of the capital of the Illyricum was dominated either by the large, elongated basilicas (Episcopal basilica, Acheiropoietos, basilica of Saint Demetrius) of the late fifth or early sixth centuries, or the double-­shelled, centrally planned churches that were implemented through restorations in new design of previous Constantinian or Theodosian rotundas and octagons (Raptis 2019a; 2021b, 17–25; in press c). In this period, some restoration works could be also attributed to both — although not maintained and only partially documented by excavation — the late fifth ‒ early sixth-­century Episcopal basilica and the possibly three aisled basilica of Saint Demetrius (Fig. 2.1); However, this suggestion is not anything more than a vague hypothesis, based only on some Justinianic Impost capitals in secondary use, which crown some of the columns of the subsequent buildings on the same spots (Farioli 1964, 176–77). The only building that can be attributed to the long lasting period of Justinian’s reign is not a large timber-­roofed or domed basilica, but the small vaulted burial church that became the katholikon of the

Latomos Monastery during the following centuries and is known today as the Church of Hosios David (Figs 2.1, 2.7) (Xyngopoulos 1929, 142–80; Pelekanidis 1949, 43–68; Hoddinott 1963, 173–79; Tsigaridas 1986, 11–23; Velenis and Semoglou 2005, 24–25; Ćurčić 2010a, 109–10; Raptis and Fantidou 2020, 69–92); a building located in the uphill area of Thessaloniki, close to and to the south of the northern fortification wall, which was not part of a wider architectural programme and did not play a significant role in the urban development of the Late Antique city. The cruciform core of this small, vaulted church was inscribed in a 12 metre-­w ide square. Initially, the fourcorner compartments, square in plan, were linked via low arched doorways only with the transverse arms of the cruciform core of the church. The presbytery occupied the eastern arm of the cross, which ended in the semicircular apse of the Holy Bema. The arms of the cross were covered with barrel vaults, the central area with a blind dome on pendentives and the corner compartments with sail vaults. As indicated by the large, vaulted graves — synchronous with the foundation of the church — which were documented below the floor of the cruciform core of the church, and in combination with the soterio­logical character of the Theophany mosaic (Fig. 2.8) on the semi-­dome

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of the apse (Xyngopoulos 1929, 158–80; Grumel 1930, 157–75; Diehl 1932, 333–38; Pelekanidis 1949, 62–68; Gerke 1964, 179–99; Gkioles 1984, 83–94; Spieser 1984, 157–61; Velenis and Semoglou 2005, 24–25; Nasrallah 2010, 361–96; Semoglou 2011–2012, 5–16; 2012, 231–39; Kourkoutidou-­Nikolaidou and Mavropoulou-­Tsioumi 2012, 185–95; Cantone 2013, 63–112; Mastora 2014, 37–72) — dated probably, on the basis of stylistic criteria, to the period of Justinian I, or according to epi­graphic evidence after his reign (Velenis 2018, 60) — the church would initially have served as a burial hall, being either a cruciform martyrium or the mausoleum of a noble family of the city (Raptis and Fantidou 2020, 86–87). From the last decades of the sixth century, which coincide with the turbulent reign of Maurice (r. 582–602), danger knocked once more upon the gates of the city, when the Avars and Slavs several times raided and besieged Thessaloniki (Lemerle 1979–1981, ii, 104–10; Tourta 2013, 83). Even though the inhabitants of the city remained secured behind its circuit wall, the blessedness of the Late Antique ‘springtime’ would gradually come to an end, as the ‘winter’ of the Middle Ages was approaching.

The Transitional Period (Seventh to Ninth Centuries) As has already been implied, the key factors that brought the Late Antique Mediterranean world closer to its end also affected Late Antique/early Byzantine Thessaloniki. The extensive population movements that disordered Illyricum during the last decades of the sixth century, disrupting its administrative unity, threatened the fortifications of Thessaloniki as well. From the end of the sixth century until the last decades of the seventh century, Thessaloniki became the focal point of successive incursions and fortunately unsuccessful sieges by the Avars and Slavs, which occurred in the years from 586 or 597 to 620 and eventually from 676 to 678 — the last one being accompanied by famine (Lemerle 1979–1981, ii, 104–10; Tourta 2013, 83). Their description is contained in the extensive narrations of the Miracles of St Demetrius, which are preserved in two collections; the first composed by the Archbishop of Thessaloniki, Ioannes (d. 618), and the second by an anonymous writer, probably a member of the clergy, who completed his narration of the Miracles in the last decade of the seventh century, seventy years after the writing of the first book (Lemerle 1979–1981). According to these written sources (which were quasi-­synchronous to the aforementioned events), the city and its faith-

ful inhabitants were always saved by the supernatural — therefore miraculous — interventions of its patron saint. Eventually, the city definitively escaped the Avar and Slavic threats only after the conclusive victory of Justinian II (r. 685–695, 705–711) over the Slavs and his victorious entry into the city in 688. During the third decade of the turbulent seventh century, and just after the end of the fifth attempt of the Avars and Slavs to besiege the city, the urban history of Thessaloniki was also marked by intense seismic activity, also described in the third chapter of the second book of the Miracles of St. Demetrius (Miracles of St Demetrius, 262–73). The devastating earthquakes of the third decade of the century seem to have destroyed a large part of the city, including extensive sections of the fortification, urban infrastructure and most of the private and public, secular and ecclesiastical buildings of Thessaloniki, as recently proven by archaeo­logical evidence. Even though the plan and the size of the Early Byzantine fortified city did not change over the centuries (Fig. 2.1), the (largely) fifth-century fortifications of the city did undergo several partial reconstructions and additions up to the seventh century, aiming to enhance their defensive capacity. The masonry of the walls was gradually reinforced along the entire perimeter according to the various defensive needs. This successive reinforcement of the city walls resulted in a thickness of up to five metres. Typical characteristics of these early seventh-­century additions are the exclusive use of bricks in the corners of the towers and the large brick crosses at the northern and most vulnerable parts of the wall, which have been attributed to repairs of the fortification after the victory of Heraclius (r. 610–641) over the Persians in 622. Apart from the characteristic reddish — rich in ceramic aggregates — mortar and the building techniques of the transitional period, the sections of both the land and the sea walls, which were restored and reinforced after the 620s earthquakes, are also characterized by the extensive use of the spolia available after the earthquakes, most of which were taken from the destroyed Roman Agora and the theatre-­stadium complex. These were then incorporated mainly into the masonry of the land walls of the lower city as well as at the lower parts of the sea walls, which — as was already noticed by the tenth century — was significantly lower than the land walls until the siege and occupation of the city by the Saracens. After these repairs, a significant number of different types of masonry and building materials in addition to brick or marble inscriptions that are preserved in the fortification testify to the subsequent modifications and remodelling of the city walls. In the chrono­logical context of this paper,

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the earliest among the several inscriptions on the walls is the stone inscription — ΠΥΡ[ΟΥ] ΕΡΓΟ — located above the external side of the small gate of the northern wall, which has been already correlated with the Patriarch of Constantinople, Pyrrhus (638–641), whose office is synchronous with the last four years of the long-­lasting reign of Heraclius. This inscription, along with the brick crosses of the northern wall, indicates the wall’s repair or partial reconstruction during the reign of Heraclius and thus after the earthquakes of the 620s; it was an imperial decision, funded and under the control of high-­ level state officials. At the end of the period under discussion, another inscription dated to the second half of the ninth century (862) refers to the repair of the southernmost tower of the western wall by the royal Protospatharios Marinos, the double covering of which, combining brickwork with a filling of rough stones, is a typical early Middle Byzantine masonry style (Velenis 1998, 127–31; Ćurčić 2010a, 277–78; Tzevreni 2019, 53). In the centre of the city, the monumental colonnaded decumanus maximus and several of the early sixth-­century fora that formed the urban face of the Late Antique city (Fig. 2.1) were to a great extent destroyed after the collapse of their arcaded porticos (Fig. 2.9) (Vasileiadou and Tzevreni 2020, 54; Konstantinidou and Miza 2020, 25–26) The public sewage system also sustained serious damage (Badravos and Batzelas 2019). However, parts of the colonnaded porticos, and the sewer of the main decumanus of the city as well, were soon partially repaired and, though deformed, remained in use until the middle of the ninth century (Konstantinidou and Miza 2020, 26–28). During the same period, the south-­east corner of the decumanus maximus with the cardo that led from the Saint Menas church, near the harbour, to the grounds where formerly the Praetorium of the city had stood, was occupied by a new, most probably public, secular building — possibly a bathing establishment — the main façades of which were constructed with the extended use of marble spolia (Konstantinidou and Miza 2020, 26). However, most of the monumental architectural complexes, including the imperial palace of the city, were ruined and eventually, after losing their role in the urban life, abandoned and gradually occupied by private facilities, thus serving different functions. It is characteristic that the open square of the Agora, which was abandoned as early as the mid-­f ifth century, was soon occupied by workshops for artisanal productions such as ceramics, glass, and metalwares (Raptis 2015, 244). It seems that the destructive seismic activity of the 620s greatly affected the urban history

Figure 2.9. Thessaloniki. The decumanus maximus. Masonry collapsed on the marble paved street (Venizelou Metro station).

of Thessaloniki, bringing with it extensive urban changes; the monumental topo­graphy of the most important Late Antique metropolis of the Balkans literally vanished. Notwithstanding the aforementioned disaster, the surviving monuments, the archaeo­ logical data, and the written sources of the period from the seventh to the turn of the tenth centuries prove the continuity of the urban life in the city (Bakirtzis 2007, 89–118; Raptis 2015, 237–50; Raptis 2017a, 105–24). The population of the urban area, as well as people from the rural lands at the outskirts of the fortifications, gathered in smaller areas of the city centre, occupying and repairing parts of older damaged buildings, which intersected in smaller properties trying to resolve the housing problem of the seventh-­ century city. The large halls of the urban villas of Late Antiquity were divided into smaller rooms, as the luxurious houses of the previous period were adapted in the humbler needs of the new era. Thus, the villas located at the lowlands of the city were transformed into neighbourhoods. In most cases each one of the large chambers of the living quarters of these urban villas was converted into a separate private house, while their atria became the common courtyards, to which all households had access. Thus the lowlands within the fortification were eventually densely populated, while the urban villas of the upper city (Fig. 2.1), on the sloping terrain located to the north of Saint Demetrius basilica were totally abandoned; this area of the city ceased to be inhabited after the seventh-­century earthquakes. Thus, even though traditionally the agricultural, stockbreeding, and artisanal activities had been

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systematically carried out in the rural areas outside the fortification, these large parts of the urban area, within the walls, near the walls, and in the hilly area of the upper city, hosted during this period private crops, orchards, or small crafting facilities, providing goods and enhancing the city’s autarky in both agricultural and artisanal commodities (Bakirtzis 2007, 105–06). After the earthquakes of the 620s, the colonnaded marble/stone paved decumanus maximus of Late Antiquity gave its place to the Byzantine thoroughfare of the city, with an earthen surface, called Leoforos or Mese by the Byzantine writers. This earthen thoroughfare was flanked by blocks of mud-­built stores, workshops, and houses that occupied the places of both the pre-­existing porticos and plazas that had once thrived along the monumental decumanus maximus (Vasileiadou and others 2018, 161; Konstantinidou and Miza 2020). During the period in question, mercantile activity evolved on both sides of this road (Fig. 2.1), which until the ninth century served as the main marketplace of the city for everything except food, including both luxurious and plain artisanal products. Pottery, glassware, metalware, and jewellery were produced and sold. According to the archaeo­logical data the small, mud and rough stone, buildings of the Byzantine marketplace had workshops and storage in the back-­rooms, while their fronts usually opened directly on the road with semi-­open spaces and rough-­made parapets and sheds for the display of their merchandise (Raptis 2015, 242). The significance of the city’s marketplace during the period in question is emphasized by John Kaminiates in his narration about the sack of Thessaloniki by the Saracens in 904, who notes that ‘the crowds — both locals and visitors seeking merchandise and commodities — were so infinite that would be easier to count the sand-­grains of the seashore than the people, marketeers, and buyers, crossing the city’s marketplace’ ( John Kaminiatēs, Ἰωάννου κληρικοῦ καὶ κουβουκλησίου τοῦ Καμενιάτου, § 9.7). Another marketplace in the city during the period in question is attested in a late eighth-­century letter of Theodoros Studitēs, describing his exile-­journey to Thessalonikē in 797, where an eighth-­century marketplace that was active in the area inside and probably close to the eastern walls, not far from the Kassandreotikē gate is documented (Theodore Studitēs, Θεοδώρου Ἡγουμένου τῶν Στουδίου, 917. Raptis 2015, 240–41; 2017a, 109–10). The same marketplace is referenced in the ninth-­century bio­graphy of St Theodora of Thessaloniki, wherein a marketplace organized close to the Kassandreotikē gate is clearly attested (Life of St Theodora, § 9; Raptis 2015,

240–41; 2017a, 110). These markets, documented either by archaeo­logical data, or written sources, reveal the continuity of urban life and the prosperous economy of Thessaloniki during the period in question (Raptis 2015, 237–50; 2017a, 105–24). In this active, continuously moving, and densely populated urban environment of the city centre, and notwithstanding the insecurity and the general economic crisis of the seventh century, the main urban infrastructure and the most important ecclesiastical monuments for the episcopacy of the city, which had been partially or totally devastated by the 620s earthquakes, were either restored or completely rebuilt, if not with the former luxury of Late Antiquity, then with a character of diversity and spirit of practicality that seems to characterize the new era. Additionally, it is noticeable that while the private secular structures of the period are characterized by a certain improvisation and building inferiority, the contemporary military and ecclesiastical buildings are marked by structural quality accorded with a different — and not inferior — aesthetic order. Among the significant ecclesiastical buildings of the early Byzantine period that had been destroyed and rebuilt or remodelled after the seventh-­century earthquakes were the basilica of Saint Demetrius and the Acheiropoietos basilica. The Rotunda and Saint Menas church (Fig. 2.1), which had been also been affected by the earthquakes were also rehabilitated, though possibly to a lesser extent. On the other hand the episcopal basilica and the octagon near the Golden gate seem to have been destroyed so utterly by the earthquakes that their restoration was not feasible with the means of the period. The Saint Demetrius pilgrimage basilica (Figs 2.1, 2.10–2.11) is the only ecclesiastical monument erected in the seventh century; the newly built five-­aisled basilica with a three aisled transept at the east, though it incorporated a few parts of the pre-­existing, destroyed by fire — possibly three-­aisled — basilica of the late fifth century, does not follow the plan of the previous church. The seventh-­century basilica has certain architectural features that leave behind the morpho­logical uniformity of Late Antiquity, introducing gradually the ecclesiastical architecture of Thessaloniki into the multi-­collective aesthetics of the Byzantine era, with the most characteristic feature the articulation of the inner colonnades, with two pairs of masonry piers inserted between groups of three or four columns each, instead of the longitudinal uninterrupted colonnades of the early Byzantine basilicas of the city, which in this basilica are used only in the smaller outer aisles. It is remarkable that a small part of the former Roman baths, which was incorporated into the pre-­existing basilica of the

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fifth century, was once again incorporated into the north-­west end of the outer north aisle and was converted into a chapel containing until modern times the saint’s cenotaph (Xyngopoulos 1929; Soteriou 1952; Spieser 1984, 165–214; 1992, 561–69; Hattersley-­ Smith 1996, 153–63; Kourkoutidou-­Nikolaidou and Tourta 1997, 153–74; Bakirtzis 1998; 2012, 139–79; Mentzos 2000, 179–202; 2001, 217–45; 2006; 2010b, 13–26, 214–26; 2012, 82–103; Ćurčić 2010a, 106–07; 2010b, 228; Bauer 2013; Tourta 2013, 82; Velenis 2018, 58–59). However, it has to be noted that most probably the seventh-­century basilica of the city’s patron saint did not have galleries, since, on the basis of architectural and structural documentation of the building, it seems that the galleries above the outer aisles and the transept were added to the seventh-­century structure during the Middle Byzantine period, while the original existence of galleries above the inner aisles is also disputable (Mentzos 2001, 222–25; 2012, 98; Bauer 2013, 105; Raptis 2017b, 304; in press b). Around the same period, and until the middle of the century, the Acheiropoietos basilica (Figs 2.1, 2.4–2.5), the upper structure of which had been partially damaged by the 620s earthquakes, was also monumentally restored. Since the lower part of the outer walls as well as the longitudinal arched colonnades of the main nave were not affected seriously by the earthquake, which devastated the upper structure — mainly the clerestory — of this late fifth or early sixth century basilica without galleries (Mentzos 2001, 222–25; 2012, 98; Bauer 2013, 105; Raptis 2017b, 304; in press c), the plan of the church remained the same. However, the upper structure of the basilica was remodelled, since galleries were now added for the first time to the building. The colonnades of the lateral galleries followed along the upper floor the longitudinal arched colonnades of the main nave, while the western — non surviving — gallery was possibly a wide, open, hall, looking towards the nave. The no longer extant clerestory which was added above the gallery arcades, was extended over the wider western gallery of the basilica to its western wall. At the same time pastophoria flanked the presbytery apse, vaulted annexes were added along the north side of the basilica, the south propylon of the basilica that gave access to the church from the Mese was remodelled as a barrel-­vaulted corridor, while the Early Byzantine diakonikon, located to the south side of the basilica to the east of the propylon, was transformed into a small scale baptistery, the existence of which is probably attested in the homily that archbishop Leo the Mathematician delivered in the church in 843 (Raptis 2019b, 29–60). It seems that, among the four great churches of the city, the Acheiropoietos basilica was the least damaged by the

Figure 2.10. Thessaloniki. Saint Demetrius basilica. View from south-­west.

Figure 2.11. Thessaloniki. Saint Demetrius basilica. Interior view from the narthex towards the east.

earthquakes of the 620s, and the only one — since the basilica of the city’s patron saint was literally rebuilt with a different, more sophisticated plan — to have been monumentally restored, acquiring at the same time both galleries and extended annexes. As already suggested, after its monumental restoration in the mid-­seventh century and until the erection of the Hagia Sophia cross-­domed church in the third quarter of the eighth century, the Acheiropoietos basilica held the role of the cathedral of the city for more than a century, and also hosted the administrative services of the episcopate in its northern annexes (Raptis 2017b, 292–301; in press a). These two basilicas were decorated after their erection and/or restoration with mosaics that reflected both of the trends that characterize the art of the period. The conventional and linear rendering of the figures in the seventh-­century votive

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Figure 2.12. Thessaloniki. Saint Demetrius basilica. Mosaic decoration: Saint Demetrius with the founders of the basilica.

mosaic panels, depicting Saint Demetrius with secular or ecclesiastical officials (Fig. 2.12) as well as other military, full-­f igured saints such as Saints Nestor, Georgios, Sergius, and Bacchus, that adorn the pillars in his basilica (Mentzos 2010b; Bakirtzis 2012, 158–61, 164–77) are a typical example of the so-­called monastic style of the seventh century. On the other hand, the mosaics preserved in the southern gallery of the Acheiropoietos basilica belong to the second phase of its decoration (Fig. 2.13), which was most probably implemented either in the second half of the seventh or during the first half of the eighth century. Although they follow the icono­graphy of the early Byzantine decorative mosaics that adorn the intradoses of the arches of the main nave of the same basilica, in stylistic terms they find closer parallels to the late seventh century decorative mosaics of the Umayyad Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, which were made by a

Figure 2.13. Thessaloniki. Acheiropoietos. Mosaic decoration on an intrados of the south gallery arched colonnade.

Constantinopolitan imperial workshop, and seem to express the Hellenistic tradition in the way it had survived in the imperial art of the Byzantine capital between the reign of Justinian and the Iconoclastic crisis (Kourkoutidou-­Nikolaidou 2012, 230–36; Raptis 2014, 109–12). On the contrary the Rotunda (Fig. 2.1, 2.3), which due to the seventh-­century earthquakes lost its circular, timber-­roofed, ambulatory, was rehabilitated to a lesser extent, returning to its original type/plan of the single-­shell, centrally planned building, with the exception of its elongated sanctuary apse, which continued to protrude towards the east. During this period urban monasteries for the first time occupied extensive abandoned areas or building complexes of the fortified city, where their facilities, both ecclesiastical buildings like churches and chapels, and secular structures including cells of monks or nuns, were spatially organized within monastic

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precincts, surrounded and protected by circuit walls. The only known monastery of the transitional period in the upper city is that of Christ Latomos (Figs 2.1, 2.7). It seems that the sixth-­century, cross-­inscribed burial church, after ceasing its function as either a martyrium or mausoleum, became the katholikon of this significant monastery, initially dedicated according to the written tradition to the Prophet Zacharias. During its conversion into a monastic catholicon, the Early Byzantine church underwent several architectural modifications in order to be adapted to the orthodox Liturgy as it was defined after the seventh century; most notable are the narrow doorways for the communication of the presbytery with the two eastern corner compartments, which were converted into the prothesis and the diaconicon (Raptis and Fantidou 2020, 87–89). In the lower city, during the same period, the nunnery of Saint Stephen (Fig. 2.1), where Saint Theodora lived as a nun during the eighth century, occupied a former artisanal and merchantile insula in the centre of the city to the south of the decumanus maximus, while the nunnery of Saint Luke was located near the Kassandreia gate (Fig. 2.1), possibly to the southeast of the Rotunda; both foundations were within walking distances from the Leoforos and the cathedral (Bakirtzis 2007, 107; Raptis 2015, 241, with previous biblio­graphy; 2018, 63–64; Akrivopoulou 2010, 255–56). More monasteries are referred to in the literary sources of the period, such as the monastery of Saint Mark which was founded by a certain layman, called Zacharias, who became a monk and turned his urban property in the north-­western part of the inhabited area of the city into a monastery (Bakirtzis 2007, 107). According to the Life of Saint Gregory of Decapolis, dated to the first half of the ninth century, a stylite was living atop a large late antique column in the western part of the city (Bakirtzis 2007, 105–06). Could the column of the late eighth‒early ninth-­century stylite be the monumental column, known as ‘Yilan mermer’, which was located at the northern end of the cardo on the axis of the main Gate of the Constantinian harbour, and during the early Byzantine period was most probably crowned by the statue of an undetermined emperor? (For more on the ‘Yilan Mermer’ — i.e. marble of the serpent — monumental column, see Stefanidou-­Tiveriou 2015, 65–82). After 732–733, when Illyricum was finally detached from papal influence by Leo III (r. 717–741) (Anastos 1957) and during the iconoclastic period (726–787, 814–842) (Brubaker and Haldon 2011) the city regained its important role in the European lands of the empire. However the only extant building that presents the architectural features and still reflects

Figure 2.14. Thessaloniki. Hagia Sophia cathedral. View from south-­west.

the art of the iconoclastic period in the city is the transitional cross-­domed church of Hagia Sophia (Figs 2.1, 2.14), which was erected on the site of the ruined early Byzantine episcopal basilica, and from the period of its foundation until its conversion into a mosque in 1523–1524 functioned as the metropolitan church of the city (Theocharidou 1988; 1994, 45–221; Ćurčić 2010a, 257–60; Tourta 2013, 83; Velenis 2018, 62). Even though the foundation of this church has been dated by several scholars from the late sixth to the mid-­eighth centuries, it seems that the new Byzantine cathedral of the city was — most probably — erected during the third quarter of the eighth century (Velenis 1997, 70–77; 2003, 70–71; Velenis 2018, 62), and certainly not before the eighth century restoration/reconstruction of Hagia Eirene in Constantinople, implemented by Constantine V (r. 741–775) after the 740 earthquake (Ćurčić 2010a, 256–57; Brubaker and Haldon 2011, 212–14). Based not only on the Constantinopolitan architectural type but also on its structural techniques, the Hagia Sophia was most probably constructed by Constantinopolitan masons and with imperial funds provided by the Isaurian dynasty (712–802) — possibly by Constantine V himself — in order to emphasize with its Constantinopolitan cross-­ domed architectural form the rule of the Byzantine imperial Christianity over the ecclesiastical affairs of the Illyricum (Cormack 1977b, 35; Raptis in press a; Raptis 2017b, 305) which had been under Papal jurisdiction until 732–733. According to the inscription of its iconoclastic mosaic decoration (Fig. 2.15), which

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Figure 2.15. Thessaloniki. Hagia Sophia cathedral. The iconoclastic mosaic crosses on the barrel vault of the sanctuary.

is unfortunately preserved only in the sanctuary barrel vault, the original icono­graphic decoration of the church was financed by the emperor Constantine VI (r. 780–797) and his mother, the empress Irene of Athens (r. 797–802) in the period between 780 and 788, during which the underage emperor was under the regency of his mother (Mavropoulou-­Tsioumi 2012, 248–52; Tourta 2013, 83; Brubaker and Haldon 2011, 295–96). Two more iconoclastic churches of the early ninth century — posterior and less prolific than the cathedral of Hagia Sophia — have been documented by excavation in the city (Fig. 2.1): the one of unidentified type (Evangelidis 1937, 341–51) was possibly a vaulted three-­aisled structure, dedicated according to some scholars to Saint John the Forerunner (i.e. the Baptist) (Theocharidis 1978, 1–26; Ćurčić 2010a, 279–80; Velenis 2018, p. 62) and located close to the Leoforos within walking distance of the cathedral; the other, also undetermined in typo­ logical terms, was located in the lower parts of the upper city, to the northeast of the Saint Demetrius basilica (Makropoulou and Tzitzibasi 1993, 361–64; Tourta 2013, 83). Both churches preserved similar painted decoration depicting the large Latin crosses of the Iconoclastic period (Evangelidis 1937, 341–51. Makropoulou and Tzitzibasi 1993, 362–63). Almost two centuries after the notorious seismic activity of the third decade of the seventh century, another large earthquake hit the city during the reign of Leo V the Armenian (r. 813–820), once again dev-

astating the urban infrastructure and the monuments of the city. Even though this earthquake is attested only in the ‘Narration of Ignatius’, contained in codex 34 of the Eikosifoinissa Monastery, attributed to the twelfth‒thirteenth centuries (Xyngopoulos 1929, 172–78; Pelekanidis 1949; Hoddinott 1963, 178–79) the text itself, according to internal evidence, can be dated back to the end of the ninth century (Cormack 1979a, 159). Notwithstanding the fact that this early ninth-­century earthquake is referred to only once in Byzantine sources, in relation to the ‘miraculous’ (re)appearance of the Theophany mosaic (Fig. 2.8) on the semi-­dome of the apse of the katholikon of the Latomos Monastery (Mastora 2014, 72; Raptis and Fantidou 2020, 75, 87) it seems that it did not significantly affect this small, vaulted, building, since the characteristic ninth-­century reddish — rich in ceramic aggregates — mortar is limited to local masonry repairs and joint fillings (Raptis and Fantidou 2020, 87–88). It is not clear to what extent this earthquake affected the basilica of Saint Demetrius (Figs 2.1, 2.10–2.11), but it is possible that the seventh-­century, five-­aisled, transept basilica acquired its inner galleries within the framework of a ninth-­century restoration. However it is not easy for this hypothesis to be verified, since the Saint Demetrius Basilica in its present state is the result of extensive interventions / reconstructions realized during the first half of the twentieth century. According to more recent research, related to restoration projects of the great churches of the city that have been implemented during the last thirty years, it is attested that the same earthquake greatly affected the Rotunda, the Acheiropoietos basilica, the Hagia Sophia cross-­domed church, and possibly the church of Saint Menas (Fig. 2.1). In Hagia Sophia (Figs 2.1, 2.14) the earthquake mainly affected the large dome of the eighth-­century building and the upper part of the galleries above the north and south wings of the ambulatory. The subsequent restoration of the city’s cathedral, which was carried out by local masons, possibly during the third and fourth decades of the same century, embodies the dome with the heavy cubic drum and a few sections of the upper part of the exterior walls of the church, which has been maintained up to the present (Velenis 2003, 71; 2018, 62; Ćurčić 2010a, 278–79). This phase of the church was previously dated to after the earthquakes of the 620s (Theocharidou 1994, 168–69). It has to be noted again that the drum of the dome was not constructed in this unexpected form due to the inexperience of the masons, but in order to incorporate two built-­in stairs to the eastern corners of the drum, necessary in order for the

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clergy to have access to the exterior of the dome for the ceremony of the bishop’s message and the elevation of the cross on the dome of the cathedral on the feast day of the True Cross (Velenis 2003, 74–79; 2018, 62). During this ceremony, which probably had its origin in the period under question, priests and chanters would ascend to the dome while the bishop stood, along with the officials of the episcopacy and members of the clergy, on the balconies of the Episcopal residence, located to the north of the church. Laymen holding candles attending the ceremony gathered either in the atrium or the public space to the west of the church. Thus the ceremonial service was celebrated with antiphonal chanting between the chanters who were standing on the rooftop of the church, around its dome and the group of priests who were accompanying the Archbishop on the opposite balconies (Gerstel and others 2018, 191). The same earthquake also devastated the Acheiropoietos basilica (Figs 2.1, 2.4–2.5), motivating yet another restoration of the church, which can be dated between the 813–820 earthquake and 842, when the archbishop of the city, Leo the Philosopher delivered his homily in the — probably already restored — basilica on the occasion of the feast day of the Annunciation (Laurent 1964, 281–302). During this period, the upper part of the semi-­c ylinder and the semi-­dome of the apse were reconstructed, and at the same time the Early Byzantine five-­lobed window with marble mullions was redesigned under the architectural influence of the city’s new cathedral as three single-­arched windows, separated by brick-­built piers. Additionally, the eastern corners of the galleries, a large part of the western wall of the narthex, the entire exonarthex, the western gallery, the northern annex, and the ramp-­way to the galleries were reconstructed to a great extent (Raptis 2019c, 126–27). It seems that the early Byzantine church of Saint Menas was also restored during this period, since the building was probably also affected by the same ninth-­century earthquake. The similarities between the sanctuary apse incorporated in the post-­Byzantine church of Saint Menas and the Acheiropoietos basilica are possibly due to their almost synchronous restoration, with three single-­light arched windows according to the model of the apse windows of the Hagia Sophia cathedral. It seems that the Rotunda (Figs 2.1, 2.3) was also ruined during the same period. The damage was concentrated mostly at the eastern part of the building; the earthquake seems to have caused the collapse of the semi-­dome and the upper part of the semi-­ cylinder of the sanctuary apse, which resulted in the destruction of the eastern part of the dome as well.

Figure 2.16. Thessaloniki. Rotunda. Interior view towards the apse.

Thus, the upper structure of the large apse, along with the sanctuary barrel vault and possibly the lost part of the dome, were reconstructed during the following period (Fig. 2.3, 2.16) (Theocharidou 1992, 70; Ćurčić 2010a, 279) with brickwork characterized by the extremely reddish mortar of the ninth century. The two flying buttresses of the apse were added during the same period (Ćurčić 2010a, 279) in order to strengthen the construction of the protruding elongated sanctuary, which had initially been designed and added to the cylindrical core of the monument along with the circular ambulatory as a result of the 620s earthquakes. Chrono­logically, the ninth-­century restoration of the Rotunda’s eastern part — a terminus ante quem for the completion of which is provided by the wall painting of the Ascension on the semi-­ dome of its apse (Fig. 2.17), in stylistic terms dated to the end of the ninth or the very beginning of the tenth century (Xyngopoulos 1938, 52), and seems to have followed the almost synchronous restoration

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Figure 2.17. Thessaloniki. Rotunda. The wall painting of the Ascension on the semidome of the apse.

Figure 2.18. Thessaloniki. Hagia Sophia cathedral. Mosaic decoration: enthroned Virgin with Child on the semidome of the apse.

Figure 2.19. Thessaloniki. Hagia Sophia cathedral. Mosaic decoration: the Ascension of Christ on the dome.

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works of the Hagia Sophia and the Acheiropoietos basilica, both of which were most probably completed before the end of the Iconoclastic period in 843. The conversion of the Early Byzantine five-­ lobed window of the Rotunda’s sanctuary apse into five single-­light windows with brick-­built piers obviously imitates the prototype of the cathedral and the already redesigned apse of the Acheiropoietos basilica. However, the higher proportions of these windows in the Rotunda’s ninth-­century apse, when compared to those of the other two monuments, imply that the windows of the Rotunda were designed and constructed a few decades later than the rest (Velenis 2003, 52). Until the end of the ninth century, the only addition to the ecclesiastical architecture of Thessaloniki was the chapel of Saint Euthymios, which was annexed to the east side of the south wing of the transept of the Saint Demetrius basilica (Fig. 2.1), acquiring the form of a small three-­aisled timber-­roofed basilica (Velenis 2003, 8–16; Ćurčić 2010a, 279) probably according to a post-­iconoclastic trend regarding the addition of side chapels in large, pre-­existing churches (Velenis 2018, 64). The inhabitants of the city continued to worship in the great churches of the city that had been restored under the care of the episcopacy, performing their function as important nuclei of the ecclesiastical life of the city. Apart from the aforementioned wall painting of the Ascension (Fig. 2.17) on the semi-­dome of the apse of the Rotunda (Xyngopoulos 1938, 32–53; Tourta 2013, 83; Tsigaridas 2018, 78) during this period the cathedral of Hagia Sophia was adorned once again with mosaics. According to the prevailing theories, the mosaic depiction of the enthroned Virgin with Child (Fig. 2.18), which replaced the iconoclastic cross on the semi-­dome of the apse, has been dated to the middle of the century (Mavropoulou-­Tsioumi 2012, 252–58; Tourta 2013, 83) while the emblematic mosaic Ascension on the dome (Fig. 2.19) has been attributed chrono­logically to the last quarter of the century, c. 880–885 (Mavropoulou-­Tsioumi 2012, 258–90; Tourta 2013, 83; Tsigaridas 2018, 78–79). The mosaic panel of the Virgin with Saint Theodore (Fig. 2.20) in the basilica of Saint Demetrius was probably also created at the end of the period in question (Bakirtzis 2012, 162–63). The second half of the ninth century, after the definitive end of the iconoclastic crisis (726–787, 814–842), was marked by the Christianization of the southern and eastern Slavs and the creation of an alphabet for the Slavic languages by the Thessalonian monks, Cyril and Methodius (Tourta 2013, 84); an act that consolidated the political and religious sovereignty of the Byzantine state in the Balkan Peninsula

Figure 2.20. Thessaloniki. Saint Demetrius basilica. Mosaic decoration: the Virgin with Saint Theodore.

and marked the beginning of the cultural radiance of Thessaloniki in the Slavic world, elevating it to an important geopolitical centre. Archaeo­logical data and sources of the middle Byzantine period document the role of Thessaloniki as the largest city after Constantinople. Trade exchanges at local level, and overseas trade with international characteristics for the period in question, contributed equally to the economic life of the city which developed into the main commercial centre of Illyricum (Raptis 2015, 237–38). The fabled prosperity of the ninth century Thessaloniki, attracted the Saracens of Leo of Tripoli, who besieged Thessaloniki from the less effective sea wall and managed to sack the city in 904. John Kaminiates in his narration of the siege, the fall, and the looting of the city, apart from documenting the events of 904 provides an exquisite description of the city and its environs, composing a paean to the

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urban face and character of the ninth-­century city ( John Kaminiatēs, Ἰωάννου κληρικοῦ καὶ κουβουκλησίου τοῦ Καμενιάτου; Tourta 2013, 84). Notwithstanding the tragic days experienced by the city’s inhabitants during its brief capture by the Saracens, these events proved to be just a short intermission in Byzantine Thessaloniki’s continuous and continuing urban life.

Acknowledgements This paper is dedicated to the memory of my father, Theocharis K. Raptis. The map of Thessaloniki from sixth to ninth centuries with its monuments has been created by the author. The photo­graphs of the monuments belong to the archives of the Ephorate of the Antiquities of Thessaloniki City.

Works Cited Primary Sources John Kaminiatēs, Ἰωάννου κληρικοῦ καὶ κουβουκλησίου τοῦ Καμενιάτου, Εἰς την ἅλωσιν τῆς Θεσσαλονίκης / Ioannis Caminiatae, De Expugnatione Thessalonicae, ed. by Gertrud Böhlig, Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae, 4, Series Berolinensis 1 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1973) ––––, The Capture of Thessaloniki, with Translation, Introduction and Notes by David Frendo and Athanasios Fotiou, Byzantina Australiensia, 12 (Perth: The Australian Association for Byzantine Studies, 2000) Miracles of St Demetrius = Ἁγίου Δημητρίου Θαύματα. Oἱ συλλογές Ἀρχιεπισκόπου Ἰωάννου & Ἀνωνύμου. Ὁ βίος, τὰ θαύματα καὶ ἡ Θεσσαλονίκη τοῦ Ἁγίου Δημητρίου [Miracles of Saint Demetrius: the Collections of Archbishop John and Anonymous: The Life, Miracles and the Thessaloniki of Saint Demetrius], ed. by Charalampos Bakirtzis (Thessaloniki: Agra, 1997) Life of St Theodora = Ὁ βίος τῆς ὁσιομυροβλύτιδος Θεοδώρας τῆς ἐν Θεσσαλονίκῃ. Διήγηση περί τῆς μεταθέσεως τοῦ τιμίου λειψάνου τῆς ὁσίας Θεοδώρας [The life of Theodora the Hosio-­myroblytis in Thessaloniki. Narration about the Transfer of the Venerable Relics of Saint Theodora], ed. by Symeon A. Paschalidis (Thessaloniki: Holy Metropolis of Thessaloniki, Centre for Hagio­ graphic Studies, 1991) Theodore Studitēs, Θεοδώρου Ἡγουμένου τῶν Στουδίου, ‘Ἐπιστολαί, Βιβλίον Πρῶτον, Πλάτωνι Γ΄, Theodori Praepositi Studi­ tarum, Epistolae, Liber i, Platoni iii, ed.  by Jacques-­Paul Migne (Patro­logiae Cursus Completus. Series Graeca, XCIX (Paris: Migne, 1860)

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Η Ροτόντα του Αγίου Γεωργίου στη Θεσσαλονίκη. Αρχαιολογική έρευνα και αναστήλωση του μνημείου [The Rotunda of St. George in Thessaloniki. Archaeo­logical Research and Restoration of the Monument] (Thessaloniki: Despina Kyriakidis) Nasrallah, Laura. 2010. ‘Early Christian Interpretation in Image and World: Canon, Sacred Text, and the Mosaic of Moni Latomou’, in From Roman to Early Christian Thessaloniki; Studies in Religion and Archaeo­logy, ed.  by Laura Nasrallah, Charalambos Bakirtzis, and Steven  J. Friesen, Harvard Theo­logical Studies, 64 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press), pp. 361–96 Pelekanidis, Stylianos. 1949. Παλαιοχριστιανικὰ Mνημεῖα Θεσσαλονίκης: Ἀχειροποίητος, Mονὴ Λατόμου [Early Christian Monu­ ments of Thessaloniki: Acheiropoietos, Latomos Monastery] (Thessaloniki: Society of the Friends of Byzantine Macedonia) —— . 1963. ‘Gli affreschi paleochristiani ed i più antichi mosaici parietali di Salonicco’, Collana di Quaderni di Antiquità Ravennati, Cristiane e Byzantine, 2: 47–56 Raptis, Konstantinos T. 2014. ‘The Mural Decoration of Acheiropoietos Basilica Revisited’, in Niš and Byzantium, χιι, ed. by M. Rakocija (Niš: Niš Cultural Centre & University of Niš), pp. 102–14 —— . 2015. ‘Seeking the Marketplaces of Byzantine Thessaloniki’, in Niš and Byzantium, xiii, ed. by M. Rakocija (Niš: Niš Cultural Centre & University of Niš), pp. 237–50

2. t he ssalo ni k i i n t ransi t i o n (si xt h to ni nt h ce nturies)

—— . 2017a. ‘O εμπορικός χάρτης της βυζαντινής Θεσσαλονίκης: ιχνηλατώντας τις αγορές της πόλης από τον 9ο αιώνα έως την οθωμανική κατάκτηση’ [‘The Commercial Map of Byzantine Thessaloniki: Tracing the Marketplaces of the City from the 9th Century until the Ottoman Occupation’], Deltion of the Christian Archaeo­logical Society, 38: 105–24 —— . 2017b. ‘H δομική αποκατάσταση της Aχειροποιήτου κατά τον 7ο αιώνα και η σημασία της για την αστική συνέχεια της Θεσσαλονίκης κατά τους σκοτεινούς αιώνες’ [‘The 7th Century Restoration of the Acheiropoietos Basilica and its Signifi­ cance for the Urban Continuity of Thessaloniki during the Dark Ages’], in Kτίτωρ. Aφιέρωμα στον δάσκαλο Γεώργιο Bελένη [Ktetor. Tribute to the teacher Georgios Velenis], ed. by Ioannis D. Varalis and Flora Karagianni (Thessaloniki: Mygdonia), pp. 289–306 —— . 2018. ‘St  Theodora’, in 1917. Monuments in Flames, Exhibition Catalogue (Thessaloniki: Ephorate of Antiquities of Thessaloniki City), pp. 63–64 —— . 2019a. ‘Περίκεντρα κτήρια της Ύστερης Aρχαιότητας στη Θεσσαλονίκη: παρατηρήσεις, σκέψεις και ερωτήματα σχετικά με την αρχιτεκτονική και την ένταξή τους στον αστικό ιστό’ [‘Late Antique Centrally Planned Buildings in Thessaloniki: Observations, Thoughts and Questions about their Architecture and Integration into the Urban Tissue’], The Archaeo­ logical Work in Macedonia and Thrace, 28 —— . 2019b. ‘H Aχειροποίητος Θεσσαλονίκης στο πλαίσιο της πρωτοβυζαντινής εκκλησιαστικής αρχιτεκτονικής’ [‘The Acheiropoietos Basilica within the Framework of Early Byzantine Ecclesiastical Architecture’], Deltion of the Christian Archaeo­logical Society, 40: 29–60 —— . 2019c. ‘The Building History of Acheiropoietos Basilica Reconsidered’, in Niš and Byzantium, xvii, ed. by M. Rakocija (Niš: Niš Cultural Centre & University of Niš), pp. 115–28 —— . 2021a. ‘Aρχιτεκτονικά έργα του Aναστασίου A´ στη Θεσσαλονίκη’ [‘Architectural Works of Anastasius I in Thessaloniki’], in Proceedings of the International Symposium in Honor of Emeritus Professor Georgios Velenis (Athens: Archaeo­logical Receipts Fund), pp. 571–82 —— . 2021b. ‘Ορισμένες παρατηρήσεις και ερωτήματα σχετικά με την πρωτοβυζαντινή αρχιτεκτονική στη Θεσσαλονίκη: Tο οκτάγωνο παρά τη Χρυσή Πύλη και η επισκοπική βασιλική’ [‘Some Observations and Questions Regarding Early Βyzantine Architecture in Thessaloniki: Τhe Octagon near the Golden Gate and the Episcopal Basilica’], Deltion of the Christian Archaeo­logical Society, 42: 15–32 —— . in press a. ‘The Seventh Century Restoration of Acheiropoietos Basilica and its Significance for the Urban Continuity of Thessalonikē during the Dark Age’, in Byzantine Greece. Microcosm of Empire? Papers given at the Forty Sixth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies (Birmingham, 23–25 March 2013) —— . in press b. ‘Remarks about the Existence of Galleries above the Lateral Aisles of the Early Byzantine Basilicas of the Illyricum; a Theorem to be either Proved or Contradicted’, in Proceedings of 17th International Congress of Christian Archaeo­ logy ‘Frontiers. The Transformation and Christianization of the Roman Empire between Centre and Periphery’ (Utrecht-­ Nijmegen, 2–6 July 2018) —— . in press c. ‘Late Antique Thessaloniki: the Urban Transformation of a Tetrarchic Provincial Capital into a Christian Metropolis’, Imperial Archaeo­logies of Late Antiquity, ed. by Luke Lavan (Leiden: Brill) Raptis, Konstantinos T., and Eleftheria Fantidou. 2020. ‘Παρατηρήσεις για την αρχιτεκτονική και την ιστορία του πρωτοβυζαντινού ναού της μονής Λατόμου στη Θεσσαλονίκη’ [‘Remarks on the Architecture and the History of the Early Byzantine Church of the Latomos Monastery in Thessaloniki’], Deltion of the Christian Archaeo­logical Society, 41: 69–92 Rizos, Efthymios. 2011. ‘The Late Antique Walls of Thessalonica and their Place in the Development of Eastern Military Architecture’, Journal of Roman Archaeo­logy, 24: 450–68 Semoglou, Athanassios. 2011–2012. ‘La mosaïque de “Hosios David” à Thessalonique. Une interprétation néotestamentaire’, Cahiers Archeo­logiques, 54: 5–16 —— . 2012. ‘La théophanie de Latôme et les exercices d’interprétations artistiques durant les “renaissances” Byzantines. Les nouveaux signifiants de (la vision de) Dieu’, in Byzantium and Renaissances. Dialogue of Cultures, Heritage of Antiquity, Tradition and Modernity, ed. by Michala Janochy, Aleksandry Sulikowskiej, Iriny Tatarovej, Zuzanny Flisowskiej, Karoliny Mroziewicz, Nina Smólskich, and Krzystof Smólskich (Warsaw: Campidoglio), pp. 231–39 Soteriou, Georgios and Maria. 1952. Ἡ Bασιλικὴ τοῦ Ἁγίου Δημητρίου Θεσσαλονίκης [The Basilica of Saint Demetrius of Thessaloniki] (Athens: The Archaeo­logical Society at Athens) Spieser, Jean-­Michel. 1984. Thessalonique et ses monuments du ive au vie siècle. Contribution à l’étude d’une ville paléochrétienne, Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 254 (Paris: de Boccard) —— . 1992. ‘Remarques sur Saint-­Démétrius de Thessalonique’, in Eυφρόσυνον, Aφιέρωμα στον Mανόλη Xατζηδάκη [Efrosynon, Tribute to Manolis Hadjidakis], ii (Athens: Archaeo­logical Receipts Fund), pp. 561–69 Stefanidou-­ Tiveriou, Theodosia. 2006. ‘To ανακτορικό συγκρότημα του Γαλερίου στη Θεσσαλονίκη. Σχεδιασμός και χρονολόγηση’ [‘The Palatial Complex of Galerius in Thessaloniki. Planning and Dating’], Egnatia, 10: 163–88 —— . 2015. ‘To “μάρμαρο του φιδιού” στη Θεσσαλονίκη: ένα μνημείο για τον αυτοκράτορα’ [‘The Serpent Marble (Yilan Mermer) in Thessaloniki: A Monument for an Emperor’], Archaio­logike Ephemeris, 154: 65–82

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Theocharidis, Georgios I. 1978. ‘Mια εξαφανισθείσα μεγάλη μονή της Θεσσαλονίκης. H μονή του Προδρόμου’ [‘An Extinct Great Monastery of Thessaloniki: The Prodromos Monastery’], Makedonika, 18: 1–26 Theocharidou, Kalliopi. 1988. The Architecture of Hagia Sophia, Thessaloniki: From Its Erection Up to the Turkish Conquest, BAR International Series, 399 (Oxford: BAR) —— . 1992. ‘H Pοτόντα της Θεσσαλονίκης. Nέα στοιχεία και αποσαφηνίσεις με αφορμή τις αναστηλωτικές εργασίες’ [‘The Rotunda at Thessaloniki. New Discoveries and Definitions after the Restoration Works’], Deltion of the Christian Arhaeo­ logical Society, 16: 57–76 —— . 1994. H αρχιτεκτονική του ναού της Aγίας Σοφίας στη Θεσσαλονίκη [The Architecture of Hagia Sophia, Thessaloniki] (Athens: Archaeo­logical Receipts Funds) Torp, Hjalmar. 1991. ‘The Date of the Conversion of the Rotunda at Thessaloniki, into a Church’, in The Norwegian Institute at Athens: The First Five Lectures (Athens: Norwegian Institute at Athens), pp. 13–28 —— . 2018. La Rotonde à Thessalonique. Architecture et Mosaïques (Athens: Kapon) Tourta, Anastasia. 2013. ‘Thessaloniki’ in Heaven and Earth. Cities and Countryside in Byzantine Greece, ed. by Jenny Albani and Eugenia Chalkia (Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports & Benaki Museum), pp. 75–93 Tsigaridas, Efthymios N. 1986. Oι τοιχογραφίες της μονής Λατόμου στη Θεσσαλονίκη και η Bυζαντινή ζωγραφική του 12ου αιώνα [The Frescoes of the Latomos monastery in Thessaloniki and Byzantine Painting of the 12th Century] (Thessaloniki: Society for Macedonian Studies) —— . 2018. ‘Monumental Painting in Thessaloniki in the Middle and Late Byzantine Period’, in Tὸ ἡμέτερον κάλλος – Our Sacred Beauty, ed. by Flora Karagianni (Thessaloniki: Patriarchal Foundation for Patristic Studies), pp. 77–103 Tzevreni, Stavroula. 2019. ‘The Walls of Thessaloniki’, in From Macedonian to Thessalian Tempi. From Rentina to Velika, ed. by Evangelia Angelkou (Thessaloniki: Museum of Byzantine Culture), pp. 49–61 Vasileiadou, Stella, and Stavroula Tzevreni. 2020. ‘Mετασχηματισμοί του δημόσιου αστικού χώρου της Θεσσαλονίκης (4ος–6ος αι.) από την ανασκαφή του Σταθμού Aγίας Σοφίας του Mητροπολιτικού Σιδηροδρόμου’ [‘Transformations of Thessaloniki’s Urban Space during Late Antiquity (4th–6th Century), through the Archaeo­logical Data from the Hagia Sophia Station of the Metropolitan Railway’], Deltion of the Christian Arhaeo­logical Society, 41: 35–56 Vasileiadou, Stella, Krino Konstantindou, and Stavroula Tzevreni. 2018. ‘Agia Sofia and Venizelou Stations’, in The Metro-­nome of Thessaloniki’s History, ed. by Polyxeni Adam-­Veleni and Yannis A. Mylopoulos (Thessaloniki: Ephorate of Antiquities of Thessaloniki City), pp. 125–77 Velenis, Georgios. 1997. ‘H χρονολόγηση του ναού της Aγίας Σοφίας Θεσσαλονίκης μέσα από τα επιγραφικά δεδομένα’ [‘The Dating of Hagia Sophia Church in Thessaloniki through the Epi­graphical Data’], Thessalonikeon Polis, 3: 70–77 —— . 1998. Tα τείχη της Θεσσαλονίκης [The Walls of Thessaloniki] (Thessaloniki: University Studio Press) —— . 2003. Mεσοβυζαντινή ναοδομία στη Θεσσαλονίκη [Middle-­Byzantine Church Building in Thessaloniki] (Athens: Academy of Athens) —— . 2018. ‘Byzantine Thessaloniki. The City and its Monuments’, in Tὸ ἡμέτερον κάλλος – Our Sacred Beauty, ed. by Flora Karagianni (Thessaloniki: Patriarchal Foundation for Patristic Studies), pp. 49–75 Velenis, Georgios and Athanasios Semoglou. 2005. ‘Nέα προσέγγιση στην αρχιτεκτονική και τον ψηφιδωτό διάκοσμο του Oσίου Δαβίδ Θεσσαλονίκης’ [‘A New Approach to the Architecture and the Mosaic Decoration of Hosios David, Thessaloniki’], in Abstracts of the Twenty Fifth Symposium of the Christian Archaeo­logical Society (Athens, 13–15 May 2005) (Athens: Christian Archaeo­logical Society), pp. 24–25 Vitti, Massimo. 1996. H πολεοδομική εξέλιξη της Θεσσαλονίκης. Aπό την ίδρυση της έως τον Γαλέριο [The Urban Development of Thessaloniki. From its Foundation to Galerius] (Athens: The Archaeo­logical Society at Athens) Xyngopoulos, Andreas. 1929. ‘Tὸ καθολικὸν τῆς μονῆς τοῦ Λατόμου ἐν Θεσσαλονίκῃ καὶ τὸ ἐν αὑτῷ ψηφιδωτόν’ [‘The Katholikon of the Latomos Monastery in Thessaloniki and its Mosaic’], Archaeo­logikon Deltion, 12: 142–80 —— . 1938. ‘Ἡ τοιχογραφία τῆς Ἀναλήψεως ἐν τῇ αψίδι τοῦ Ἀγίου Γεωργίου τῆς Θεσσαλονίκης’ [‘The Fresco of the Ascension in the Apse of Hagios Georgios in Thessaloniki’], Archaio­logike Ephemeris: 32–53 —— . 1946. H βασιλική του Aγίου Δημητρίου Θεσσαλονίκης [The Basilica of St Demetrius of Thessaloniki](Thessaloniki: Society of the Friends of Byzantine Macedonia)

Lucrezia Spera

3. Rome — The Legacy of the Gothic War in the Urban Defensive Systems ABSTRACT Rome’s Byzantine context is rather

well known, beginning with Richard Krautheimer’s survey and above all with Robert Coates-­Stephens and Hendrik Dey’s recent studies. Some interesting new elements are coming to light from the analysis of a group of churches and oratories erected in the shadow of the Aurelian Walls, in all likelihood between the sixth and seventh centuries, starting from the period of the Greek-­Gothic wars. These prove to be dedicated to warrior saints or holy people popular in Byzantine military circles, and so could be also related to the garrisons that, as we know from literary sources, were placed as protection for the walls. The origin of these churches is part of a general increase of the ‘sacralization’ of defence, and whose other indicators include the insertion of Christian signa on the Wall’s gateways and the dedication of those gateways to the best-­ known saints buried in the surroundings.

KEYWORDS Byzantine Rome; Churches; Warrior

saints; Aurelian Walls

Introduction Defensive walls represent without any doubt the most dynamic, material aspect of late Roman urban centres, and can act as proxies of broader historical processes to illuminate the metamorphoses of cities. In Rome, the long period of the Gothic war is clearly reflected in a series of interventions on the Aurelian Walls, proved by written sources, which focused research, some still in progress, has precisely identified in the complex palimpsests that the city’s walls have preserved to date (Nibby 1820, 253–55; Richmond 1930, 38–42; Heres 1982, 206–11; Cozza 1997, 7; Coates-­Stephens 1998; Coates-­Stephens

1999, 209–25; Mancini 2001, 37–53; Dey 2011, 48–62, 292–303; Stasolla 2013, 643–46).1 The most innovative elements in the defensive system of the City, starting from the years of the war, have to be identified in the increase of features involving Christian symbols, a phenomenon already popular from the fifth century but mainly in the cities of the Pars Orientalis of the Empire (Bauer 2008; Jacobs 2009; Spera 2020). At Rome, there are some precocious examples in the Honorian phase of the walls, in the form of motifs, inserted by masons into the brickwork, that clearly evoke the Christian faith (Cozza 1987, 29 figs. 15c, 16, 17a-­b; Dey 2011, 15, 48 and figs. 1.20–22, 149 and fig. 3.6; 2017, 23; Vitti 2013, 111 and fig. 26A),2 and in the sporadic introduction of crosses or monograms on the keystones of some gateways (Grisar 1906, 94–96 figs. 158–59; Giovenale 1929, 257–58 fig. 48; Richmond 1930, 107 fig. 18; Lugli 1934, ii, 170, 222, 230; Broccoli 1981, n. 10 83–84, pl. IV; Cozza 1987, 26–29 figs 12–15; Cozza 1992, 128–29; Pisani Sartorio 1996, 309; Russo 2006, 258–59 and figs 27–30; Dey 2011, 48, 295–96 figs C.2–3; Canciani and others 2017, 218, 220; Ceniccola and others 2017, 292). A recent synthetic analysis tends to assign the majority of these marks on the exterior or interior arches of the gates to the sixth century (Spera 2020): in fact, both the Greek cross on the exterior facing of Porta Pinciana (Fig. 3.1), and the comparable one, but in relief, on a block in the interior arch of Porta Latina, have to be considered later insertions in the 1 A new systematic analysis of the walls’ phases highlighted a concentration of phases attributable to the period of the Gothic wars and to the following one: the research, carried by Alessandra Molinari and Nicoletta Giannini, presented at the convention Le mura aureliane nella storia di Roma. 2. Da Onorio a Niccolò V (Rome, Auditorium of the Ara Pacis, 20th October 2017), is still in progress. 2 See Pisani Sartorio 1996, 296 concerning ‘segni devozionali eseguiti dagli operai’ (‘devotional signs performed by the workers’).

Lucrezia Spera ([email protected]) Università degli Studi di Roma Tor Vergata Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 43–64 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130671

FHG

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original structure (Fig. 3.2), as has already been surmised by Eugenio Russo on the basis of comparisons with similar motifs in the Anatolian area (Russo 2006, 258).3 Also attributed to the period between the sixth and seventh centuries, starting from the years of the Gothic war (D’Aiuto 2015, 608)4 — a chrono­logy recently reconfirmed in studies by Robert Coates-­ Stephens (2006a, 302; 2006b, 152; 2014, 189) and Hendrik Dey (2011, 295–98; the same opinion in Di Cola 2017a, 165, 182–83) — is the Greek cross engraved on the keystone of Porta Appia’s interior arch, which has the Greek inscription θεοῦ χάρις (God’s Grace) on the top and, at the bottom, the invocation to saint Conon and saint George (Fig. 3.3) (Grisar 1906, 96 fig. 159 A; Giovenale 1929, 257–58 fig. 48; Richmond 1930, 107–08 fig. 18 A; Lugl 1934, ii, 230; Cozza 1987, 26–29 fig. 14 a; Russo 2006, 259 and fig. 29). In the same decades of the sixth century the Aurelian Walls also accentuate the value of spiritual protection, evoking in varied forms the presence of saints, especially the ones buried not far outside the walls, whose tombs, often monumentalized for worship and pilgrimage, ideally represented a strong salvific barrier for the city (Pighi 1960, 143–44; Fasoli and Bocchi 1973, 100; Orselli 1993a, 81–85; 1985, 396, 434–35, 591 n. 55; 1994, 447; Gamberini 2018; Picard 1981).5 For the urban centres, saints were taking on the role of patrons and even re-­founders — as is shown in the fundamental, detailed studies of Alba Maria Orselli (1980–1981; 1989). This same development can be seen in many different geo­graphical areas, as shown in the volume edited by Caillet (2015), and applies to Constantinople in particular (Baynes 1949). This ideo­logy, a new arrangement of ‘urban mentality’, finds in Rome a complete affirmation in Pope Leo I’s sermons in the middle of the fifth century. These famously superimpose the apostles Peter and Paul over Romulus and Remus, attributing to the former the role of inaugurators of a different

Figure 3.1. Porta Pinciana: keystone on exterior of gateway (photo by author).

Figure 3.2. Porta Latina: keystone on interior of gateway (photo by author).

Figure 3.3. Porta Appia: keystone on interior of gateway (photo by author).

3 The two crosses engraved on the external and internal arches of Porta Ostiense have an uncertain chrono­logy (Spera 2020). 4 D’Aiuto does not exclude, instead, a dating in the second half of the seventh century, in the epoch of Pope Conon. On chrono­ logical questions see also Di Cola 2017a, esp. 182 n. 113. 5 In the Vitae Patrum of Gregory of Tours, the tombs of Eucarius and Maximian protect the gates of Triers from the plague (ad unam … portam Eucharius sacerdos observat, ad aliam Maximinus excubat … (‘the priest Eucharius guards one gate, Maximinus is stationed at the other gate’) Vitae Patrum xvii, 4, p. 281). In their honour the funerary basilicas arose, on the roads coming out from the gateways and their vicinity. On these, Gauthier 1986, 27–30 is essential. Explicitly there is a well-­known composition of the first half of the eighth century, the Versum de Mediolano civitate (11–14), which proposes, for Milan, the list of saints buried outside the wall circuit, considered the defensores of the city (Versum de Mediolano civitate, in Itineraria et alia geo­graphica, 369–77).

3 . ro m e — t he legacy o f t he got hi c war i n t he u rb an d e f e nsi ve sys tems

history and builders of a renewed identity, thereby guaranteeing protection (Pietri 1976, 1565–1566; Maccarone 1983; Orselli 1985, 129–31; 1989, 796–97; 1996, 11–12; 2015, 133; Wessel 2008, 285–96; Guarducci 1986, 834–36; Tajra 1994, 195–97; Salzman 2014, 194; new starting points in Caillet 2015). In the inscription recorded in the Middle Ages on the gateway between Hadrian’s mausoleum and the Tiber, which in all probability commemorated the restoration of Pope Symmachus (498–514), the Apostle Peter was ianitor ante fores (guardian in front of the city gate) and the atria Pauli (the buildings of Paulus) reinforce the walls parte alia (on the other side); (ICUR ii 4107a.; Liverani 2007, 395–96; Spera 2011, 1317).6 The nature of Symmachus’ intervention is clarified by the verses, which insist on the role of the new decoration, obviously with a religious theme (sanctorum meritis frons reparata nitet – the facade, restored thanks to the saints, shines: maybe Christ between Peter and Paul?), and on the importance of these elements of identity, making noble Rome, cuius claustra docent intus esse deum (their enclosures show that God is inside the city), a heavenly city. Some decades later, Procopius of Caesarea could report a tradition of this kind that had formed, though it is unclear how much he was influenced by the vision of the saint as protector of the city that was widely diffused, as we will see, in the Byzantine area (Orselli 2015, 28–29; Martin 1974, 156–57).7 The Romans dissuaded Belisarius from reconstructing the walls from Porta Flaminia to Porta Pinciana, a section that had ‘collapsed’ some time before and named as a consequence the ‘broken wall’, because ‘the Apostle Peter had promised them he would take care of that place’. And in fact, continues the Byzantine historian, in this area the walls remained unharmed during all the sieges and assaults and therefore ‘no one ever dared rebuild … the wall thus broken’ (BG i, 23).8

6 On the problems of attribution to Symmachus and for the connections with the inscription, see Silvagni 1943, 51–52, 59, 96–97, against the doubts of Duchesne, 1910, 299–310. 7 The Vita of Barbatus, bishop of Benevento, according to which l’Occidente latino non conosce … il santo protettore delle mura (‘the Latin West does not know … the patron saint of the walls’: Orselli 2015, 29): ‘le saint protecteur des murailles, que l’on ne connaît guère en Occident, est au contraire un personnage assez familier aux Grecs à l’époque précisément où vit Barbatus. C’est aux vie et viie siècles que l’on commence, dans l’empire oriental, à utiliser des icônes comme palladia pour protéger armées et villes assiégées’ (‘The Saint protector of the walls, whom we don’t know in the West, is familiar to the Greeks at the time when Barbatus lived. In the Eastern Empire, during the 6th and 7th centuries, icons as palladia are used to protect armies and besieged cities’: Martin 1974, 156). 8 There is an interesting comparison with the testimony of Evagrius Scholasticus about the tomb of St Simeon the Stylite,

The New Names of the Gates The bond between the saints and urban defence was consolidated, in a very direct way, with the practice of renaming gates in connection with the construction of churches next to the walls, a widespread phenomenon in the urban centres of both the East and West (Spera 2020). As is common knowledge, in the first half of the seventh century, the Notitia portarum documents the custom of designating gateways with the names of the most venerated martyrs, principally those buried in nearby suburban areas. For half of the fourteen gates mentioned, the Notitia explicitly attests to the practice, by then common, of connecting the ancient name of a gate to that of a saint (porta … quae modo dicitur sancti …): thus, Porta Cornelia became Porta di San Pietro, Porta Flaminia became Porta di San Valentino, Porta Salaria became Porta di San Silvestro, Porta Tiburtina became Porta di San Lorenzo, Porta Asinara became Porta di San Giovanni (in this case from the new consecration of the basilica Salvatoris), Porta Ostiense became Porta di San Paolo, and Porta Aurelia became Porta di San Pancrazio (Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 141–51; De Blaauw 1994, i, 161–62).9 There are also a few unexpected absences; for example, it is surprising that Porta Nomentana does not recall the shrine of Agnes, which was really prospering, or that the name Porta Appia is not associated with one of the prestigious saints buried in the cemeteries along this famous road.10 But the custom of renam-

which guaranteed the defence of the city to the people of Antioch, although the walls were destroyed by an earthquake: HE i, 13 (The Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius, with the scholia; for the English translation, see The Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius Scholasticus,). 9 Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 151. These denominations of the same gateways recur also in the various bio­graphies of the Liber pontificalis starting from the sixth-­seventh centuries: Virgil and Theodore’s vitae recall the gateway of San Paolo (LP i, 298, 233), the life of Sergius I recalls the porta sancti Petri (LP 1 373), mentioned also in the bio­graphies of Gregory II, Stephen III and Hadrian I (LP i, 399, 470, 506, 513), in which we can find the reference to the porta sancti Laurentii (LP i, 505); in Stephen III’s life the gateway of San Pancrazio is mentioned (LP i, 470). Other entrances in the Aurelian Walls are indicated, instead, in the same Liber pontificalis, with their ancient names. These also prevail in the Descriptio murorum of the Einsiedeln Codex (Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 202–07), where it is interesting (and it is uncertain if this is relevant for the document’s chrono­logy or function) that only the porta sancti Petri, a topo­graphic cornerstone recurring also in the Itinerary, is cited with the saint’s name. 10 As is common knowledge, the denomination porta Sancti Sebastiani is documented only later (Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, iv, 433); also the dedication to Saint Agnes of Porta

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ing is surely earlier, by a century at least, if in the Bellum gothicum Procopius, familiar with this habit thanks to his knowledge of it in the eastern territories, seems to follow an already popular trend and on several occasions refers to the gate ‘which bears today the name of Peter, prince of Christ’s Apostles, buried nearby’;11 to the one ‘bearing the name of Paul the Apostle’;12 and to the Porta Aurelia, across the Tiber, whose ancient name he seems not to know, whence he repeatedly identifies it as the gate ‘bearing the name of San Pancrazio’ and Παγκρατιανή (Pancratian).13 Even the ‘Cosmo­graphy’ of Pseudo-­ Aethicus, which may date as early as the fifth century, in describing the Tiber’s course, restates for both the Cornelia and Ostiense gates the connection with both Apostles, indicated as dom(i)ni (for Giovanni Battista De Rossi, rightly, a sign of the text’s antiquity).14 Probably early as well — and obviously derived from a nearby church — is the name of a posterula Sanctae Agathae (ancient postern that was once called of Saint Agatha) mentioned only in the ninth century in Sergius II’s bio­graphy (844–847) (LP ii, 91–92),15 since a later seal of John XII of 962 defines it as Posterula antiqua que olim cognominabatur Sancte Agathe (Federici 1899, no. IV, 268–69).16 This is certainly one of the three posterulae (posterns) mentioned in the ‘Description of the walls’ of the Einsiedeln Codex in the section a porta Sancti Petri … usque portam Flaminiam (from St. Peter’s Gate to Flaminia Gate); out of the total of five in this sec-

11

12 13 14 15

16

tor, these are the only minor openings in the whole Aurelian circuit mentioned by this early medi­eval document, all located in the vanished walls along the Tiber in the Campus Martius (Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 203–04, 207) and clearly situated in connection with riverside docks. Costantino Corvisieri was the first to propose, quite reasonably, to identify this gateway as the posterula sancti Martini mentioned in another document of the same John XII of 957 (Corvisieri 1877–1878, 162; Duchesne 1910 comm. ad LP ii, 102; Bianchi and others 1998, 354–55, 362),17 so called by virtue of its proximity to the nearby church of San Martino (Hülsen 1927, 385–86). This is clear from the clues provided by two charters assigning properties to the San Silvestro in Capite monastery, both the one of 962 already cited, and a previous one of Agapitus II of 955, which deal with land delimited, in the south, by the Aurelian Walls (muro istius civitatis; by the wall of this city) usque in posterulam sancte Agathe et via iuxta posterulam que pergit iuxta suprascriptam ecclesiam (to the Saint Agatha’s postern and by the road near this postern that goes near the mentioned church) (Federici 1899, nos III, IV, 268–69), that is San Nicolai de Tofo, to which the document had previously referred, a church corresponding to the site of the modern San Carlo al Corso (Hülsen 1927, 407). From the posterula (postern) of Sant’Agata, then, a road departed (fragments of whose ancient pavement have in fact come to light, see Carta archeo­logica 1964, IID, 102 n. 105 and IIG, 151 n. 7; FUR, pl. 8), which ran into the Via Lata/Flaminia near the site of San Nicola; on this same road, close to the walls, the church of San Martino was located. But while the gateway is surely the same one, even in its different denominations (in the eleventh century it will be also named ‘de Guilielmo’, see Corvisieri 1877–1878, 100; Bianchi and others 1998, 354), it is not equally clear that the church of San Martino, attested for the first time in 1026 (later than the mentioned charter that had already established the nominal bond with the gate, see Hülsen 1927, 385 and above), was the result of the rededication of the presumed more ancient church of Santa Agata (according to Corvisieri 1877–1878, 96).

Nomentana becomes normal: see, for example, the landscape of Bruegel the Elder (c. 1551; see Frutaz 1962, pl. 172). The same applies for Porta Labicana: see also Coates-­Stephens 2004, 105. BG i, 19. The historian confuses the ancient denomination of Cornelia, calling it Aurelia, a name that he never assigns to the gateway of San Pancrazio (below). There are some notes in Tabata (2013, 199–200) about Procopius’ references to urban gateways. BG ii, 4 e iii, 36. BG i, 18; 23; 28. Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, i, 315 (in the same document there is the indication of the road, not of the gateway with the name of Felix II, buried there). See De Rossi 1869, 11–12. LP ii, 91–92; the gateway is mentioned in relationship with a Tiber flood: the water had crossed the opening, clearly poorly positioned for the river floods and, draining south-­east, had then reached the churches of San Lorenzo in Lucina and of San Marco. The posterula sanctae Agathae recurs with the same role in the descriptions of later similar events, during the pontificate of Benedict III (LP ii, 145) and Nicholas I (LP ii, 153), this last flood being particularly violent. About Agatha’s cult and her 17 For Nibby 1820, 299, the gateway was in the south-­west instead, fortune in the Byzantine epoch, essential is G. D. Gordini, Agata, near the church of Santa Maria de pusterula (Hülsen 1927, santa, martire, in BSS 1961–1970, i, Roma, cc. 320–27; for some 360–61), replacing Sant’Agata. Remains of the gateway seem notes see Spera 2012b (see also below). visible in Sallustio Peruzzi’s view (Frutaz 1962, pl. 232; see The clarification olim cognominabatur Sancte Agathe (once called Zanchettin 2005, 514 fig. 7), more or less contemporary with of Saint Agatha) is different from the previous document of the document of the sixteenth century cited by Corvisieri Agapitus II (Federici 1899, no. III) and seems justified by the 1877–1878, 98, referring to a residence ‘a fronte S. Rocco sopra comparison with it. l’archo’ (‘in front of the church of S. Rocco, above the arch’).

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New Churches along the Walls

church of Ss. Giovanni e Paolo on the Janiculum left no traces either;21 but the fact that the inscription of the edict of 485‒488 by the city prefect Claudius Julius Ecclesius Dinamius about the fraudes molendinariorum ianiculensium (frauds of the workers of the Gianicolo mills)22 was displayed in front (ante) of this structure guarantees its proximity to the molinae (Bell 1996). Rodolfo Lanciani, on this basis, believed he discerned the site ‘sulla vetta stessa del monte …, a destra di chi sale alla porta s. Pancrazio’, in ‘un vasto rettangolo di suolo, chiuso da recinto murato nei tempi di mezzo, identico a quelli di s. Sebastiano in Pallara, di s. Balbina, di s. Sebastiano sull’Appia, di s. Saba etc., … occupato dalla villa Aurelia, già Savorelli’.23 Based on their dedications and various general considerations, topo­graphical factors included, it is likely that these churches were part of the network of religious buildings that were already in existence before the eighth century, and were presumably built between the sixth and seventh centuries. Their dedications in particular appear to be significant, as they suggest consecrations to military saints or to cults popular in the eastern military milieu: John the Apostle;24 John and Paul (Χριστοῦ στρατιῶται, in the

In the same period, between the sixth and seventh centuries, the Aurelian circuit also attracted the construction of churches and oratories, which seem to derive their significance from their close correlation with the walls. The most persuasive arguments on the chrono­ logy of San Giovanni a Porta Latina, which favour a construction-­date in the second half of the sixth century, possibly with the patronage of Narses (esp. Schumacher 1973; see Krautheimer 1936; 1937–1980, i, 217–324; Coates-­Stephens 2006b, 154; 2014; Brandenburg 2013; Miele and Guidobaldi 2019), tend also to suggest that the church owes its topo­ graphical significance, within a traditionally marginal area of the city where uninhabited quarters spread early (Manacorda and Santangeli Valenzani 2011), to its probable connection with the nearby gateway in the city walls (Crescimbeni 1716, 1–67; Cecchelli 2000, 206; Miele and Guidobaldi 2019, 43).18 In a period prior to the itinerary and epi­graphic sylloge of the Einsiedeln Codex (their only documentary attestation), the churches of Ss. Giovanni e Paolo and of S. Isidore appeared, neighbouring the walls respectively at the Janiculum near Porta Aurelia on the left, northern side of the street of the same name, and near Porta Tiburtina (Valentini and 1927, 278–79; Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 187–88 n. 3. Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 167, 191). Pani Ermini 1998, 88 evaluates its meaning in relation to the The oratory of S. Isidore is indeed the first monWalls. See also Spera 2012b, 283. umental construction listed on the right-­hand side 21 (Lanciani 1889, 479–81; Hülsen 1927, 277–78; Armellini and Cecchelli 1942, 812–13; Cecchelli and Trinci 1996, 101–02; in the itinerary’s segment A porta Tiburtina usque Guerrini 2002, 387; 2010a, 61–62; Del Lungo 2004, 131 n., 195, Subura (Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 187; with a different and less plausible hypothesis regarding the 19 Walser 1987, 178; Del Lungo 2004, 68, 159), although location). it is impossible to determine an exact location due to 22 CIL vi 1711 (= 31908); ICh ii, 28 n. 51. Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 167: In Ianiculo ante aeclesiam Iohannis et Pauli. See the lack of remains or other clear indicators.20 The 18 The relationship with the memorial place of John the Apostle, related to the legend of his torture with boiling oil in the City (on this ‘cagione del fondamento’ (‘the reason for the construction’) of the church, see Crescimbeni 1716, 1–67; see also, among others, Cecchelli 2000, 206; Miele and Guidobaldi 2019, 43) is probably the result of the church’s presence, more than the reason for its foundation. The same relationship between new site and ‘construction’ of the legend emerges from the analysis of the contemporary monastery ad aquas salvias, on which see the very recent study of Fiocchi Nicolai 2019. 19 Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 187; moreover, Walser 1987, 178 and Del Lungo 2004, 68, 159. 20 It is very unlikely that the list of donations of Leo III refers to the same settlement (in monasterio sancti Isidori: LP ii, 24); in fact, L. Duchesne (comm. ad LP ii, 45) does not find any connection, nor does a document of 965 in the Regestum Sublacense (RS n. 130, 181). It is instead worth noting that Grosjean 1961, 327 thought a fragmentary funerary inscription of the eighth century preserved in Munich (322, on 14th May: n(a)t(ale) s(an)c(ti) hisidori et n(a)t(ale) s(an)c(ti) bonifaci in adventino) referred to the oratory near Porta Tiburtina. About this oratory see Hülsen

Walser 1987, 43–45. 23 ‘[O]n the top of this hill… on the right for whoever climbs from Porta S. Pancrazio’, in ‘a vast rectangle of land, closed by a wall of medi­eval date, identical to those at Sebastiano in Pallara, of s. Balbina, of s. Sebastiano sull’Appia, of s. Saba, etc., now occupied by Villa Aurelia, formerly known as Savorelli’ Lanciani 1889, c. 481 also corrects Jordan 1871, 346, about a location in the Vatican area. The church is not reported in pl. 27 of Lanciani, FUR, while it is located in the vicinity of the gateway in map I accompanying Hülsen 1927 and in the map attached to Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, iii. What Lanciani saw no longer seems documentable in the modern arrangement; even the most detailed and reliable maps, as Bufalini’s one, basically show an area without significant ancient features (for a recent summary of discoveries, see Attilia 2008). In a 1560s View in the Sutherland collection, Lanciani 1895, 82–83 noted the Janiculum ‘coronato da un convento fortificato con torre o maschio, nel sito della villa Savorelli-­Heyland’ (‘[the hill was] protected by a fortified convent with tower, in the villa Savorelli-­Heyland’). About this see Cazzato 2004, 299–312. 24 For a complete summary of useful data for this reading, see the collection of testimonies in CSLA for Ioannes, the Apostle and Evangelist.

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Figure 3.4. ‘Akaba: capital with a representation of St Longinus (photo by author).

Greek version of their passio),25 to whom a church near a postern in the western sector of Ravenna’s walls was dedicated,26 and where, significantly, in 596/597, an ambo was offered as an ex-­voto from the prim(icerius) strat(orum) Adeodatus;27 and Isidore of Chios, a soldier who, according to hagio­graphical report, was martyred under Decius (AA.SS., Maii iii, 445–52), and was known to Gregory of Tours. Gregory in fact celebrated the miracles of the water of the puteum where this saint was thrown, and which was preserved in the cathedral raised in his honour.28 Although the most frequent indicators of devotion to Isidore cluster in the Aegean islands,29 there is a late hagio­graphic tradition linked with Bishop Marcian from the second half of the fifth century, connected to the arrival of the saint’s relics in Constantinople and the building of a church;30 while in a coherent 25 Halkin, 1974, 272. As is well known, in the passio, both brothers are soldiers under Gallicanus. On the significance of military saints, see Walter 2003, 252–53. 26 Gerola, 1921, 83–84; Farioli, 1960, 57–58; Mazzotti, 1973, 238; Cirelli, 2008, 138; Deliyannis, 2010, 220, 256, 376. On the posterula, see Deichmann, 1969, 39; Mascanzoni, 1993, 399. 27 Angiolini Martinelli, 1968, 30 n. 26, and CIL xi, 300. On Adeodatus, see Cosentino, 1996–2000, i (A-­F), 97 Adeodatus. It is also interesting that in this church, on the basis of Agnellus’s testimony (Life of John v: Agnelli Liber pontificalis ecclesiae Ravennatis, 377) the military victory of 727 over the Byzantines, which occurred on the two saints’ feast day, was celebrated every year with great pomp. 28 Liber in gloria martyrum, 101, p. 105. 29 See the attestations collected in CLSA for Isidoros, martyr of Chios. Different devotional artefacts, ampoules, and oil lamps are docu­mented in Egypt. A summary by G. Lucchesi can also be found in BSS 1961–1970, vii, 967. 30 AA.SS., Maii iii, 445 and AA.SS., Ian. i, 615; see G. Lucchesi, in BSS 1961–1970, vii, 965. On Constantinoples’ church, see Janin, 1953, 271.

group of decorated capitals rediscovered at ‘Aqaba, in Jordan, and most probably belonging to a place of worship of the ancient Aila, a portrait of Isidore, identifiable by a label, is associated with depictions of other warrior saints, among them George, Longinus, Theodore, and one of the Archangels (Fig. 3.4).31 Analogous reasoning leads us to suspect a similar degree of antiquity also for other religious foundations along the walls, despite the proofs certifying their presence being late. Special attention should be paid to the oratory dedicated to Saint Theodore near Porta Praenestina-­L abicana, considered by Giuseppe Tomassetti ‘un antichissimo oratorio’ (‘a most ancient oratory’) (Tomassetti 1976, 455; Hülsen 1927, 489–90; Coates-­Stephens 2004, 118–25; Spera 2015, 48, 59), known from some tenth-­century documents in the Regestum sublacense which define it as a property with housing units and farmed areas. A charter from 924 concerns the donation to Florus (a priest of the monastery of San Vito, which already owned a neighbouring property) by the primicerius Sergius and his wife, of a domus maiore signino opere … cum oratorio sancti Christi martyris Theodori (largest house built in opus signinum … with the oratory dedicated to the Saint Theodore martyr of Christ).32 After a few years, in 937, abbot Orso of San Vito granted the property to the nun Marozia of the convent of Santa Maria in Campo Marzio,33 who, in turn, in 952, granted it in altered form to the Subiaco monastery.34 Subiaco’s jurisdiction over the ecclesia ad honorem sancti Theodori cum caminatis, cortis et ortuis (church in honour of Saint Theodore, with buildings with fireplaces, rustic buildings and vegetable gardens) would be confirmed again by Otto I35 and by different successive papal bulls until the middle of the eleventh century.36 The sequential analysis of the topo­graphic indicators provided by these documents over time, which 31 Woolley, Lawrence 1914, 129; Glueck 1937, 1–3. For a complete biblio­graphic summary, see P. Nowakowski, CSLA record E02617. 32 Allodi and Levi 1885, 67 n. 27. Complete interpretations of this and the following document can be found in Corvisieri 1870, 74–76 and in Coates-­Stephens 2004, 118–22; see also the concise review of Hülsen 1927, 489–90. 33 Allodi and Levi 1885, 169–70 no. 121. 34 Allodi and Levi 1885, 171 no. 122. 35 Allodi and Levi 1885, 6 no. 3. 36 Particularly, from the privileges of Benedict VI of 973 (Allodi and Levi 1885, 36 no 14; of John XII of 998 (Allodi and Levi 1885, 29, no. 12; of John XVIII of 1005 (Allodi and Levi 1885, 24–25, no. 10; of Benedict VIII of 1015 (Allodi and Levi 1885, 43 no. 15; the term is identical to that used in the 1005 privilege); and of Leo IX of 1051 (Allodi and Levi 1885, 60 no. 21; the term is identical to the 1005 privilege’s one). The notice recurs also in the property list of the monastery compiled in the twelfth century (Allodi and Levi 1885, 224 no. 183).

3 . ro m e — t he legacy o f t he got hi c war i n t he u rb an d e f e nsi ve sys tems

already allowed Robert Coates-­Stephens to hypothetically illustrate the configuration of the area in the middle of the tenth century (Coates-­Stephens 2004, 115–22, 171 fig. 92),37 provides a useful starting point for a reconstruction. From the document of 924, the presence of a corticella (small agricultural building) can be deduced in front of San Teodoro’s church,38 opening directly onto the via publica (introito et exoito suo et via publica; with entrance and exit from the public road), probably the same road que descendit ad portam maiorem (that goes down to Porta Maggiore), indicated as the (north-­east) boundary of the property in the same charter; behind the church (post se), in 924 and in 937, are recorded the presence of parietinae destructae (destroyed walls) in the earlier document, and of criptae et parietinae desertae (underground environments and abandoned walls) in the later one (Allodi and Levi 1885, 67 no. 27, 170 no. 121), all clearly the ruined remains of pre-­existing buildings. At the moment of the first donation the oratory was part of the primicerius Sergius’s property, which must have been more extensive and closer to the walls (Coates-­Stephens 2004, 117 fig. 92), since in the transfer to the monastery of Subiaco in 952 there were still adjacent a quarto latere ortua et case qui fuerunt de quoddam sergio primicerio sicuti in affines videtur aliis hominibus detenerunt (the fourth side bordered by gardens and buildings once owned by Sergius primicerius and by lands that belonged to others) (Allodi and Levi 1885, 171 no. 122). The church was then separated from this property to allow a transfer to the San Vito monastery, together with the apparently detached domus maiore,39 to which it does not seem to have been structurally attached. Thus, in the succeeding transaction involving Orso, in 937, there is reason to think that the domus now associated with San Teodoro is not the maiore of the previous act, but rather that of Florus of the San Vito monastery, which in 924 was described as bordering it (Allodi and Levi 1885, 67 no. 27). The domus maiore, rather, considering the changes of boundaries that the documents show occurring over time, seems to have passed to the monasterium Renati and was in fact listed as the border of the landholding granted to Marozia (Allodi and Levi 1885, 170 no. 121).

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Figure 3.5. Porta Maggiore: Hypothesis of location of the church of St Theodore during the tenth century (reworked from Lanciani, FUR, tables 31 and 32).

The structure of the property given to the monastery of Subiaco in 952 has a more complex appearance, probably enlarged, reorganizing assets iuris monasterii sancte Lucie qui appellatur Renati et sancti Viti qui appellatur Maiore (under the jurisdiction of the monasteries of Santa Lucia which is called Renati and of San Vito which is called Maior) (Allodi and Levi 1885, 171 no. 122). The charter refers to several houses (domora iunctas cum inferioribus et superioribus earum a solo et usque ad summe tecta; multi-­ storey residential buildings from the lowest floor to the roof ),40 the oratorium sancti Theodori, set up for monastic use, and two farmed cortae, one smaller than the other, cum furnu et metatu (with an oven and a fence), that is perimetral walls with access (cum introita earum per porta maiore et per posterule; with an entrance through a main door and with posterns) (Allodi and Levi 1885, 171 no. 122). It is plausible that the bigger enclosed area with the ortuo maiore vineatum cum arboribus (larger vegetable garden planted with vines and with trees) occupied the internal space of the enclosure on the interior of the gate,41 and that the passage per porta maiore can be

37 Coates-­Stephens (2004, 115–22, 171, fig. 92.) illustrates the situation traceable from the document of 952, inside and outside the Walls. In relation to this, for the area of S. Teodoro, some 40 It is also confirmed by the plural domora/caminatae in the changes are proposed (see Fig. 3.5). confirmation documents. 38 This could coincide with the garden used as a vineyard associated 41 This space, in the various views from before the radical works of with the oratory in the document of 837. Gregory XVI (for example, in the suggestive one of Piranesi of 39 On the basis of a chrono­logical reading of the documents, I differ 1795, edited by Coates-­Stephens 2004, 132 fig. 105; see here also from Coates-­Stephens 2004, 118, 121–22: he divines a private figs. 83, 85 — reproduced here as Fig. 3.6 — and 86), is occupied oratory founded in the tenth century tightly related to the domus by different buildings with empty sections (Coates-­Stephens (see below). 2004, 130–35). Perhaps the ortu de Mercurio, indicated as a border

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Figure 3.6. Porta Maggiore: internal side. Engraving of Cipriani – c. 1800 (after Coates-­Stephens).

understood not in the generic sense but rather as referring specifically to the archway of the city-­gate. This reinterpretation of the material environment leads, therefore, to a hypothesis that locates the ecclesia sancti Theodori on the conjoined stretch of via Labicana and via Celimontana, not far from Porta Maggiore (Fig. 3.6).42 Hülsen already doubted the idea of Corvisieri, who did not hesitate to connect San Teodoro with Vacca’s mention of ‘un’anticaglia, fabbrica assi sotterra’, visited ‘appresso alla porta di Santa Croce in Gerusalemme … nella quale sono molti santi dipinti, e li Cristiani se ne sono serviti per chiesa’ (Fea 1790, ci; Corvisieri 1870, 76). This notice fits better in relation to the cistern of the Thermae Helenianae, which today still preserves traces of paintings that were far more visible in the sixteenth century (Colini 1955, 142; Paladino 2006, 294, 300 n. 11; Spera 2015, 68). It is unlikely, then, that the church could have reused the structures of the big tumulus mausoleum at the crossing between the walls and the Arcus Neroniani (Ciancio Rossetto 1973; Coates-­Stephens 2004, 20–21),43 although there are interesting signs of habitual frequentation in the three medi­eval graffiti, with the names preceded by crosses, read on the dromos’ walls already reused for hydraulic purposes after the mausoleum ceased to function as such (Coates-­Stephens 2004, 123–24 in the 924 document, was already there ((Allodi and Levi 1885, 67 no. 27)? 42 ‘[N] ella parte settentrionale della già Villa Conti’ for Hülsen 1927, 489; essentially the same area also for Coates-­Stephens 2004, 118–25. 43 Coates-­Stephens (2004, 124) does not exclude this hypothesis.

figs. 95‒96). If, according to the proposed reconstruction (Coates-­Stephens 2004, 117, part. fig. 92), the property with the oratory of San Teodoro never extended to the Aurelianic circuit,44 the remains of this monument might instead have been in the estates that the primicerius Sergius still held, or in any case at a site different from that of the church. Although the lack of reference prior to 924 suggested to Robert Coates-­Stephens that it was an oratory that was installed in the tenth century within a private house,45 the possibility that it was in fact an older foundation deserves careful attention. The cult of Theodore, martyr-­soldier of Amasea,46 was very common in the East and was often, as we have seen, associated with defensive protection.47 In Rome, however, his cult is attested only between the sixth and seventh centuries and is limited to his presence next to the images of Cosmas and Damian in their eponymous church in the Roman forum,48 and to the dedication of a cult-­building at the foot of the Palatine,49 most probably a Byzantine-­period com-

44 The Walls, in fact, were never its border (above), as properly appreciated also by Coates-­Stephens (2004, 118) in his reconstruction of the structure. 45 Coates-­Stephens 2004, 121–22, also on the basis of the comparison with S. Sebastiano on the Palatine. For this scholar, ‘the dedication to St. Theodore might suggest a military connection regarding whoever was the founder’, meaning that ‘by the tenth century… the saint tended to be more strongly connected with the aristocracy than the army per se, reflected by his being raised up from “Tyro” to “Stratelates”’. This observation is, however, not supported by documents, and particularly in the west and in Italy testimonies about the cult after the seventh century completely disappeared: see generally Walter 2003, 44–66, but see also below. With regards to chrono­logy, Hülsen 1927, 489 does not express his view (‘Di questo piccolo santuario si sarebbe persa ogni memoria, se non avesse appartenuto al monastero di Subiaco…’); concerning the definition of ‘antichissimo oratorio’ in Tomassetti 1976, 455, see above. 46 Generally, also for the complicated relationship between Theodore Tirone and Tirone Stratelates, see Delehaye 1909, 11–43; A. Amore, in BSS 1961–1970, xii, 238–41; Walter 2003, 44–66; De Giorgio 2016; Haldon 2016. 47 Delehaye 1909, 11–14; A. Amore and M. C. Celletti, in BSS 1961–1970, xii, 238–42; Walter 2003, 49–50. Note the testimonies collected in the database CLSA for Theodore, soldier and martyr of Amaseia and Euchaita. Procopius, recalls different fortified centres with the saint’s name (Proc. Aed., iv, 4, pp/ 360–61). Bo­logna’s Walls, for which varied dates were proposed, ranging from the fifth-­sixth to the seventh century, was ‘fortified’ by Theodore and Marcellus’s remains (Fasoli 1960–1963, 313–43; Pini 1999, 31–55; Motta 2006, 339). 48 On the mosaic, see most recently, Foletti 2015; see Christe 1996, 79 on the reason for the preference related to Theodoric. This is rightly considered by A. Amore (in BSS 1961–1970, xii, 240) ‘la prima traccia di un culto tributato a T.’ in the west. 49 Krautheimer 1937–1980, iv, 267–75 and, for the mosaic representation, Matthiae and Andaloro 1987, 82–83, 246; and Vernia 2006, particularly on the difficult interpretation of the

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mission.50 Attestations of his cult are seemingly also limited elsewhere in Italy, and consist of churches and monasteries that were evidently founded after the Byzantine war, in areas under Byzantine influence.51 Significantly, the most substantial attestations occur in Ravenna, where the Arian cathedral’s re-­consecration to the saint by Bishop Agnellus52 is suggestively paralleled in a tradition recalled by the historian Faustus of Byzantium; he attributed the demise of the Arian emperor Valens to the intervention of Sergius and Theodore, urged on by a multitude of saints.53 The Liber pontificalis ecclesiae Ravennatis assigns to Theodore, exarch in 678, the foundation of a monasterium (a term that referred to a place of worship)54 the beati Theodori diaconi … non longe a loco qui uocatur Calchi (church of the blessed deacon Theodore … not far from the place called Calchi), at the entrance to the imperial palace;55 this church is indicated by later sources as being San Teodoro ad Calchi or in contrata palatii.56 The close relationship between residences and places of power is strong in Constantinople, in the group of more than fifteen churches that were dedicated to the saint of Amasea between Late Antiquity and

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figure in which Theodore was recognized. A complete and updated summary is given in Milella 2004. Coates-­Stephens 2006a, 311–12, also with some notes about the cult. The limited spread of the cult in the west, within the Byzantine influenced areas, clearly emerges: Delehaye 1909, 11–14; A. Amore, in BSS 1961–1970, xii, c. 240; Walter 2003, 50. The complete and very useful data collection CLSA for Theodore, soldier and martyr of Amaseia and Euchaita, clearly reveals the difference in the documentation between the east and west. For a summary of Italy’s attestations, see De Giorgio, 2016, 113–19. The group is quite contained and it is limited, in addition to the cases of Ravenna (below), particularly to the monasteries of Palermo and Messina attested by the letters of Gregory the Great (Ep. i, 9; 38; 39 and Ep. v, 4, in Epistolarum Tomus I; and 10–11, 51–52, 284–85, and Ep.ix, 35 — here it is a xenodochium dedicated to the saint — and 171, in Epistolarum Tomus ii, 65, 168), and to that of Naples (Carriero 2009, 52). A foundation dedicated to Saint Theodore in Albenga belongs to the Byzantine period: Massabò 2008; Roascio 2018, 105–06. Coates-­Stephens 2006a, 312 n. 19 also emphasizes the interesting notice on the tradition related to Venice, of which Theodore is a patron, concerning a presumed first church founded by Narses (Origo civitatum Italie seu Venetiarum. Chronicon Altinate et Chronicon Gradense, 65–66). Agnelli Liber pontificalis ecclesiae Ravennatis, 86. See Deichmann, 1974, 245–51. Faustus of Byzantium, iv, 10, 245–46. Morini 1992; Sansterre 1992, 326. For this usage in Ravenna’s sources, see Bondi 2012, 5 n. 3; for the sake of brevity, in relationship to this general theme, we refer only to Fiocchi Nicolai 2014, 26 n. 75. With regard to the uncertain origin as a monastery, Cirelli, 2008, 239, inexplicably better than Cirelli, 2018, 22. Agnelli Liber pontificalis ecclesiae Ravennatis, 119, 356. For this church, the main biblio­graphy is in Cirelli’s profile (2008, 239); further Deichmann 1974, 374. See also Spera 2012b, 286 and n. 129. Fantuzzi, 1801–1804, ii, 139, 408.

the Middle Ages.57 Among these, the most ancient oratory was founded by the patricius Sphorakios, consul in 452, at his domus, located in a central area between the Milion and Constantine’s forum, and near the Mese.58 A second oratory, considered to be much earlier than its first mention in 764, rose near the main gate of πραιτώριον (the praetorium)59 while another important chapel dedicated to Theodore was in the imperial palace, located by our sources in the Chrysotriclinium, the nerve centre for a series of ceremonies.60 Finally, in the immediate suburbs, not so far from the walls, there was the shrine of ἐν τῷ Ῥησίῳ, cited by Procopius in the De aedificiis for its reconstruction under Justinian.61 It is thus quite probable that the foundation of the San Teodoro church near Porta Prenestina-­Labicana is to be associated with the period of church building that unfolded when Rome was under Byzantine control (Krautheimer 1981, 77–141; Dey 2021). The already-­mentioned strong military connections of this cult are appropriate to the church’s position in close proximity to the walls, though the possibility of a functional connection with the Sessorian palace is also worth considering, based on the parallels with Constantinople and, with that metropolis as a model, at Ravenna. One entrance to the Sessorian residence, reliably attested as continuing in use until at least the sixth century,62 was very probably located in the immediate vicinity of the oratory, between the pillars of the aqueduct. There, crucial archaeo­logical data obtained during the mid-­ twentieth-­century programme of urban renewal, and from some more recent investigations, suggest the presence of a wide paved space at the crossing of the two roads passing under the pillars, and of a monumental vestibule entered through an opening with a granite doorsill.63 It might be meaningful that in

57 Janin 1935, 56–64; 1953, 155–62. 58 Janin 1935, 56–7 n. 1; 1953, 159–60 n. 12. 59 Janin 1935, 59 n. 2; 1953, 157 n. 8. Concerning the πραιτώριον, see Janin 1964, 165–69. 60 Janin 1935, 59–60 n. 3; 1953, 156–57 n. 7. 61 Proc. Aed. i, 4, 20, pp. 112–13. See Janin 1935, 62–63 n. 10; 1953, 157–58 n. 9. 62 Sources are explicit until the Theodorican epoch (Guidobaldi 1999, 307; Borgia and others 2008, i, 3); and the stone with the epitaph of the vir devotus Pal(atinus) Adeodatus of 496 (CIL vi 37278), reused in the floor of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme’s cloister, could also come directly from the structure; a palatium iuxta Iherusalem is also mentioned in the itinerary of the Einsiedeln Codex (Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 193; Walser 1987, 186). Archaeo­logical data could be used in a more persuasive way, with more detailed analysis: see, for example, Borgia and others 2008, ii, 38. 63 Borgia and others 2008, ii, 19–21. It is possible, with difficulty, to contextualize (and emphasize) a painted inscription with

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the sixth century, the nearby area north-­west of the road where the church would arise, and which was once occupied by a cemetery with a long history of use (Coates-­Stephens 2004, 106–09 for a complete analysis of the data), seems to have been involved in a new radical reurbanization phase. Residential structures may have been erected that made extensive reuse of the slabs of the ancient tombs, built atop an intentionally deposed layer of levelling fill, a phase that Giovanni Battista de Rossi, Rodolfo Lanciani and Edoardo Brizio were able to define chrono­logically thanks to some well-­dated finds, in particular a stamped brick of Athalaric and a red-­slip plate with a jewelled cross in the centre (Fig. 3.7) (De Rossi 1871; Lanciani 1874, 55–56; Brizio 1876, 121–22). Coates-­Stephens (2004, 109 [but contradicted on p. 119]), however, has some doubts that this later arrangement can be ascribed to burial activity. Suspicions of a pre-­medi­eval dating and of an early ideo­logical-­f unctional connection with the walls can be expressed as well for a few other foundations. We have already mentioned the church of Sant’Agata, probably standing near the posterula antiqua to which it gave its name in the ninth century, and the church of San Martino, documented starting only in the tenth century near the same segment of the Aurelian walls along the Tiber.64 Even without any specific information, the location and the dedications find similarities, with installations related to both saints in their role as urban protectors, and in connection with anti-­heretical agendas during the Byzantine era.65 Also ascribable to the increasing

Figure 3.7. Terra Sigillata Plate from the excavation in the area near Porta Maggiore (after de Rossi).

sacralization of Rome’s defences is the introduction of the cult of Saint Michael the Archangel in the mausoleum of Hadrian, which scholarly debate places in the period between the pontificates of Gregory the Great and his successor Boniface IV,66 long after the

to this account, the cult developed also in medi­eval Palermo, with the church of S. Agata ‘at the Walls’ giving the name to the subsequent gateway (Stelladoro 2005, 107; Mongitore 2009, ii, 23–25). Even in Brescia, between the sixth and the seventh century, a church dedicated to the Sicilian saint was built in immediate proximity to the walls, outside the circuit (Ardenna and Rossi 2007, 18). The cult of Martin in sites close to walls is attested in Rouen (Vieillard-­Troiekouroff 1976, 245–47; Gauthier 1996, 33) and in Split ( Jakšić 2003). On the motivations and elongated letters, on the whole of uncertain meaning, but where the association with military saints, see Delehaye 1939; on the the letters [-­-­-­]sinius Sessoriu[m] can be distinguished: for questions regarding the hagio­graphic texts, see Halkin 1983–1984 Coates-­Stephens (2004, 105), who has extensively presented it, and the summary of Walter 2003, 200–05. See also, Fontaine 1963. this was ‘on plaster on the inner curtain of the city walls, whose In Rome, the churches dedicated to the saints are quite ancient: fabric had been incorporated in the domus that bordered them’; for those dedicated to St Agatha, whose cult Gregory the Great Antonio Maria Colini, instead, witness of the discovery, simply used to re-­consecrate Arian churches, see Hülsen 1927, 165–68; describes it ‘sull’intonaco di un ambiente addossato ai piloni’ in Cartocci 1993; Pronti 1993, and Serra 2001; for the ones dedicated the section ‘tra via Eleniana e l’acquedotto’ (Colini 1957, 6), so it to St Martin (some of these attested in the Middle Ages, though), is not related to the Aurelian Walls, as Borgia and others 2008, ii, see Hülsen 1927, 381–86. For other urban churches, in strategic 20 also seem to think. locations, building chrono­logies should be better analysed: 64 See above, including for the not-­so persuasive hypothesis that would especially, Santa Lucia (Lanciani, FUR, pl. 15), Santa Maria de make the two foundations coincide. In the case of the church of porta (Nomentana), and Santa Maria de Spatularia, about which San Martino, over which in the first years of the sixteenth century, see Hülsen 1927, 303–04, 359, 366–67. a new building dedicated to Saint Rocco was constructed, notes by Baldassarre Peruzzi during the investigations under the floor 66 BG i, 22. More undefined, instead, is the dating of the foundation of a chapel dedicated to the angel on the Augustan mausoleum, do not permit us to deduce any indicators of antiquity (Zanchettin for which the terminus ante quem is given by the first mention 2005; concerning these archaeo­logical sites, see also Lanciani 1882, in a bull of Agapitus II of 951 (Hülsen 1927, 195); its location 152–55). It is not clear whether the graveyard with tombs directly too could have a strategic role in connection with the city’s lying on the pavement was related to one of these two churches; it confines. On the cult’s significance in relation to defensive is documented in the area in front of Augustus’ mausoleum (Carta fortifications, much can be gleaned in the appropriate entries in archeo­logica, 1964, IID nn. 92–93, 99–100; Meneghini and Santangeli CLSA for Michael, the Archangel. For a summary on St Michael’s Valenzani 2004, 118). shrines, including the reasons for their installation, Sensi 2007. 65 Catania’s people attributed to Agatha, according to a tradition It is interesting that an oratory dedicated to Saint Michael the of the saint’s miracles, their liberation from the Goths, assisted Archangel rose also in the Castrum Lucullanum, according by the troops of Belisarius (AA.SS., Febr., i, 653); in relation

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monument had first been integrated into the city’s defences, as it already was when Procopius described it in detail (Cecchelli 1951, 31–33; D’Onofrio 1971, 145–97; De Francesco 2007, 525–30). Finally, some of the numerous oratories constructed immediately outside the defensive circuit may have some intentional relationship with the Aurelian walls, as well as with the frequented roads along which they rose. Between the sixth and seventh centuries, such oratories had generally brought the saints’ cults closer — with the new suburban churches rising alongside — to the city-­centre than the ancient shrines at the martyrs’ graves.67 Among the several buildings, mainly attested by the written sources, the following are included: the oratory of Sant’Euplo at Porta Ostiense, commissioned by Pope Theodore but mostly significant for its connection to the colonnaded street leading towards San Paolo (Spera 2004);68 the memoria of Sixtus II (Spera 2000–2001) and the church of Sant’Apollinare outside Porta Appia (Spera 1999, 337, 426);69 San Gennaro, a church called iuxta portam Sancti Laurentii in the Dialogues of Gregory the Great (Serra 2005, with additional biblio­graphy); and San Romano outside Porta Salaria, known for its complete reconstruction under Sergius II (844–847) and certainly much earlier than his pontificate (LP ii, 28; Fiocchi Nicolai 2016).70 The oratorium sanctae Mariae is mentioned only in the Einsiedeln itinerary as lying outside the Porta Latina (Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 199). Reekmans (1968, pl. 45; see also Carletti 1969, 71)71 recalls the evocative tradition of Marian protection established above all in Constantinople, with the shrine of ad Blachernas, enhanced by the prodigious icon which defended the city from the Avars in 626 ( Janin 1953, 169–79).72 If such suburban

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churches are not late re-­dedications of earlier structures, as some have indeed supposed, the oratory at Porta Latina would not be an isolated occurrence; and two more shrines also dedicated to Mary are in fact documented in Leonardo Bufalini’s map in the vicinity of both Porta Salaria and Porta Tiburtina (Frutaz 1962, pls 191, 193).73

The Churches along the Walls: A Contribution to Byzantine Rome The churches inside the walls, in particular, deserve consideration as a group. These are largely related to cults favoured in military contexts ( John the Baptist, John and Paul, Isidore of Chios, Theodore, the Archangel Michael, Martin of Tours) and to figures of fighting-­saints, as in the evocation of Conon and George in the inscription carved into the arch of Porta Appia.74 These same figures, as we have seen repeatedly, are associated with city walls in nearby oratories, and appear as recipients of protection requests on the gateways of many other urban centres, occasionally in the West, but mainly in the East. It is also suggested in a recent study by Vincenzo Fiocchi Nicolai (2016), that the Romanus to whom the church outside Porta Salaria is dedicated, whose tomb should be in the cemetery of Ciriaca along Via Tiburtina (Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, ii, 82, 114, 145; Fiocchi Nicolai 2016, 202–03 n. 9; Cicogna 2011, 523–24), is a military saint of the first years of the sixth century according to the passio Polychronii, and an ostiarius in the Liber pontificalis (Mombritius 1910, 94–95 and AA.SS., Aug. ii, 410; LP i, 68, 155; Duchesne, Comm. ad LP i, 156; Fiocchi Nicolai 2016, 202–04), a guardian role perhaps actually derived from the intrinsic meaning of the churchly foundation at the city gate (Fiocchi Nicolai 2016, 204). It might not be a mere coincidence that at Constantinople as well, the church of a Romanus, an Antiochene martyr of the Diocletianic persecution, was in the vicinity of a city gate which in the Middle Ages took its name from the church ( Janin 1953, 463–65). These churches and oratories have a similar story: 1) there is no record of their foundation in the Liber

to a testimony from the letters of Gregory the Great (i, 23, in Epistolarum Tomus i, pp. 27–28). In some cases, also with the ‘invention’ of hagio­graphic memorials, as for the oratory of Sixtus II near Porta Appia (Spera 2000–2001). For a general topo­graphic summary of the suburban shrines see Reekmans 1968; Spera 2012a. Spera 2004. Spera 1999, 337, 426. For details of the position of these oratories, see Reekmans 1968, pls 7, 24, 55, 74. Less persuasive is the attempt of De Felice 2003, 662–63 to 73 See also Lanciani, FUR, pls 3 and 24. For the church outside identify the oratory with a sepulchral hypogeum, reused later Porta Salaria the identification with the older, previously (holy icons, a Virgin Mary with Baby Jesus between Peter and mentioned church of San Romano was proposed (Fusco 2009, Paul, roughly painted, which seem datable to the Middle Ages, 116; Fiocchi Nicolai 2016, 206–07); the one outside Porta should be attributed to this phase), discovered in the first years Tiburtina could have been the earlier oratory of San Gennaro of the twentieth century near Porta Latina (Gatti 1913). (Serra 1998, 138; Fiocchi Nicolai 2016, 207). For detail of this miraculous episode, Niceph., 18, in PG 100, cc. 74 With regard to the political and socio-­cultural meaning of these cults and their spread, it is worth consulting the synthetic studies 905C–908A, and discussed in Janin 1953, 170; Baynes 1949, 172–73). mentioned above: Delehaye 1909; Orselli 1993b; Walter 2003; A foundation of the same name was established in seventh-­century Corvisier 2006; Déroche 2015. Ravenna (Deichmann 1972, 71–72; Cirelli 2008, 239).

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pontificalis due to their non-­episcopal patronage, specific corps (often with the definition of numeri)78 and so the impetus for their construction probably appointed for the defence of the city: the Regii, durderives from efforts to promote religious building ing the Greek-­Gothic wars (BG i, 23, 3; Ravegnani 2005, 194 n. 45); the Numerus Devotus, certified in projects now broadly attributed to the entourage of the Byzantine government (Coates-­Stephens 2006a; 561 (CIL vi 32967; Ravegnani 2005, 202 n. 90); the 2006b); 2) their histories tend to be ephemeral, barely Ravennates, Dacii, Numerus Sermisianus, and the traceable because of the lacunose state of the surTheodosiaci, between the end of the sixth and the viving documentation. Aside from San Giovanni at first years of the seventh century.79 Regarding the Porta Latina, ‘backed up’ by the legend of the marlast-­mentioned unit, attested also in two donation tyrdom oil, monumental remains of all these buildcharters datable to around 600, one to the church ings are missing (which is surprising!), and in no of Ravenna and the other to the Roman basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore (Tjäder 1955, nn. 17, 318–34; case may we even suspect that they reused parts of the city walls themselves.75 The evident marginality 449–55),80 and by an epitaph at Santa Cecilia of a of their locations and the non-­existent connection Pascasia, coniux Vitaliani primicerii et autenta numeri with residential areas, which made them unsuited [felicum] Theodosiac(orum),81 Gregory the Great, in for insertion into the circuits of the stational liturgy, a letter of 592 to the bishop of Ravenna, says that must surely have determined their poor survival-­rate at that moment they represented the sole military and, for the majority of them, their likely failure to garrison remaining in the city, but as they were not outlive the early Middle Ages. receiving their regular military pay, they barely (vix) With regard to the question of their reason for devoted themselves ad murorum custodiam (to the being, if their topo­graphical distribution is not so defence of the walls).82 During the seventh century, relevant for possible relationships with restorations according to several passages in the bio­graphies of the walls in the sixth‒seventh centuries or with of the Liber Pontificalis, the defensive difficulties events related to the long Greek-­Gothic war,76 it is lamented over and over again in earlier sources83 still not out of the question that some of these cult buildings could have had some connection with About the question, see especially Ravegnani 2005, 194, 199, groups of resident troops in Byzantine Rome, who 201–02; di Carpegna Falconieri 2012, 564 and n. 18 on 564–65. may indeed have attended services there. We have 78 On numeri, small units of soldiers that were estimated to number mentions of them in written sources, both literaround a few hundred, see Guillou 1969, 149; Patlagean 1974, 44; ary and epi­graphic,77 which in different moments Ravegnani 2005, 186–88. between the sixth and seventh centuries mention 79 A papyrus assigned to the first years of the seventh century 75 The phenomenon of the reuse of structures belonging to the Aurelian Walls for the creation of chapels seems to emerge only later, in the Middle Ages, at least on the basis of the paintings which allow their di, the best known cases, such as the oratory of St Margaret of Antioch in the tower near Porta San Giovanni (Cardilli Aloisi 1983; Cambedda and Ceccherelli 1990, 27–28), the oratory installed in Porta Ostiense (Grisar 1902; Cambedda 1988), and the rooms with paintings at Porta Asinaria recently discovered and hypothetically related to the church and to the hospital of San Nicola (Asor and others 2017, 151–53) could be datable between the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. It is worth considering also the aedicule along the wall-­walk, west of Porta Appia (Cambedda and Ceccherelli 1990, 64, 87 pl. 7). 76 On the dynamics of sieges in suburban area, see Pani Ermini 2001, 277–86 (and pl. V), and the detailed recent analysis of Fiocchi Nicolai, forthcoming. About the interventions on the Walls of the sixth‒seventh centuries, on which scholars have reached no agreement in their identifications, see above, n. 1. 77 They are special units or vague groupings (below), but also upper class military figures, magistri militum, primicerii, cartularii, attested in different ways, including by epi­graphy (for example CIL vi 32169, 32221, and 32223; Orlandi 2004, 319–21, no. 17.11 and 432–33, no. 17.147, 443–44, no. 17.163; CIL vi 32050; ICUR i 945 (a. 589); CIL vi 37276; ICUR i 949; CIL vi 31971; ICUR iv 11160). Gregory the Great’s letters mention different magistri militum and duces staying in Rome at certain times (see Durliat 1979, 316–18, and the many relevant observations in Bavant 1979).

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mentions a domesticus numeri Dacorum (Tjäder 1955, nn. 18–19, 334–39; about this Schoolman 2019); an optio of the numerus Sermisianus, perhaps from Sirmium (see Ravegnani 2005, 201–02), witnesses, with Theodatus, adorator numeri Theodosiaci, the donation document of Flavia Xanthippes to Santa Maria Maggiore (Marini 1805, 140–43 n. XCI; Tjäder 1955, nn. 17, 327–34, 453–55). The presence of soldiers from the corps of the Ravennates is perhaps inferable from the persistence of related names in the medi­eval toponymy; see below. About the numerus Theodosiacus, in addition to Ravegnani 2005, 201, see the excellent detailed study of Pellegrini 2007 (to which we defer), with a complete study of the problems related to the origin and the source of this garrison, presumably in Thrace. Moreover, see di Carpegna Falconieri 2012, 564. CIL vi 32970; ILCV 489, 3766, 3784; ICUR i 131; with many imprecisions, Guerrini 2010b, 162, n. 171. See Bellen 1961, 243 about the αὐθένται. Doubts (not accepted by Guerrini 2010b) on the integration [felicum], with a proposed reading [equit(um)], in Pellegrini 2007, 360, 363. See also Hunsucker and Roles 2016, about the burial of Byzantine personages in Santa Cecilia of Trastevere. Ep. ii, 45, in Epistolarum Tomus i, 145). From the Pope’s discourse we can assume that generally not just the Theodosiaci defended the city (Ravegnani 2005, 201; Pellegrini 2007, 357). Also in Ep. i, 3 (in Epistolarum Tomus i, 4) Gregory I refers to a seditio militum (a sedition of soldiers). The letter from Pelagius to Gregory, the future Pope, then apocrisiarius in Constantinople, about mediation with the emperor Maurice to obtain the sending of a magister militum

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began to be remedied. The military presence in the city seems to stabilize, and the mainly foreign and regularly changing contingents of the decades after the Gothic wars were replaced with troops whose roots were more local (Bavant 1979, 62–63; Patlagean 1974, 30–33; di Carpegna Falconieri 2012, 565–68). The exercitus Romanus/civitatis Romanae or the militia Romana, as a body distinct from the Ravennatis one, is cited in the bio­graphies of Severinus (640), Theodore (642–649), Martin (649–653), Benedict II (684–685) and Sergius I (687–701).84 If for the period of antiquity until the radical changes of the Constantinian period,85 the ‘military topo­graphy’ of the city is easy to reconstruct (Busch 2011; Ricci 2011), by contrast, the locations of army garrisons in late antique and very early medi­eval Rome do not seem to have left evident traces. The stable presence in Trastevere of the Ravennati was deduced from the toponym Urberavennatium used in the first half of the sixth century by the author of Pope Callixtus’ life,86 while the network of churches related to Eastern cults in the city centre, and the medi­eval tradition of militiae (tiberianae) that persisted in various forms,87 has suggested the presence of a proper ‘Byzantine quarter’ that revitalized the zone between the Palatine and the slopes of the

Quirinale, ‘un antico insediamento militare, … forse di reggimenti “barbari” così denominati dall’imperatore d’Oriente Tiberio Costantino (578–582), oppure di milizie cittadine costruite nello stesso periodo per difendere Roma dall’assalto longobardo del 578’.88 Certainly the murorum custodia, a difficult challenge according to the Procopius’ testimony,89 required fixed military encampments in close connection with the defensive circuit, at the gateways and certainly using the enclosures of the interior gate-­castles,90 inside the towers, or even inside the service-­chambers incorporated into the perimeter of the Aurelian Walls.91 In this context, it is extremely interesting to note the reinterpretation of a large building near Porta Tiburtina, older than and incorporated into the Aurelian Walls, which Rita Volpe has recently identified as a cistern connected to the Marcia-­Tepula-­Iulia aqueducts, with subsequent continuity of use by a military contingent until the sixth or seventh centuries.92 With such long-­term emplacements of soldiers appointed for the defence of the walls, groups that were quite heterogeneous from the ethnic and cultural point of view,93 a context for the variegated devotional options offered by the churches along the walls seems to emerge.

and a dux on account of the Lombardic menace is quite famous; in fact, maxime partes Romanae omni praesidio vacuatae videntur (most of the urban sectors lacked a military garrison) and the exarch did not have the necessary instruments for the custodiendas partes (the sectors that needed to be defended); Epistola prima ad Gregorium diaconum, in PL 72, cc. 703–06. See Cosentino 1996–2000, i, 61 n. 272 for questions of interpretation. In this period a strong and continuous military presence in the city was apparently compromised by strategies that aimed to concentrate defence along the Via Flaminia, as can be deduced also from a letter by the same Pope (Ep.v, 36, in Epistolarum Tomus i, 319: see Bertolini 1941, 225–29, 240–61. LP i, 328, 331, 337, 338, 363, 371–72. Also mentioned in Conon’s bio­graphy (LP i, 368) is a fixed military presence, without the definition Romana. See Chastagnol 1960, 254–56; Speidel 1988, 183–86; Busch 2011, 49; Speidel 1994, 155–57; and for the consequences for urban settlement, Spera 2016, 315–16. LP i, 141; also, in the passio of the Pope (AA.SS., Oct. vi, 439), he gathered his followers trans Tiberim in urbem ad templum Ravennatium (beyond the Tiber near the temple of the Ravennates). About the possibility of a deployment in the sixth-­ seventh century, in an area already related to Ravenna’s classiarii that can be located in the central section of Trastevere, between S. Crisogono and S. Maria in Trastevere (Giorgetti 1977; for a general summary, Lega 1993). Canon Benedict indicates a route per montem circa Militias Tiberianas (Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, iv, 218). For the group of churches mentioned with the term de Militiis (Sant’Abaciro and San Salvatore by the end of the twelfth century) see Valentini and Zucchetti 1940–1953, iv, 234, 243, 259); Hülsen 1927, 159–61, 396, 402–03, 432, 447–48. For a complete summary of these testimonies, see Passigli 1989.

88 ‘An ancient military settlement… maybe of barbarian regiments so called by the eastern emperor Tiberius (578–582), or of urban militias built in the same period to defend Rome from the Lombard assault of 578’ (Krautheimer 1981, 96–98, 98, and n. on p. 419). The scholar, taking at face value the passage about the militae tiberianae (see the previous note), believed it unnecessary to find the origins of the toponym Magnanapoli in the memory of a bannum Neapolis, as proposed by Castagnoli and others 1958, 259–60. Pointing in the same direction is the more rooted nature of military institutions starting from the last years of the sixth century and the first of the following century, well-­illustrated by Bavant 1979 (see esp. 62–63). 89 BG i, 14, twenty-­five cites, among the reasons for the difficulty of defending Rome, ‘the great length of its walls and the fact that it was located in a flat territory, … easily accessible … for the assailants’. 90 Especially Cozza 1997, 101–02; Dey 2011, 42. See Richmond 1930, 131 for Porta Appia; Cozza 1986, 129 for Porta Aurelia, and Cozza 1993, 125; Delfino (2008) for Porta Salaria. On the gate-­castles, for a complete analysis, with references to earlier studies, see Di Cola 2017a. 91 A compete study of the whole circuit could make the function and continuities in the various epochs emerge. The recent analysis of Vitti 2013, 92–111, identifying reconstructions with bricked vaults typical of sixth‒seventh century Byzantine workmanship, in a short section of the walls in the south-­east, showed the great potential of systematic work. For an analysis of some sectors, see, for example, see Di Cola 2017b, 72. 92 Volpe 2017, 107–10, and, in a most complete form, especially on the final phases, in the contribution to the conference Le Mura Aureliane nella storia di Roma. 2. Da Onorio a Niccolò V (Rome, Auditorium of the Ara Pacis, 20 October 2017). 93 Patlagean 1974; Ravegnani 2005.

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Enrico Cirelli

4. Ravenna, the Last Capital of the Western Roman Empire ABSTRACT Ravenna in Late Antiquity was one of

the most important cities of the Mediterranean. The Roman town underwent a major transformation at the beginning of the fifth century, from a small Roman ‘Municipium’ to an Imperial capital. This new role called for new buildings of power, housing the Imperial Court and the new Bureaucratic body, a Bishop’s Palace, and other monuments such as the Circus. In addition, a new city-­wall, churches, and other community zones were created; all following late antique models such as Milan, the previous capital, and of course Byzantium, the new Rome. An expansion of Ravenna’s infrastructures was also necessary, as for instance, new roads and sewer system, a port, warehouses, and aqueducts. All these projects were planned and built during the two decades after the displacement of the Imperial See. This new Ravenna flourished during the early medi­eval period, during which time its archbishop played an important role in the economy of north Italy. This paper seeks to illustrate the archaeo­logical evidence related to the ‘longue durée’ of the urban settlement of Ravenna as a centre of power and control. KEYWORDS Byzantine Ravenna, town defences, crisis, longue durée

Introduction Ravenna was selected by Honorius as a temporary Imperial seat in ad 402. The main reason for this choice was because Ravenna was better defended than Milan in terms of landscape accessibility (Pietri 1991, 287–88; Rebecchi 1993, 121; Christie 2006, 28), and its easy connection with Costantinople. Some scholars have suggested that Ravenna was chosen because it had a more flourishing hinterland than

Milan; however, this idea has been recently refuted by Mazza (2005, 22). Ravenna was also an ideal capital because of its strategic position on the coast of the Adriatic Sea, its road connections with central and north Italy, and a wide canal system and the River Po (Cirelli 2014). In the fifth century, using the waterways, ships departing from Milan might reach Ravenna in three/four days; if using the road system to cover the same distance, it needed at least eight days (Patitucci Uggeri 2005, 279). Before its promotion to the rank of capital-­city, Ravenna was similar in extent to several other north Italian centres and only slightly bigger than any town-­ fortress of the north Italian limes: Aquincum, for instance, covered twenty-­four hectares, while Ravenna was around thirty-­three hectares in size. After ad 402 the new capital quickly rose, followed by its two suburbs at Caesarea and Classe, covering an area of around 372 hectares. The increase and the development of Ravenna in the fifth century were planned through specialized centres gravitating around the administrative-­political centre, as for example the production and the trade area at Classe, the Imperial Palace, the Episcopal complex, and the fluvial ports (Cirelli 2010). The transformation of Ravenna is much more remarkable if we consider that, until the beginning of the fifth century, the city was touched by the same phenomenon of decline and destruction that affected the Italian urban centres between the third and the fourth centuries (Cantino Wataghin 1996, 246). We cannot say if Ravenna was similar to the ‘half-­ destroyed corpses’, as bishop Ambrose described the North Italian towns (Ambr., Epist., 39, 3); however, we have to wonder whether the description of Ambrose reflected the real status of Italian towns or was used as a symbol of social decline. Archaeo­logical evidence shows abandonment and demolition of domus (some with burnt deposits) within Ravenna between the end of the third and the fourth centu-

Enrico Cirelli ([email protected]) Università di Bo­logna Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 65–78 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130672

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Figure 4.1. Roman Ravenna, second to the fourth centuries ad (image by author).

ries (Cirelli 2008, 52–54) (Figs 4.1–4.2). Scholars have attempted to demonstrate how this phenomenon was connected with Germanic raids or other catastrophic events (Ortalli 2001, 28), however, these events in Ravenna are not attested in the written sources, or within archaeo­logical contexts. The transformation of Ravenna into a capital reversed this trend, increasing the imperial public investment and private and ecclesiastical munificence (Herrin 2020). The expanding economy also influenced settlements within the surrounding region of Romagna (Ortalli 2003, 103). Ravenna began to take on the form it still possesses in part today — a much reorganized townscape with new structures of power and commerce, and new town defences.

New Town Defences One of the most important public enterprises of Ravenna, once it became capital, was the building of a new defensive circuit. The town wall surrounded areas that denoted suburban expansion in the first century, but which were in a state of crisis between

the third and fourth centuries. But the city wall also included a wide zone close to the coastline, crossed by the via Popilia — a crucial connection road, running from Rimini to Adria, and the axis that conditioned the late Republican oppidum. Today we still do not know the exact date of the city wall foundation, even if it is generally ascribed to the emperor Honorius (ad 395–423), and to Valentinian III (425–455), in the second quarter of the same century. Following a later written source, some scholars propose that the city wall was finished, or more probably restored, by Odoacer, at the end of the fifth century, but these sources are referring to a new part of the wall located on the east side of the city, facing the sea, called in ad 971 murnovo (Manaresi, ii, 169, 114–17; Novara 1990, 81). Archaeo­logical investigations have since demonstrated that the substantial city wall was built in a single phase (Christie and Gibson 1988, 191–92; Christie 1989; Gelichi 2005a, 834, 838). Whilst Christie has argued for the bricks used in the walls to be newly manufactured, other scholars view this as reused material from abandoned Roman buildings (Ortalli 1991, 171–72; Gelichi 2005a, 836–37). The late antique city walls, in its final form, included an area of 166 hectares, against the 33 hectares of the earlier Roman circuit. The settlement never had intense urban density, even during the fifth century. Despite its size, the city wall was, until the early medi­eval period, ‘a limit and a boundary’ of the town (Gelichi 2000, 117). The city did not in fact fill the intra-­mural space until the modern period. Many other northern Italian cities were defended by new fortifications during the third and the fourth centuries, because of continuous barbarian attacks and threats. Most of them were restructured by adding new towers or other defensive structures to the republican defences (Christie 2006). Other centres had entirely new circuits added, as at Bo­logna (Gelichi 2005b, 720–25), Parma (Dall’Aglio 1990, 49–50), Mantua (Tamassia 1993, 146), Brescia (Brogiolo 1993, 52–55), and probably Pisa (Brogiolo and Gelichi 1998, 56). Despite these cities, where the size of the settlement seems to contract in different ways, we also know of some cases where the later Roman city wall continues to be the same, as for example Florence (Scampoli 2007, 63–70), Lucca (Ciampoltrini 1994, 616), Piacenza (Marini Calvani 1985, 272; Pagliani 1991, 79–84; Marini Calvani 2000, 385–86). There are a few cases where the city wall becomes wider, as at Rimini, probably refortified between Gallienus and Aurelian and incorporating the amphitheatre (Ortalli 1995, 516; Negrelli 2008, 8), and Milan (Cirelli 2008, 54).

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Figure 4.2. A reconstruction of Roman Ravenna (drawn by tre.digital, in TAMO Museum, RavennAntica Foundation).

Figure 4.3. Ravenna in the fifth century (drawn by tre. digital, in TAMO Museum, RavennAntica Foundation).

Despite the dimensions of the area surrounded by the new city wall, it became notably greater in comparison to the previous urban plan (Fig. 4.3). We need nevertheless to consider that, compared to other capitals of the Mediterranean, Ravenna was a rather small city. Rome was surrounded by the Aurelian’s defences at the end of the third century which delimited the extension of the inhabited area to 1373 hectares, with an extension of 18,837 linear metres of city walls (Meneghini and Valenzani 2004, 54). The urbanized area of other cities of fundamental importance in the late antique Empire was 285

hectares at Trier (during the second to third centuries (Kuhnen 1996); Lyon in the same period contained in its urban perimeter around 200 hectares (Bonnet and Reynaud 2000, 248–50); Carthage in the fifth century measured around twice the extent of Ravenna, with a surface equal to 321 hectares and a population between 70,000–100,000 inhabitants (Hurst 1993, 337). Also Milan expanded its urban perimeter in the fourth century, reaching around 250 hectares (Ceresa Mori 1993). However, it is probable that the city walls of Ravenna surrounded an area within which there

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was the intention to develop a new project of urban development. This was destined to contain buildings connected to imperial ceremony, and others of public character such as the circus. It will also have been necessary to create buildings of the new state religion, like the great basilicas and those connected to the clergy — these needed large open areas that were easy to confiscate, such as those areas where large, late Roman domus had been abandoned or demolished in the third and fourth centuries (Gelichi 2000, 117–18; Manzelli 2000, 238).

Power and Exchange

Figure 4.4. The line of the city walls of Ravenna (after Snyder 2019).

Figure 4.5. Imperial Palace complex of Ravenna Moneta Aurea and the Via Porticata connecting the Imperial to the Bishop’s Palace. 1) Imperial Palace buildings; 2) Hippodrome; 3) Imperial Mint; 4) Baptistery; 5) Bishop’s Palace (image by author).

Central to the new structure of the capital was an Imperial Palace with extensive related buildings: the Audience Room and Triclinia, the Guard Building, the Circus, the Mint, and the Imperial chapel, originally named after the Holy Saviour and actually known as Saint Apollinaris (Cirelli 2019). The Palace consisted of various spaces with vast areas for ceremonies and demonstration of imperial power (Fig. 4.4). The administrative structures and main occupied area of the city developed around the imperial building area, in the south-­east zone of the city, near the church of San Giovanni Evangelista. This was in an area previously occupied by few suburban buildings and marked by the passage of the Via Popilia, subsequently plateia Maior, which constituted the main axis of the late antique urban plan (Fig. 4.5). One of the key elements of this complex is clearly the Palace built by Valentinian III in locus qui dicitur Laureta (LP: 298), i.e. in a sector of the city situated close to the Wandalaria gate. The Palace, built by Theoderic but not dedicated (Palatium usque ad perfectum fecit, que non dedicavit, Theod., 1892, 24, 79:), was located further north, perhaps inside the Orti Monghini, behind the church of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo (Gelichi 1991, 157–58; 2000, 110). Its structures were partially found in a series of archaeo­logical excavations conducted at the beginning of the twentieth century (directed by Gherardo Ghirardini); the discoveries were of great prominence and they aroused a great interest, but have never received full publication (Ghirardini 1917; Berti 1976). In the same period the religious centre grew around the Archbishop’s Palace — this was actually set within the old town wall, not far from the Basilica Ursiana. The episcopate initially appeared as a private aristocratic domus provided with richly decorated balnea and a dining room (domus qui vocatur quique accubita), subdivided by several apses which were periodically restored until the ninth century (Miller 2000, 56–57; Rizzardi 2007b, 227, 232).

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Figure 4.6. Bishop’s Palace and the new Cathedral (photo by author).

The religious space, still well preserved, was the real centre of power inside the cityscape (Cirelli 2008, 102) (Fig. 4.6). From the early fifth century Ravenna developed a role of primary importance in the exchange of goods from across the Mediterranean. In the fifth and up to the middle of the sixth century, the main partner in this trade was North Africa, and in particular the Proconsolaris Province (modern Tunisia). The peak of the imports from North Africa occurred in the second Vandal period (from the mid-­f ifth century). At this stage Ravenna was governed by King Theodoric (ad 493–526), when there were good trade relationships between the Vandal and the Ostrogothic kingdoms. Immediately after the Byzantine conquest (ad 530s) an economic decline is recorded towards the East, a phenomenon attested in almost all of the western late antique Mediterranean area (Cirelli 2014). Nevertheless, Ravenna continued to receive a considerable quantity of North African products (Fig. 4.7), an effect of a globalized market with Carthage at its centre (Murialdo 2001, 301; Murialdo 2007, 10). The trend of imports changes again at the beginning of the seventh century, and by the second half of the same century the warehouses in the port of Classe started to be ‘colonized’ by domestic structures, the large open-­plan warehouses were partitioned off and occupied with smaller wooden houses (Augenti and others 2010).

Figure 4.7. African Red Slip dish (Hayes 104 var. A2 D(2) production) found at Classe (photo by author).

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Figure 4.8. Via D’Azeglio Domus and the ‘Four Seasons mosaic Panel’, a Late Antique residence close to the ancient Forum (photo by author).

From preliminary analyses of the ceramic material identified in the recent excavation of the Basilica of San Severo — carried out with the University of Leicester, University of Barcelona, and with the Central European University of Budapest (Laszlovszky 2007; Augenti and others 2016) — there continued to be a significant economic growth, and in the volume of trade between the eighth and eleventh centuries, with the presence of transport containers coming from the eastern Mediterranean and from southern Italy (Cirelli 2018). What is quite certain is also the continuing and intense inter-­connectivity between Ravenna and North Italy through the Late Antique cursus publicus. This ease of connectivity was probably what allowed, for instance, the thief and merchant Felix, to steal San Severo relics from Ravenna, and transport them to Pavia and then to Mainz in Germany in ad 836 (McCormick 2001, 287–88).

Changing Building Materials Ravenna is characterized by the distinctive elements of a Late Antique town. It features some of the indications that might be considered in other towns to be

signs of ‘decline’ (Liebeschuetz 2001, 233), but these stand in contrast with evidence for increased economic and political influence (Lusuardi Siena 1984, 526). The cityscape of Ravenna has been, for instance, characterized since the beginning of the fifth century by wide empty areas without buildings, within the new city wall. The outstanding imperial investments and the monumental intervention that took place between the fifth and the seventh centuries defined the urban make-­up of Ravenna for the whole course of the early Middle Ages. The great buildings of the aristocracy close to the imperial court, for instance the domus of Via D’Azeglio (Fig. 4.8), and the great public buildings identified by archaeo­logical excavations inside the city centre, together with the notable ecclesiastical complexes built inside the city up to the end of the sixth century, are the clear material evidence of economic power; they are a demonstration of religious and royal pre-­eminence that had little comparison in Italy and in the western Mediterranean region during the same centuries. Comparable or notable public interventions are rarely documented in other Late Antique centres in north Italy after the mid-­fourth century (Cirelli 2007a, 305–06): rather, a contraction of construction activities in the private sector is attested in many centres of the eastern Cispadana region. In contrast, within the territory of Romagna, there was an upturn in the regional economy, due to the transfer of the imperial court, and thanks to the enhanced commercial activities of the harbours of Ravenna and Rimini (Ortalli 2003, 103). A description of a more standard building in seventh-­century Ravenna is provided in a famous papyrus. It describes a building belonging to a banker (argentarius), Theodorus (Marini 1805, 114–17; I placiti, ii, 38–41; Ortalli 1991, 179–80; Christie 2006, 233), comprising a two-­floor building with portico on the façade, fitting to a model that becomes most commonplace during the early Middle Ages in different regions of Italy (Fronza 2019). Buildings of the same kind were in fact rather common to Ravenna during the whole of the seventh century, as seen by the

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Figure 4.9. Sunken-­house built inside one of the warehouses after ad 640 (figure by author).

archaeo­logical evidence at Via D’Azeglio (Negrelli 2004, 120; Librenti 2004, 126). At the same time, the material evidence and the written sources underline the scarce quality of mid and low status buildings of the same period. This is seen most clearly with wooden buildings within Classe. In one of the porticos of the warehouses, dated to the end of the seventh century (Ortalli 1991, 178), two timber-­houses have been identified during recent excavations, built inside the buildings of the harbour but with different techniques and functions, and dated to the first quarter of the eighth century. These houses reused and divided the previous warehouses with new timber walls, held up by large posts. Two different houses were built within a single Late Antique warehouse, with a small courtyard that divided the buildings, flanked by an internal ambitus and facing the main paved road. At the two opposite sides of the buildings various burials have been found (Ferreri 2014). Close to the reused building were some sunken-­ dwellings (Fig. 4.9), used for grain storage, and to dry vegetables (Augenti 2006, 126–28; Augenti and Cirelli 2012). Inside the city of Classe, during the second half of the seventh and in the eighth centuries, other houses and structures were built with foundations in reused bricks and mud-­walls (Cirelli 2020). This new evidence allows us to recognize the

same characteristics of other cities in Late Antiquity, marked by gradual abandonment.

Later Redefinition of the Cityscape From the later seventh century, and more markedly during the eighth, Ravenna reveals very different settlement units. These are organized around the main ecclesiastical buildings, close to the great monuments of the Imperial Palace and the Episcopal area, or along the river that ran through the inhabited area (Gelichi 1996, 67–76). Other early medi­eval houses and structures of different types start to be recognized with greater frequency inside the excavations conducted in Ravenna, as in the case of Via Pier Traversari, where a recent dig, still unpublished, brought to light a new house dated between the eighth and ninth centuries (Fig. 4.10). In this period the main housing model is certainly the one characterized by wood and clay, evident also at Classe (Cirelli 2010), Comacchio (Bucci 2002; Gelichi and Calaon 2007, 413), Torcello (Calaon 2013), Cittanova (Calaon 2006, 221), and Venice (Gobbo 2005, 43–45; Gelichi 2007, 384). Medi­eval archival documentation in Ravenna confirms the continued existence of aristocratic residences, constructed of brick and stone during the

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using spolia from the Arian Episcopal Palace (M. C. Carile and Cirelli 2016), placed into a landscape of ruins and wooden and clay houses, built inside the surviving structures of the Late Antique capital, matching in fact what we know of the setting of the Carolingian Palace of Aachen and Ingelheim (Schofield and Steuer 2007, 138).

Death and Memory

Figure 4.10. Distribution and thematic map of early medi­eval Ravenna (figure by author).

ninth and tenth centuries (Brunterc’h: 2002); these were surrounded by and often built above ruinous buildings inside now wide-­open spaces within the town (Brogiolo and Gelichi 1998, 103–54; Brogiolo 2013). Some buildings from this period were identified during a nineteenth-­century excavation close to the Imperial Palace and the monastery of Santo Stefano in Fundamento Regis (Cirelli 2008, 151–52; Novara 2008a, 24–25), revealing plans similar to ninth and tenth-­century houses in Rome (Nerva’s and Caesar’s forum: see Santangeli Valenzani 2007, 132). The evidence at least indicates elites continuing to reside in cities (Wickham 2005, 654–55). It is in this way that the landscape around the Bishop’s Palace, close to the Basilica Ursiana, started to rise, with the new buildings built by the bishops Giovanni and Valerio at the end of the eighth century, and the great domus built by Andrea Agnello

The urban population of Ravenna partially continued to use the great suburban funeral areas that had developed in the Roman period. During the fifth century these cemeteries became larger following the construction of funerary churches, as in the case of San Lorenzo in Caesarea, one of the most important Late Antique buildings in this suburb, set close to the city wall (Cirelli 2008, 234). But new cemetery areas developed inside the inhabited zone, especially in the proximity of ecclesiastical buildings like San Giovanni Evangelista, Santa Croce, and Sant’Eufemia, and inside the old colony zone. Some important mausolea were built close to the main ecclesiastical buildings, as at Santi Nazario and Celso (the so-­ called Galla Placidia’s Mausoleum), and, in the case of Bishop Neone’s burial, inside the Basilica Apostolorum (now dedicated to San Francesco: Baldini 2004). In the same period, we find different cases of isolated burials (Ferreri 2011), whose relationship to the surrounding structures has not been clarified, but these fit a well-­known pattern of intramural burials in Italy (Lambert 2003, 234) and European cities between Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Meier and Graham-­Campbell 2008, 432, 434).

Crisis and ‘Longue Durée’ Thanks to the substantial archaeo­logical data related to early medi­eval Ravenna we can observe a serious crisis during the eighth century. This break clearly related to — and was determined by — the military and political defeat. Firstly, with the institution of the Duchies of Rome, Calabria, and Venetiae creating splits in Byzantine Italian control (Delogu 1994, 20), and secondly in the middle of the eighth century (ad 751), when the city was conquered by the Lombard army of Aistulf, when Ravenna lost

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its role of exarchal capital. Despite these political crises, the Archbishop of Ravenna still owned vast property in Istria, Calabria, Sicily, Romagna, Faenza, Forlì, Forlimpopoli, Cesena, Sarsina, Comacchiothe duchy of Ferrara, Imola, and Bo­logna, until the ninth century (A. Carile 1992, 395–96; Cosentino 2012). Yet in the following decades, around ad 800, the city was partially stripped of its signs of power, when it fell into the Carolingian sphere and in the property of the rising Papal State (Arnaldi 1987, 107–08). The Imperial Palace, for instance, was despoiled of its marble furniture and partially destroyed, as happened to other important public monuments. Nevertheless, Ravenna retained an important role in the economy of north Italian territory, thanks to its ‘post-­Byzantine’ elites, as it is demonstrated by the Breviarium Ecclesiae Ravennatis (Brev. Eccl. Rav.; A. Carile 2005, 44–45). The investments of the urban elites decreased in number and quality (Brown 1986, 146–47; Cirelli 2007a, 313). The ecclesiastical buildings constructed, for instance, during the seventh century are smaller and don’t leave any trace inside the urban space. The only exception is the church of San Salvatore ad Calchi) that we must probably attribute to the Carolingian age, as shown by the evidence that its foundations cover the despoiled Late Antique Palace, destroyed at the end of the eighth century to extract marbles for the Carolingian Palace of Aachen (Gelichi 2000, 109). Despite these signs of partial decline, the city shows evidence of extreme vitality in other aspects, particularly in terms of public infrastructure. The archaeo­logy shows restoration of roads, bridges, and wharfs, necessary for the Cura Riparum and for street management — key tools for the economic life of the town, whose main resource was constituted by its favourable position as a primary port of the Padanian intra-­lagoonal circuits, and for the distribution of salt (Pini 1993, 513). This factor, together with the prominent role played by Ravenna’s Bishop, whose position rose in importance in the administration of the city (Durliat 1996, 276), helped determine the ‘longue durée’ of the urban centre and its prominent role in the political and economic history of northern Italy and central Europe (Cosentino 2012).

Endnote: Decline of a Capital The end of Ravenna’s economic and political growth and prosperity had begun slowly in the eighth century, and finally ended in the twelfth century. This was most notable with the loss of prestige and power of the Archbishop after the death of Gualtiero in ad 1144, and the emergence of independent City States, depriving Ravenna of most of its economic resources (Tavoni 1975, 435–37). Ravenna became an isolated city: the progressive shift of the coastline, and the depletion of the course of its river that ran inside the urban zone, bought to an end a once glorious Late Antique capital city. Other cities in the region took control of the trade routes Ravenna once had, such as the emerging Venice, a city that after the destruction of Comacchio in the tenth century, became the most important competitor of Ravenna for the economic control of the Adriatic Sea. Acknowledgements This paper is a small update of a wider contribution published for the proceedings of a conference held at Leicester in 2008, and edited by Denis Sami and Gavin Speed, whom I wish to thank again.

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Fonti e Ricerche (Ravenna: Fernandel) Ortalli, Jacopo. 1991. ‘L’edilizia abitativa’, in Storia di Ravenna, ii.1: Dall’età bizantina all’età ottoniana, ed. by Antonio Carile (Venice: Marsilio), pp. 167–92 —— . 1995. ‘Nuove fonti archeo­logiche per Ariminum: monumenti, opere pubbliche e assetto urbanistico tra la fondazione coloniale e il principato augusteo’, in Pro Populo Ariminense, Atti del Convegno (Rimini, 1993), ed.  by Alda Calbi and Giancarlo Susini (Faenza: Fratelli Lega), pp. 469–529 —— . 2001. ‘Formazione e trasformazioni dell’architettura domestica: una casistica cispadana’, in Abitare in Cisalpina. L’edilizia Privata nelle Città e nel Territorio in Età Romana, i, ed.  by Monika Verzár-­Bass, Antichità Altoadriatiche, 49 (Trieste: Editreg), pp. 25–28 —— . 2003. ‘L’insediamento residenziale urbano nella Cispadana’, in Abitare in Città. La Cisalpina Tra Impero e Medioevo. Atti del Convegno (Roma, 1999), ed. by Michael Heinzelmann and Jacopo Ortalli (Wiesbaden: Reichert), pp. 95–119 Pagliani, Maria Luigia. 1991. Piacenza. Forma e Urbanistica (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider) Patitucci Uggeri, Stella. 2005. ‘Il sistema fluvio-­lagunare, l’insediamento e le difese del territorio ravennate settentrionale (V– VIII secolo)’, in Ravenna da Capitale Imperiale a Capitale Esarcale. Atti del XVII Congresso Internazionale di Studio sull’alto Medioevo (Ravenna, 2004), ed. by Antonio Carile (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo), pp. 253–359 Pietri, Charles. 1991. ‘Aristocrazia e clero al tempo di Odoacre e di Teoderico’, in Storia di Ravenna. Dall’età Bizantina all’età Ottoniana, ii: Territorio, Economia e Società, ed. by Antonio Carile (Venice: Marsilio), pp. 287–310 Pini, Antonio I. 1993. ‘L’economia “anomala” di Ravenna’, in Storia di Ravenna, iii: Dal Mille alla Fine della Signoria Polentana, ed. by Augusto Vasina (Venice: Marsilio), pp. 509–54 Rebecchi, F. 1993. ‘Ravenna, ultima capitale d’Occidente’, in Storia di Roma, iii: L’età Tardoantica, ii, I Luoghi e le Culture, ed. by Andrea Carandini, Lellia Cracco Ruggini, and Andrea Giardina (Turin: Einaudi), pp. 121–35 Ripoll, Gisela and José M. Gurt (eds). 2000. Sedes Regiae (ann. 400–800) (Barcelona: Reial Adèmia de Bones Llettres) Rizzardi, Clementina. 1990. ‘Rinnovamento architettonico a Ravenna durante l’Impero degli Ottoni: problemi ed aspetti’, Corso di Cultura sull’Arte Ravennate e Bizantina 37: 393–415 —— . 2007a. ‘Chiesa e Impero nel Medioevo: le abbazie di Ravenna e dell’area Padano-­Adriatica fra tradizione e innovazione’, Hortus Artium Medi­evalium, 13.1: 117–34 —— . 2007b. ‘Le sale di rappresentanza dell’episcopio di Ravenna nell’ambito dell’edilizia religiosa occidentale ed orientale dal Tardoantico all’alto Medioevo’, in L’audience. Rituels et Cadres Spatiaux dans l’Antiquité et le Haut Moyen Âge, ed. by Jean-­ Pierre Cailletand and Michel Sot (Paris: Picard), pp. 221–39 Santangeli Valenzani, Riccardo. 2007. ‘Rome’, in The Archaeo­logy of Medi­eval Europe, i: Eighth to Twelfth Centuries ad, ed. by James Graham-­Campbell and Magdalena Valor (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press), pp. 130–33 Scampoli, Emiliano. 2007. ‘Dalla gestione della documentazione archeo­logica alla gestione informatica dei dati’, in Firenze Prima degli Uffizi. Lo Scavo di via de’ Castellani: Contributi per un’Archeo­logia Urbana fra Tardo Antico ed età Moderna, ed. by

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Federico Cantini, Carlotta Cianferoni, Riccardo Francovich, and Emiliano Scampoli (Florence: All’Insegna del Giglio), pp. 33–75 Schofield, John, and Heiko Steuer. 2007. ‘Urban Settlement’, in The Archaeo­logy of Medi­eval Europe, i: Eighth to Twelfth Centuries ad, ed. by James Graham-­Campbell and Magdalena Valor (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press), pp. 111–53 Snyder, James Riley. 2019. ‘Bricks in the Wall: An Examination of Brick Procurement in Fifth-­Century Ravenna’, in Economia e Territorio. L’Adriatico centrale tra tarda Antichità e alto Medioevo, ed. by Enrico Cirelli, Enrico Giorgi, and Giuseppe Lepore (Oxford: BAR), pp. 83–89 Tamassia, Anna M. 1993. ‘Le antiche mura di Mantova’, in Mura delle Città Romane in Lombardia. Atti del Convegno (Como 1991) (Como: Associazione archeo­logica comense), pp. 145–52 Tavoni, Maria Gioia, 1975. ‘Le città romagnole conquistano la loro autonomia. I  tentativi egemonici di Bo­logna’, in Storia dell’Emilia Romagna, i, ed. by Aldo Berselli (Bo­logna: University Press), pp. 435–60 Wickham, Chris. 2005. Framing the Early Middle Ages. Europe and the Mediterranean 400–800 (Oxford: University Press)

Landscapes

Basema Hamarneh

5. The Justinian Renaissance in the East Reality or Illusion? Introduction

ABSTRACT The sixth century can be considered to

have been highly significant for the Byzantine East, as it witnessed a peak in settlement growth, expansion of the economic base, and the rise of local elite groups. From a cultural standpoint it was the main period of reception, renovation, and re-­elaboration of classical culture as witnessed by monumental secular and religious architecture in urban, rural, and monastic centres. This was possible due to the relative political stability that reflected the close mutual relationship between imperial and ecclesiastical institutions. However, there was no lack of critical issues that call into question the overall assessment of the middle years of the century, mostly those coinciding with the rule of the emperor Justinian (527–565). Elements such as climatic downturns, the plague pandemic, the costs and consequences of Justinian’s wars, and the emergence of religious controversies and instabilities all had a considerable lasting effect on the trajectories of the Empire and the destinies of its inhabitants. Nevertheless, the period of Justinian is considered pivotal by most scholars, being the expression of an unparalleled renaissance. The intention in this paper is to reexamine these elements from an archaeo­logical standpoint and to question the effective impact of Justinian’s reign on the Byzantine provinces of the southern Levant with special attention to Arabia and Palaestina Tertia.

Viewed as a whole, the Levant in the sixth century witnessed a peak in settlement growth, expansion of its economic base, and a significant rise of local elite groups (Fig. 5.1). In particular much of this has been associated with the rule of emperor Justinian (527–565) and regarded as an expression of an unparalleled renaissance (Piccirillo 2002, 118). The aim in what follows is to reconsider this narrative from an archaeo­logical perspective, and question the complexity of factors at play that affected the provinces of Arabia and Palaestina Tertia,1 before, during, and after Justinian’s reign. From a cultural standpoint the sixth century was the crucible of the reception, renovation, and re-­elaboration of the classical culture that continued to have an impact and flourish until the very end of Late Antiquity. One of the major factors of change was given by a new social fabric, with the rise of local elite groups, especially the Ghassanids (Banu Ghassan), destined to become the most important foederati of the Byzantine Empire. The Arab historian al-­Ya’qubi states that they settled in the region south of Damascus and north of Bostra, that is, in the southern part of Phoenicia Libanensis, and in the northern part of the province of Arabia. He mentions that the emperor who consented to their settlement in Byzantine territory was Nushir, a name which the Arabic sources use for Anastasius I (491‒ 518) (al-­Ya’qubi, 1960, I 205; Shahid 1995, 694; Munt 2015, 468). Confirmation of this is provided by Theophanes in his Chrono­graphia; he records that a feudus was concluded between Anastasius I and the Ghassanids in 502 (Theophanes, Chrono­g raphia i, 144, 3–6; Theophrastus of Eresus, Chronicle, 222). The Ghassanids, together with other foederati, in addition to taking active part in the offensive actions

KEYWORDS South Levant; Byzantium; Justinian;

Plague; Climate change



1 The two provinces Arabia and Palaestina offer good comparable archaeo­logical documentation for the sixth century.

Basema Hamarneh University of Vienna Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 81–92 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130673

FHG

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Figure 5.1. Map of the area of South Levant (map by M. Ben Jeddou).

of the Byzantine army, had the task of defending the borders of the empire from the Euphrates to the Red Sea (Donner 2005, 515–16). The importance of their role is even more evident if we take into consideration the military construction policy carried out by the emperor Justinian in the Byzantine East. Most of the new military structures and fortification works built and/or renovated during his reign were located in the region north of the Euphrates and

south of the Anti-­Taurus. These fortifications were supposed to block a possible Persian invasion along the Circesium-­Antioch axis, which represented the only possible route that could offer a large army sufficient drinking water, food, and fodder (Miotto 2007, 14; Edwell and others 2015, 230). Justinian built very few fortifications south of the Euphrates River in central and southern Syria, owing to the fact that the Arab foederati did not require specific military architectural arrangements, as they settled in abandoned Roman military castra and there assumed an important geopolitical role. Their position guaranteed a condition of relative stability along the eastern frontier and provided constant tax revenue from the agricultural land they received in exchange for their services. The Ghassanids proved to be particularly effective in consolidating the imperial realm as, according to Malalas, they took an active role in repressing the Samaritan revolt that broke out in Palaestina Prima and Secunda in ad 529 ( John Malalas, Chronicle, 260–61; Shahid 1995, 82–95; Pummer 2002, 259–61; Adshead 1996, 39; Ma’oz 2008). According to Cyril of Scythopolis, churches and the countryside suffered extensive damage and Sabas himself travelled to Constantinople to plead with the emperor for the remission of taxes2 and the reconstruction of the churches destroyed in the revolt (Vita Sabas 72, 184–85). This resulted in the appointment of Anthony, bishop of Ascalon and Zacharias, as bishop of Pella to inspect these places and their buildings, and report the entirety of the damage (Vita Sabas 73, 185–87). Severe measures followed 2 According to Procopius in his Anecdota (see Secret History, ii.24–30) the landowners of Caesarea could not pay their fiscal dues, as the repression of the revolt deprived them of the work force provided by the Samaritans (Holum 2005, 100).

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against groups considered heterodox, that is, Jews (de Lange 1992, 15–32), Samaritans (Crown 1986, 96–98; Pummer 2002), pagans and heretics (Bury 1923, 365–66; Constantelos 1964, 376; Chuvin 1990, 134–41; Allen 2000, 820–28).

Assessing Catastrophes? A decade later, in the summer of ad 541, a virulent strain of Yersinia Pestis broke out, beginning in the small Egyptian port of Pelusium located on the eastern edge of the Nile delta. It rapidly moved along trade and communication routes westwards to Alexandria and eastwards along the Mediterranean coast. The following spring it reached Constantinople, capital of the Eastern Roman Empire, passing through Syria, Anatolia, Greece, Italy, Gaul, North Africa and the Iberian Peninsula. In a short time, none of the lands bordering the Mediterranean basin had escaped it; it moved from the coast into the hinterland following rivers, valleys, and overland paths, manifesting itself in cycles with intervals between six to twenty years, before ceasing suddenly in the middle of the eighth century (Biraben 1989, 124–25; Little 2007, 3–4). The Yersinia Pestis pandemic is also known as the Justinianic plague, and has triggered a long historio­ graphical debate on the origin and epidemio­logy of the disease, the size and extent of mortality, social reactions and, above all, its wider impact on the population and its role in the decline of the Byzantine East and the end of Antiquity (Little 2007, 24–25; Mordechai and others 2019, 25547; Eisenberg and Mordechai 2019). Relevant evidence, at least as far as Constan­ tinople, Antioch, and the East are concerned, comes from the works of John of Ephesus (507–586), Procopius of Caesarea (500–565), Agathias Scholasticos (b. 536), and Evagrius Scolasticus of Antioch (b. 535) who experienced first-­hand the spread of the pandemic. Most observations, recorded shortly after the described calamities, give us a close look at the waves of the sixth century, especially in the years 541–544, 558, and 590. The accurate recording of events was probably due to the intensity, extent, duration, and strong emotional impact, given the apparently elevated death toll (Stathakopoulos 2004, 113). The general picture is also broadened by Greek hagio­graphic texts, and Syriac and Arabic sources that, despite being composed later than the events in question, nevertheless register the endemic effects on communities and urban centres. Byzantine authors seem to agree in interpreting the plague outbreak as a metaphysical and inexpli-

cable event, the highest expression of divine anger, a thought that finds its centrality in the Codex Zuchinensis of John of Ephesus: ‘When the plague became momentous, it started to cross the sea towards Palestine and the region of Jerusalem, while terrifying phantoms appeared before people at sea’ ( John of Ephesus, The Chronicle of Zuqnin, 96). Procopius of Caesarea also mentions that the manifestation of the disease in Byzantium was twinned with visions of supernatural beings in human form (History of the Wars ii.22. 9–11). The swift propagation of the plague in the dioceses of the East and its devastating effects are documented in the account of John of Ephesus, who journeyed from Palestine to Constantinople, passing through Syria and Mesopotamia (Conrad 1986, 144–45; Morony 2007, 59–60). He went through abandoned wheat fields, ripe fruits and grapes fallen from their stems, and wandering flocks without shepherds ( John of Ephesus, The Chronicle of Zuqnin, 99–100), while ‘[villa]ges and cities w[ere left] totally without residents’ (96–97). This richly detailed image is catastrophically amplified in Constantinople; according to his narrative the plague took: ‘both servants and masters, nobles and ordinary people alike’ (104). The city witnessed a dramatic arrest of all industrial and commercial activities as it ran out of food, and no one was left who could stand and perform his work ( John of Ephesus, The Chronicle of Zuqnin, 105–06; Morony 2007, 80–81). The army also faced a considerable recruitment shortage, particularly in ad 558, coinciding with the second plague wave (Treadgold 1997, 236–42; Kislinger 1998 50–51; Stathakopoulos 2007, 116). Justinian himself was also struck by the pandemic (Procopius, History of the Wars ii.22. 23). In a symbolic gesture of piety, he even ordered a change to his monetary effigy, as seems to be evident from the altered facial features imprinted only on the emissions of Constantinople corresponding to the fifteenth and sixteenth regnal year, around ad 542 (Pottier 2010, 687) (Fig. 5.2).

Figure 5.2. Follis of Justinian struck in Constantinople in the sixteenth regnal year (photo by author).

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The Byzantine authors in the sources mentioned so far devote ample discussion to the causes of the catastrophe, asserting that collective sin had provoked divine anger in the form of a plague. John of Ephesus considers the event a heavenly exhortation to repentance (The Chronicle of Zuqnin, 95–96; Morony 2007, 82); Procopius, in the same way, attributes the calamity to God (History of the Wars ii.22. 25). He, however, turns polemically to the subject in the Anecdota, hinting at the individual guilt of Justinian, the demonic figure par excellence responsible for the disaster, thus revealing not only the well-­ known aversion to the emperor, but also a parameter of judgement, which turns out to be an expression of his time, where not only the plague, but all other diseases were attributed to demons (Sallares 2007, 234). It is nevertheless legitimate to assume that the recurrence of the plague five times during the reign of Justinian certainly did not engender a benevolent image of and attitude towards the sovereign. Zacharias of Mytilene, in the Syriac Chronicles of Séerat, comes to the conviction that it was God himself who ordered Satan to unleash the plague called mawtana (Michael the Syrian, Chronique ii, 240, 4: 308; Morony 2007, 81). According to some verses of pre-­Islamic poetry, the Ghassanid warriors were not frightened of their enemies, but were afraid of the jinn infecting them with the ta’un or plague (Conrad 1986, 151; Conrad 1994, 18–19). In the hagio­graphic perspective, which heavily reflects narratives that circulated on various levels of society, the plague appears as a real concern. The intent was not only to provide historical credibility to the narratives, but also to enhance the fame and the extraordinary thaumaturgical powers of local saints and holy men (Stathakopoulos 2007, 109–10). The life of Ahudemmeh, set in the third quarter of the sixth century, states that he: ‘drove out the plague [that had been caused by divine] anger’ (Nau 1905, 3–4). The description of the plague in Emesa found in the life of Simeone Salos by Leontius of Neapolis and set during the time of Justinian, is also worthy of mention. The holy fool, who has a foreknowledge of the imminent pandemic, visits all schools and kisses some children farewell; only those touched by him died (Rydén 1963, 151; Krueger 1996, 28; Cavallero and others 2009, 163 n. 12; Cesaretti 2014, 115). The life of Simeone Stylite the Younger offers a meticulous description of the irregular and violent propagation of the plague in the districts of Antioch in ad 593. The calamity was miraculously arrested by the southern gate leading to Seleucia thanks to the intercession of the Stylite (Life of St Symeon, chs 126–29; Conrad 1986, 146).

However, the sources describe with pathos the tremendous death toll in large urban centres such as Constantinople and Antioch, although figures given by authors such as Procopius, John of Ephesus, and later Theophanes must be either considered with caution (Meier 2016, 277–78) or even rejected as inconsistent (Mordechai and others 2019, 25553). It is plausible that the intensity of the pandemic outbreaks was spatially and chrono­logically uneven, amplified in some cities where they were exacerbated by the high population density. The most crowded places such as poor neighbourhoods, markets, schools, and army barracks were worst affected. At any rate, the absence of valid demo­graphic data allows only approximate calculations, leading to the estimate that about fifty-­seven per cent of the population of Constantinople fell victim to the pandemic of 542, while for Antioch or Alexandria in Egypt it is legitimate to hypothesize smaller figures; the incidence of rural mortality was probably lower although there was evidently a labour crisis (Morony 2007, 80–81).

Climatic Downturns The sixth century also witnessed several drastic climatic downturns, such as cold winters, hot summers, and droughts, which had an enduring effect on agricultural yield and life conditions (Büntgen and others 2016, 231–32). Written sources record episodes of bad harvests followed by famines in the years 515–520, 523–538, and in particular 536‒37 with 18 months of a persistent dark cloud, or a dust veil being mentioned by Michael the Syrian (Chronique 9. 26. 296; Patlagean 1977, 76; Koder 1996, 275; Arjava 2005, 78–79; Decker 2017; Harper 2019; Newfield 2016; Eisenberg and Mordechai 2019, 170–71) and Procopius (History of the Wars 4. 14.5–6). In the Life of Sabas, Cyril of Scythopolis refers to a five-­year drought, an infestation of locusts and famine that caused loss of life in Jerusalem and in the monasteries of the Judaean desert (Vita Sabas 58–67 (167–79); Patlagean 1977, 76). Such conditions impacted the economy, as can be inferred by an indirect reference in a law issued by Justinian in June 536 concerning the province of Arabia: the emperor blames a weak administration for the low revenue yielded by such a rich province (CIC, Nov. 102 Arabia; Arjava 2005, 86). Other events coincided with the plague in 542 and 545, when famine and recession were also emphasized and reflected in imperial legislation (Koder 1996, 275; Arjava 2005, 86–87). In this regard Agapius of Menbidj (Hierapolis) in his Universal History (Kitab al-­Unvan, 429), although writing in the tenth century,

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reports that: ‘In the twenty-­sixth year of the reign of Emperor Justinian a violent plague occurred preceded by a famine and many were those who died’. He also observes that after the earthquake of Antioch, ‘the summer was beyond rainy and extremely cold, the atmosphere became cloudy and darkened, and locusts appeared which devoured the wheat crop, the herbs and legumes and a great plague occurred’. In fact, the incidence and correlation of the famine and pestilence is well documented by the sources since the λιμός (famine) and food shortage made the population less resistant to pandemics like the λοιμος (plague) (Garnsey 1988, 25–26). Both terms appear on an inscription from Aphrodisias in Caria, praising Rhodopaios, who was able to drive away both disease and hunger (λoιμὸν καὶ λιμόν) (Roueché 1989, 137 n. 86).

Archaeo­logical Evidence Faced with the complexity of the impact of the plague on the Southern Levant in the sixth century, only hinted at in the written sources, it seems legitimate to investigate the visibility of the narrated events in the archaeo­logical record, and to register from below a series of material indicators uniquely reflecting significant and lasting demo­graphic, urban, and economic declines. In this perspective it seems appropriate to limit the sample area, identified here as the territories of the provinces of Arabia and Palaestina, owing to the consistent evidence of the epi­graphic material which can contribute to visualizing the direct effects on the population of the Byzantine Levant. According to the written sources, the plague entered the provinces through the port of Gaza, perhaps as early as the summer of ad 541, reaching the Judean desert monasteries in ad 542 (Conrad 1986, 145). A possible confirmation is the short mention in the life of Cyriacus, written by Cyril of Scythopolis (525–559), which states that: ‘After he (Cyriacus) had spent seven years at Sousakim, the fathers of the laura of Souka in the days of the great and terrifying mortality, out of fear of the impending terror, came with one accord to supplicate him and, after long entreaty, brought him back from Sousakim to the laura’ (Vita Sabas x, 252). The monks probably

Figure 5.3. Main episcopal sees in Arabia and Palaestina Tertia (map by M. Ben Jeddou).

wished to avail themselves of the holy man’s protection against the pandemic danger by keeping him with them for about five years (Stathakopoulos 2004, 280–81). Interesting elements can also be collected from the examination of the rich epi­graphic material consisting

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Figure 5.4. Burial epitaph of Stefanos (after Meimaris and Kritikakou-­Nikolaropoulou 2008, 147 n. 68).

mostly of funerary epitaphs and mosaic inscriptions, which also serve as a valuable socio-­chrono­logical indicator for the complexity of customs, rituals, and piety in the sixth century. However, some preliminary observations are required, firstly from a merely statistical point of view. The number of dated burial epitaphs represents only a small portion of the corpus of epi­graphic documents attributed to the sixth century and identified in Palaestina Tertia alone; therefore, an indication of the sheer number of deaths provides explicit evidence on a significant scale (Benovitz 2014, 490–91; Eisenberg and Mordechai 2019, 164–65). An additional element of complexity is the general tendency to omit the cause of death, which can be suggested only by chrono­logical reference. A rare exception is provided by a Greek inscription engraved on a lintel preserved in situ that mentions the construction of a church dedicated to the Prophet Elijah in the episcopal city of Zora/Zoraua (today Izra) in Hauran (Provincia Arabia): ‘The (inhabitants) of Zora, of their own funds, built a church of the prophet Elijah, under the care of deacon John (son) of Menneas, in 437, in the days of the most God-­loving Bishop Varus, upon whom God brought the evil death of the groin and armpit’ (Waddington 1870, n. 2497; Koder 1995, 13–18; Benovitz 2014, 491; Meier 2016, 267–68). This text, datable between 22 March 542 and 21 March 543, is marked by a remarkable representative effectiveness that describes the symptoms of a plague characterized by swelling of the lymph nodes that led to the death of the local bishop, evidencing the spread of the pandemic in northern Arabia. It also seems likely that an event of particular relevance caused the death of three individuals from Phaino-­Feinan who were buried in the southern cemetery of the episcopal city of Palaestina Tertia (Fig. 5.3).

Figure 5.5. Burial epitaph of Nonna (after Meimaris and Kritikakou-­Nikolaropoulou 2008, 150–513 n. 69).

The first epitaph, engraved on local limestone of a rectangular shape and preceded by a cross, is arranged in seven lines in an irregular way. The letters appear wider in the first lines, gradually narrowing, with the last line flattened in the lower right part: ‘Here lies Stephanos, (son) of Sabinus, who lived 13 years. He came to rest in Christ in the year 487, on (the) 22nd (day) of (the) month of Daisios, in the year during which the people were crying for food, and a third of the population (or mankind) died’ (Meimaris and Kritikakou-­Nikolaropoulou 2008, 147 n. 68) (Fig. 5.4). The death of Stephanos, which occurred on the Macedonian month of Daisios (May or June), of the indiction year, and calculated according to the era of Arabia, corresponds, according to Meimaris, to between 22 March 592 and 21 March 593, and occurred in a context in which this ‘great mortality’ was such as to cause the death of one third of the population (Meimaris and Kritikakou-­Nikolaropoulou 2008, 149). Leah Di Segni suggests instead the date of 542, the time of the outbreak of the plague (Di Segni 2006, 590–92 n. 7). This last aspect should also be considered as the plague in the Byzantine sources was also defined as the great death or (μέγα) θανατικóν (Stathakopoulos 1998, 1–7). Two other epitaphs from the same town register similar expressions and can be considered contemporary, even if not explicitly dated: ‘Here lies Nonna, daughter of the decurion, the deaconess, lived here years [?], Died decently, mother of [children], on the 12th day of the month of [Daisios, of the 10th] indiction, of the year [487], year in which a third [of the population died]’ (Meimaris and Kritikakou-­ Nikolaropoulou 2008, 150–51, n. 69) (Fig. 5.5). The hypothesis of death due to a pandemic is favoured by the social status of Nonna, a daughter of a bouleutes (curialis), that is, a member of the wealthy class of Phaino, making her undoubtedly more vulnerable to disease rather than hunger. The third frag-

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Figure 5.6. Burial epitaph (after Meimaris and Kritikakou-­Nikolaropoulou 2008 n. 70).

mentary epi­graph is concluded by a cross and bears solely the phrase: ‘A third of the population died’ (Meimaris and Kritikakou-­Nikolaropoulou 2008, 152–53 n. 70) (Fig. 5.6). Both texts, as mentioned, can be attributed to the same year, 592‒593, as the first inscription of Stephanos. This is not only due to the specific formulae but also to the quality of the stone used, probably from the same quarry, and the methods of execution, which narrows this epi­graphic production to a short time frame, perhaps even by the same workshop. Although the chrono­logical span of the Phaino group may coincide with the pandemic wave witnessed by Evagrius Scholasticus (2001, 4.29) and Agapius of Manbij (Kitab al-­Unvan viii, 437), a direct association with the plague remains uncertain; it could also refer to a period of serious food shortage that preceded or followed an epidemic (Meier 2004, 332 n. 164). Further supporting evidence is provided by the four-­line Greek inscription painted in black paint on a wooden beam made of Lebanon cedar and reused in the Al-­Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem, today in the Rockefeller Museum, which mentions that: ‘Elias from Gebalene made (this) at the time of hunger (when) thrice a measure of the whole world [perished (?)…]’ (CIJP, i.2, 413–14, n. 1021). The text, dated on a palaeo­graphic basis to the last decade of the sixth century, refers to a famine ες κερον πινας, and is by a native of Gebal/Jibal or Gebaleni, located between Petra and Tafila / Trafila in Palaestina Tertia, north of Phaino (Gatier 2000, 299). Although they do not refer to the causes of death, a few funerary steles with Greek text from Palaestina Tertia, dated to 541, commemorate several members of the same family; an epitaph from Nessana commemorates three young brothers (Kirk and Welles 1962, 179–80 n. 112) and one from Gaza, dated approximately by the indiction year, mentions three children (Glucker 1987, 136–38 n. 23). Strictly speaking,

these epitaphs cannot be considered as concrete evidence of the plague, but they do suggest an increase in mortality. At least 21 or 22 individuals are known to have been commemorated during the first wave of the plague on the east and west sides of the Jordan River. Another four minor waves are also documented by inscriptions in 555, 577, 582, and 592, although a general drop in epi­graphic practice is also discernable (Benovitz 2014, 496–98). The pandemic brought about a change in burial habits, as archaeo­logical excavations of sites from the second half of the sixth century document collective tombs placed directly in churches or in close proximity to them. Undoubtedly not all multiple graves are to be associated with the plague, but specific conditions such as extensive reuse of caves, cisterns, family tombs, the absence of funerary goods, and the quantity of commingled skeletons placed in disorder could be an indicator of hasty burial within short intervals of time (McCormick 2015, 333; Eisenberg and Mordechai 2019, 168). This could be the case of the burials identified near Ashkelonin Abu Juwei’îd, and in Khirbet esh Sharaf (Dauphin 1998, 872 n. 187, 875–76 n. 236), while the simultaneous multiple burials in unfinished tombs carved into the rock near the cities of the Decapolis — Abila and Capitolias — may also point to depositions in circumstances of general distress (Conrad 1994, 28). In addition to this, partial demo­graphic data from Byzantine burial sites reveal that more than half of the examined individuals were probably less than 35 years of age at the time of death, such as at Samra (Nabulsi 1998). At Giv’at Shappira ( Jerusalem), excavations unearthed skeletal remains of twenty-­f ive individuals of both sexes had an estimated age of 20–30 years, five adults between 30–50 years, and three adults over 50 years at the time of death (Arensburg and Belfer-­Cohen 2007; Judd 2020, 10). A closer view of the general conditions of Palaestina Tertia in the sixth century is enhanced by the information in the Petra papyri. This archive was discovered in one of the side rooms of the Basilica of the Theotokos in Petra, and describes, in a fairly accurate manner, the economic affairs of a wealthy family of landowners from 23 May 537 to 13 April 593. These are mainly stipulated contracts, notary deeds, wills, and tax receipts relating to landed property and other possessions located in Petra, its hinterland, and in Ammatha, Zodokathon, and Gaza. As far as it has been possible to ascertain, the transactions, which were fairly regular from ad 537 to ad 540, saw a three-­year gap from ad 541 to ad 543, then resumed with greater vigour interspersed with brief interruptions. The latest documents were drawn up in ad 593, just before the fire that destroyed the basilica and its archive.

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From the Petra papyri it therefore seems possible to ascertain that the events that affected the region in the years corresponding to the pandemic waves led to a temporary suspension of financial activities (Arjava 2005, 90–91). The business and the fortune of the family, however, grew significantly after each interval, especially in the second half of the sixth century, leading to an increase in their landed estates in the chora of Petra. This may mirror the fact that small landowners who could not meet tax payments due to the shortage of manpower or owing to an inconsistent yield of agricultural produce, were obliged to transfer the burden to others, or simply to sell their property to wealthier landowners. Nevertheless, supporting evidence of fairly continuous land exploitation is provided by recent palyno­logical data conducted in some areas across the Eastern Mediterranean (Mordechai and others 2019, 25550), and in the Negev (Langgut and others 2021, 163–64).

Building Inscriptions The last element that should be considered is mosaic inscriptions regarding the construction of public and religious buildings, which may contribute to detecting a significant pattern of economic investment in imperial, ecclesiastical, and secular munificence. In the sixth century alone, the construction of 124 public and religious buildings on both sides of the Jordan River is documented in inscriptions. It is surprising, however, to observe a sudden drop in monumental building projects between ad 541 and ad 550, despite the rather high number of fifth-­ seventh century buildings for the rest of Justinian’s reign (Di Segni 1999, 162; 2017, 297). Significantly, the initial period of his reign is associated with a fervent construction activity in urban centres, whereas in its closing years, the situation appears reversed in favour of rural towns (Di Segni 2017, 293). Whether this should be viewed as an imperial attempt to revive the economy by strengthening the centres of agricultural production is hard to pinpoint. However, a considerable tax exemption was granted to landlords by Emperor Tiberius in ad 575 (CIC, Nov. 163; Arjava 2005, 87) following both plague and famine (Stathakopoulos 2004, 315–16). The church played a catalyzing social role, leaving its imprint on the organization of time and space, especially in times of difficulty. It seems appropriate to recall in context the fragmentary inscription painted on plaster found in the southern annex to the presbytery of the Sanctuary of the High Priest Aaron near Petra, dated to the sixth century. The

Greek text, with a possible apotropaic value, quotes Psalm 91 (90), 4–7: ‘[His faithfulness] is a shield and buckler. You will not fear the terror of the night, [nor the arrow] that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks [in the darkness,] nor the destruction [that destroys at noonday.] [A thousand] may fall at your side, [ten thousand at your right hand]’ (Frösén and others 2008, 279–80 n. 18). The quote from the Psalm, which echoes John of Ephesus (Conrad 1986, 147), may however refer to one of the waves of Yersinia Pestis and may suggest that people may have turned to the protection of the local sanctuary and the monastic church. No less incisive was the progressive seizure of centralized power by Constantinople over the finances of the cities and the growing role of ecclesiastical power in urban administration. During the reign of Anastasius, the bishops, in fact, were elevated first as protectors of the local population against injustice and oppression, and were therefore called to play a key role in the administration alongside wealthy landowners, local notables, and what remained of the ordo curialis (Saradi 2006, 181–82). With Justinian the church had gradually taken on institutionalized activities that had previously been the prerogative of the municipal government alone, leading towards a gradual yet strong liturgification of eastern Byzantine society (Meier 2016, 291). The leaders of the ecclesiastical hierarchy were also favourable to maximizing the productivity of the countryside, which during the sixth century was reorganized to reach its greatest potential, thus raising the fortunes of the Byzantine East (Di Segni 2017, pp. 292–93). This change of focus may have resulted from a post-­ pandemic redistribution of wealth. At any rate, local society clung to its long Hellenized tradition, reflected in the use of Greek as an official language, and in the onomastics of clergy and donors with their generally Greek and Biblical names (Di Segni 2009, 367–68). Apparently, classicism also left a strong mark on the icono­graphy of the mosaic pavements (Kitzinger 1963, 341–51; Piccirillo 1989, 325), though it manifested itself broadly rather in the second half of the sixth century (Talgam 2014, 153–55), owing to the policy of intensive church building in rural centres.

Conclusion The political myopia of Justinian’s successors, together with the ideo­logical distress caused by Christo­logical controversies, were later the cause of the foederates’ rebellion against imperial authority, which resulted in open war in 581. The Byzantine reaction in the early

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years of the emperor Mauritius (probably around 584–585) led to the decrease of the role of the Arab allies in the Byzantine defensive strategy, as the eastern provinces had their military capabilities significantly reduced. The consequences of these changes would prove catastrophic for the empire. Already in 611 the Persians, having noticed the void in the Byzantine defensive system, circumvented the fortified towns of northern Syria and Upper Mesopotamia, managing to penetrate deeply into southern Syria and Palestine; this was later followed by the defeat of the Byzantine army at Yarmouk in 635/36. The regular waves of pandemic would end just as the Umayyad dynasty was overthrown in 750 and this was seen as a sign of divine favour for the Abbasid revolution (Conrad 1994, 20). The sixth century was a time of profound transformations. The plague was certainly one of the factors that led to a short period of decline and recession, but not necessarily the most serious one. The wars and enemy incursions of first the Persians and then the Arabs were often accompanied by mass deportations and migratory movements, while natural disasters such as earthquakes (Tsafrir and Foerster 1992; 1997; Ambraseys 2009; Guidoboni 1994) and

climatic downturns, along with an overexploitation of the natural environment through intensive and often unsustainable agricultural practices (Piccirillo 2002, 253; Hirschfeld 2006, 30; Langgut and others 2021, 175) undoubtedly contributed to the gradual transformation of the social and economic fabric of the empire. All these elements are important factors that must be taken equally into account. The pandemic should thus not be seen as the main cause of historical change, but rather as a catalyst for changes that had already begun to manifest themselves. The reign of Justinian should be viewed in this perspective; its impact and enduring effects brought about a significant renaissance, not simply a transitional phase, between the classical past and the Byzantine future (Maas 2005, 16–17). The sixth century was the fertile ground for the transmission of classicism and the subsequent birth of the Umayyad artistic tradition, a paradigm for the economic and territorial organization of the Levant, in the fading light of Late Antiquity. Acknowledgements The author wishes to thank Gabriele Castiglia and Angelo Castrorao Barba for their invitation to contribute to this collective volume, and the anonymous reviewers for their constructive comments and suggestions.

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—— . 2008. Inscriptions from Palaestina Tertia,  ib: The Greek Inscriptions from Ghor es-­Safi (Byzantine Zoora) (Supplement), Khirbet Qazone and Feinan Meletamata, 57 (Athens: Institute for Historical Research) Miotto, Marco. 2007. ‘Bisanzio e la difesa della Siria: Arabi foederati, incursioni Arabe e conquista Islamica  IV–VII secc’, Porphyra, 10: 5–28 Mordechai, Lee, Merle Eisenberg, Timothy  P. Newfield, Adam Izdebski, Janet  E. Kay, and Hendrik Poinar. 2019. ‘The Justinianic Plague: An Inconsequential Pandemic?’, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America: 116.51, 25546–54 Morony, Michael G. 2007. ‘For Whom Does the Writer Write? The First Bubonic Plague Pandemic According to Syriac Sources’, in Plague and the End of Antiquity: The Pandemic of 541–750, ed. by Lester K. Little (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni­ versity Press), pp. 59–86 Munt, Harry, Touraj Daryaee, Omar Edaibat, Robert Hoyland, and Isabel Toral-­Niehoff. 2015. ‘Arabic and Persian Sources for Pre-­Islamic Arabia’, in Arabs and Empires before Islam, ed. by Greg Fisher (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 434–500 Nabulsi, Abdalla J. 1998. ‘The Byzantine Cemetery in Samra’, in Fouilles de Khirbet es-­Samra en Jordanie i: La voie romaine, le cimetière, les documents épi­graphiques, ed. by Thomas Bauzou, A. Desreumaux, P.-­L. Gatier, J.-­B. Humbert, and F. Zayadine (Turnhout: Brepols), pp. 271–79 Nau, François. 1905. Histoires d’Ahoudemmeh et de Marouta, métropolitains jacobites de Tagrit et de l’orient: (vie et viie siècles) (Paris: Firmin-­Didot) Newfield, Timothy P. 2016. ‘Mysterious and Mortiferous Clouds: The Climate Cooling and Disease Burden of Late Antiquity’, Late Antique Archaeo­logy, 12.1: 89–115 Patlagean, Evelyn. 1977. Pauvreté économique et pauvreté sociale ä Byzance. 4e – 7e siècles (Paris: Mouton) Piccirillo, Michele. 1989. Chiese e mosaici di Madaba ( Jerusalem: Studium Biblicum Franciscanum) —— . 2002. L’Arabia Cristiana. Dalla provincia imperiale al primo periodo islamico (Milan: Jaca Book) Pottier, Henry. 2010. ‘L’empereur Justinien survivant à la peste bubonique (542)’, in Mélanges Cécile Morrisson: Travaux et mémoires, 16: 685–91. Pummer, Reinhard. 2002. Early Christian Authors on Samaritans and Samaritanism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck). Roueché, Charlotte. 1989. Aphrodisias in Late Antiquity: The Late Roman and Byzantine Inscriptions Including Texts from the Excavations at Aphrodisias Conducted by Kenan T. Erim (London: Society for the promotion of Roman Studies) Rydén, Lennart. 1963. Das Leben des heiligen Narren Symeon von Leontius von Neapolis (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell) Sallares, Robert. 20076 ‘Eco­logy, Evolution, and Epidemio­logy of Plague’ in Plague and the End of Antiquity: The Pandemic of 541–570, ed. by Lester K. Little (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) pp. 231–89 Saradi, Helen. 2006. The Byzantine City in the Sixth Century: Literary Images and Historical Reality (Athens: Perpinia) Shahid, Irfan. 1995. Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century (Washington: Dumbarton Oaks) Stathakopoulos, Dionysios. 1998. ‘Die Termino­logie der Pest in byzantinischen Quellen’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzan­ tinistik, 48: 1–7 —— . 2004. Famine and Pestilence in the Late Roman and Early Byzantine Empire: A Systematic Survey of Subsistence Crises and Epidemics, Byzantine and Ottoman Mono­graphs, 9 (London: Routledge) —— . 2007. ‘Crime and Punishment: The Plague in the Byzantine Empire, 541–749’, in Plague and the End of Antiquity: The Pandemic of 541–750, ed. by Lester K. Little (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), pp. 99‒118 Talgam, Rina. 2014. Mosaics of Faith. Floors of Pagans, Jews, Samaritans, Christians and Muslims in The Holy Land ( Jerusalem: Yad Ben-­Zvi Press). Treadgold, Warren A. 1997. A History of the Byzantine State and Society (Stanford: Stanford University Press) Tsafrir, Yoram and Gideon Foerster. 1992. ‘The Dating of the “Earthquake of the Sabbatical Year” of 749 c.e. in Palestine’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 55.2: 231–35 —— . 1997. ‘Urbanism at Scythopolis–Bet Shean in the Fourth to Seventh Centuries’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 51: 85–146 Waddington, William Henry. 1870, Inscriptions grecques et latines de la Syrie (Paris: Didot) Yaqubi, Tarik. 1960. Tarikh al-­Yaqubi, i (Beirut: Dar Sadir)

Carmelo Pappalardo

6. Umm al-­Rasas / Kastron Mefa’a ( Jordan) along the Limes Arabicus Transformation and Resilience of a Cultural Landscape between the Byzantine and Early Islamic Period ABSTRACT This paper intends to examine the

transition period between the Byzantine and the Early Islamic era in the important and sensitive region of today’s Jordan, the semi-­desert steppe east of the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea. During the Byzantine and Roman periods, this was part of the Province of Arabia, along which the Limes Arabicus, an ideal more than a geopolitical boundary, ran. Taking as a case study the site of Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a this study will consider the site as a system, or more precisely as a resilient community following the model of the adaptive cycle and operating at different scales of geo­graphy, time, and society (Redman 2005), and will attempt to identify some factors that may enable transformation and reorganization processes. With a view to future research, after having identified some possible factors, it will be important to outline the possibility of extending the use of this model to the area ideally covered by the Madaba Map, to reconstruct the cultural landscape of the entire region, and its transformation over the years while also maintaining its distinctive identity. KEYWORDS Landscape Archaeo­logy; Transition;

Resilience; Adaptive Cycle; Applied Geo­graphy

Introduction The Syro-­Palestinan Region has always been an area of great importance, and strategically relevant from a commercial, economic, and political/military point of view. The control of this pivotal piece of land has always attracted the major trading powers that supplanted one another throughout history against a backdrop of social, cultural and religious changes.

Due to its position in the middle of the Nabatean road network, Madaba connected the Nabatean capital Petra with Syria in the north, the Red Sea in the south and the Mediterranean to the west. As such, it played a crucial role throughout the Early Roman Period. With the annexation of the Nabatean Kingdom in 106 ad by Emperor Trajan and the creation of Provincia Arabia, Madaba became even more prosperous. It maintained its strategic importance throughout the Late Roman, Byzantine and Early Islamic periods. Madaba appears to have been a thriving trade centre with the typical urban structure of Roman cities of the Eastern provinces. Especially in the Byzantine period, many civic buildings and numerous churches were built and embellished with precious mosaic floors. In Roman and Byzantine times, Madaba had a large territory. Of particular importance are the ancient village and monasteries on Mount Nebo and the Memorial of Moses (Siyagha), a sanctuary which commemorates the vision of the Promised Land granted by God to the prophet before he died (Deut 31, 1–5). Moreover, the diocese of Madaba included other sites like Ma’in, Massuh’, Nitl, Zizia, and Umm al-­R asas (the biblical Mephaath). At all these places, churches with mosaics and inscriptions have been found that allow us to reconstruct the ecclesiastical and artistic history of this portion of Provincia Arabia during the Byzantine and Early Islamic periods. This article seeks to draw attention to the strategies of resilience and the phenomenon of the persistence of an Arab Christian identity at the Jordanian site of Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a. The research focuses on the chrono­logical span during which the Syro-­Palestinian Region underwent a shift from the Byzantine to the Islamic administration, and aims

Carmelo Pappalardo ([email protected]) Università di Firenze Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 93–106 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130674

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Figure 6.1. Map showing the area of interest of this article (map by Carmelo Pappalardo).

6. U m m al-Rasas / Kast ro n Me fa’a ( Jo rdan) alo ng t he Li m es A r abicus

to investigate how changes, conservation, and adaptation are reflected in the topo­graphy, the architecture, the settlement choices, and the material culture.

The Historical and Geo­graphical Context Due to the significance of the site for the history of humankind, and to its position on the Limes Arabicus, Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a represents an ideal case study to analyse the strategies employed by the population of a suburban settlement to safeguard its own traditions, and to investigate to what extent reorganization can be a resource of resilience. In addition, the site allows us to understand which non-­native elements, perceived as intrusive by the inhabitants of the site, resulted in the emphasis of certain elements which were considered as identity-­ making. With the application of the resilience theory to the history of Umm al-­R asas it is possible to shed a new light on the transformations — from military post to a settlement with numerous churches and agricultural installations — that the site underwent throughout its history and in particular to search for answers regarding the causes that brought about its abandonment during the ninth–tenth centuries (Fig. 6.1). The results of this study will allow also extend the analysis to other sites of the region, to see how other communities reacted to the same phenomena. Was the resilience of the inhabitants of Umm al-­R asas and the persistence of a well-­delineated Christian identity until the abandonment of the site, a local or regional event, and was the adaptability of the identity in Umm al-­R asas also influenced or reinforced by the liminal position of the site and by its regular role in trade? This analysis cannot ignore that the Arab tribes, which were allies of either the Byzantines or the Persians, controlled the region of the Limes Arabicus and played a pivotal role in this scenario. These tribes, whilst assimilating cultural elements of the allied kingdoms, still constituted the right milieu for the arrival of Islam without being perceived as totally alien. In this regard it is also crucial to outline the nature of the community living in Umm al-­R asas and the role of the site in the economic, commercial, and religious network of the region and of the Limes over the centuries, to understand different reactions and different strategies of resilience in the face of changes. Besides its acknowledged importance as a military fortification along the Limes Arabicus, the site, in fact, was also part of a trade network and on a main network of pilgrimage.

Its condition as a border area is only from the political perspective of the Roman Empire. For the local populations the concept was much milder: it was a fairly large desert region. The system of fortifications, implemented mainly by Diocletian, became less important when Justinian commissioned some Christian Arab tribes (Ghassanids / Lakhmids) to defend the eastern frontier. And neither any commander of Roman troops, whom they call ‘duces’, nor any leader of the Saracens (Σαρακηνῶν ἡγούμενος) allied with the Romans, who are called ‘phylarchs’ (οἳ φύλαρχοι ἐπικαλοῦνται), was strong enough with his men to array himself against Alamoundaras; for the troops stationed in the different districts were not a match in battle for the enemy. For this reason the Emperor Justinian put in command of as many clans as possible Arethas, the son of Gabalas (Ἀρέθαν τὸν Γαβαλᾶ παῖδα), who ruled over the Saracens of Arabia, and bestowed upon him the dignity of king (ἀξίωμα βασιλέως), a thing which among the Romans had never before been done (Procopius, History of the Wars, i.17.46–47). The Persian counterpart had also adopted such a strategy, perhaps even before the Romans. This alliance was probably already weak at the beginning, since Procopius himself notes the continuous raids of Alamundaro, ally of the Persians, and the repeated defeats of Areta, ally of the Romans, as this one ‘was either extremely unfortunate in every inroad and every conflict, or else he turned traitor as quickly as he could (Ἐν πάσῃ ἐφόδῳ τε καὶ ἀγωνίᾳ ἢ ἀτυχοῦντος ὡς μάλιστα ἢ καταπροδιδόντος ὡς τάχιστα’ (Procopius, History of the Wars, i.17.48). Christian Arabs in what is now Syria and Jordan became benefactors of churches, erected Arabic inscriptions on Christian monuments, and assumed positions of great authority in Roman political life (Fisher 2020, 3). From a geo­graphical point of view, the Limes Arabicus ‘run from the deserts bordering the Euphrates south into the Hijaz, in what is now Saudi Arabia. As a place where permanent settlement gave way to the vastness of the steppe and desert, the frontier zone was multifaceted. It possessed fortifications and other physical manifestations of Roman authority, for example, which could control economic traffic and monitor movement’ (Dijkstra and Fisher 2014, 12). The ancient geo­graphers used the terms ‘Arabic’ and ‘Arabia’ in a rather generic way; there were many Arab peoples and more than one Arabia.

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A detailed description of Arabia and its inhabitants is given by Strabo (64 bce – 24 ce): Above Judaea and Coelê-­Syria, as far as Babylonia and the river-­country of the Euphrates towards the south, lies the whole of Arabia, with the exception of the nomads in Mesopotamia (πρὸς νότον Ἀραβία πᾶσα χωρὶς τῶν ἐν τῇ Μεσοποταμίᾳ Σκηνιτῶν)… the part that lies near the river, as well as Mesopotamia, is occupied by Arabian Scenitae, who are divided off into small sovereignties and live in tracts that are barren for want of water (Σκηνῖται κατέχουσιν Ἄραβες, δυνασείας ἀποτετμημένοι μικρὰς ἐν λυπροῖς χωρίοις διὰ τὰς ἀνυδρίας). These people till the land either little or none, but they keep herds of all kinds, particularly of camels. Above these people lies an extensive desert (ὑπὲρ δὲ τούτων ἔρημός ἐπι πολλή); but the parts lying still farther south than their country are held by the people who inhabit Arabia Felix, as it is called (οἱ τὴν εὐδαίμονα καλουμένην Ἀραβίαν οἰκοῦντες). The northern side of Arabia Felix is formed by the above-­mentioned desert, the eastern by the Persian Gulf, the western by the Arabian Gulf, and the southern by the great sea that lies outside both gulfs, which as a whole is called Erythra (Strabo, Geo­g raphia, xvi.3.1). The description given by Ptolemy (100–170 ce) in his Geo­g raphia is perhaps the most detailed geo­ graphical definition of the three Arabias: ‘Arabia Petraea (ἡ Πετραία Ἀραβία)is terminated on the west by that part of Egypt to which we have referred; on the north by Palestina or Judaea and the part of Syria along the line which we have indicated as its southern border; on the south by the bend of the Arabian bay and by the Heroopolites bay to the terminus as indicated on the confines of Egypt near the Pharan promontory’ [5.16]; ‘Arabia Deserta (ἡ Ἔρεμος Ἀραβία) is terminated on the north by that part of Mesopotamia which borders on the Euphrates river as we have noted on the west by a part of Syria and of Arabia Petraea; on the east by Babylonia separated by those mountains which begin at the terminus as we have indicated, near the Euphrates river extending to the interior bend of the Persian gulf near the bay’ [5.18]; ‘Arabia Felix (ἡ Εὐδαίμων Ἀραβία) is terminated on the north by the designated border of Arabia Petraea and of Arabia Deserta; on the northeast by a part of the Persian gulf; on the west by the Arabian gulf; on the south by the Red sea; on the east by that part of the Persian gulf and the sea, which extends from the entrance to this gulf as far as the Syagros promontory’. [6.7] (Stevenson 1991, 128–30, 137).

Stephen of Byzantium (end of fifth‒first half of sixth century) in his Ethnica more generically mentions only two: ‘Arabia, the country, like Ethiopia (Ἀραβία· ἡ χώρα). There are two: one, rich in spices (δύο δ’ εἰσίν, ἡ μὲν ἀρωματοφόρος), located between the Persian and the Arabian Sea, the other more westerly (ἡ δὲ μᾶλλον δυτικὴ), which is connected to Egypt in the west, but to Syria in the north’ (Stephanus Bizantinus, Ethnica, n. 367). In ancient historical sources Arabs are usually described as tribes or tribal societies, to suggest a social structure that is not as well defined as that of a proper state. ‘Even though the following criteria do not apply to every situation, it is worth thinking about tribes and states very loosely in terms of different types of socio-­political organization … States can be characterized as exploiters and controllers of resources that occupy territory, possessing a diverse population, and being normally governed by a centralized, hierarchical authority. … These criteria are not usually found in tribes, which are defenders of resources and are organizationally decentralized and non-­hierarchical’ (Fisher 2019, 7). However, it should be noted that both nomadic Arab tribes (οἱ σκηνίται) and other permanent tribes, better organized with a more defined hierarchical structure and headed by a king, are mentioned. ‘These included Sampsigeramus, “from the tribe of the Emeseni”, who ruled the region around Emesa (Homs) and Arethusa’ (Fisher 2019, 26; referring to Strabo, xvi.2.10–11). Although there were many ‘Arabias’, only one was an officially designated Roman Province: the Provincia Arabia, corresponding [initially] to the old Nabataean kingdom (Ball 2016, 64).

The Resilience Theory The Resilience Theory provides us with a framework for understanding how individuals and communities face challenges associated with political, environmental, social, and cultural changes. Adaptation strategies are, in fact, not chaotic and idiosyncratic but, rather, are governed by particular dynamics, conditions, and opportunities. Resilience is ‘the capacity of a social-­eco­logical system to absorb or withstand perturbations and other stressors such that the system remains within the same regime, essentially maintaining its structure and functions. It describes the degree to which the system is capable of self-­ organization, learning and adaptation’ (https:// www.resalliance.org/resilience; cf. Sauer 2015, 34). As already expressed by A. Walmsley for the area and the chrono­logic horizon of our interest

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‘This approach […] emphasizes the ability to resist and recover from potentially destructive challenges through the construction of successful adaptive strategies. […] The Resilience Theory has many attractions to explain change in the archaeo­logy of early Islamic Syria-­Palestine’ (Walmsley 2007, p. 146). However, whilst the subject has yet to be developed, the discussion regarding the contribution of archaeo­logy to the definitions of Resilience Theory and the Adaptive Cycle is in full development because some archaeo­logical case studies may indeed offer multiple completed cycles. This allows a better understanding of single or multiple cycles and how they might change as systems reorganize (cf. Redman 2005, 70; Redman and Kinzing 2003, 6). If on one side the contribution of archaeo­logy reveals its great potentiality, on the other, regarding the use of the theoretic model, one must be aware that the knowledge of the outcome of the adaptive cycles might lead to enclosing events that have left archaeo­logical traces in a predetermined framework. In the reading of the dynamics of ancient societies the adaptive cycle — described as ‘a heuristic metaphor of dynamic change’ (Holling 2001, 393) — helps us. The adaptive cycle is ‘a conceptual model intended to expose the episodic stresses and disturbances can cause systems that had accumulated capital and built complexity degree to which a complex system is resilient… It acknowledges that episodic stresses and disturbances can cause systems to suddenly collapse and reorganize. The adaptive cycle includes a growth phase, leading to a conservation phase. Disturbance and stress, whether internal or external, can lead to a release phase, and if the resource base available to the system is not depleted by the disturbance, a reorganization phase can set the stage for a subsequent growth phase’ ( [consulted 18.9.2020]). The site of Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a with its historical and socio-­economic vicissitudes, which resulted in what was originally a Roman fortress along the Limes Arabicus becoming a large urban settlement with numerous churches and mosaic floors and devoted to agricultural production in the Byzantine and early Islamic periods, can be taken as an illustrative case for the applicability of resilience theory and the adaptive cycle, in a crucial changing cultural landscape such as the Madaba region during the seventh and eighth centuries.

Searching for Indicators of Resilience and Transformation in a Cultural Landscape: The Case of Umm al-­R asas In 1986, the systematic work in the site had as a first and critical result the discovery of the Saint Stephen ecclesiastic complex and its fine mosaics, thanks to which it was possible to identify with Umm al-­ Rasas the toponym of Mefa’a, mentioned in the Bible ( Joshua 13. 18; 21. 37; i Chronicles 6. 64; Jeremiah 48. 21), recalled by Eusebius in his Onomasticon (128, 21). The Notitia Dignitatum (Pars Orientalis. xxxvii, 19), cites Mefa’a as the Equites promoti indigenae (a frontier military unit) headquarters. Umm al-­R asas is around 30 km southeast of Madaba, northwards from the Wadi Moujib, between the Road of the Kings and the Road of the Desert. The precise identification was possible thanks to the toponym being written on the mosaic floors of two churches, that of Saint Stephen (Piccirillo and Alliata 1994, 252) and the church of the Lions (Piccirillo 1992, 217–18, 222). In both cases the toponym listed is that of Καστρον Μεφαα, due to the fact that it was a Roman Castrum, but even more simply to the use — established in Byzantine times — of κάστρον/Castrum to designate a suburban settlement of lower rank than a city and therefore a village (for an updated and comprehensive presentation of this topic see Saliou 2020). The ruins occupy a height of the Moab plateau and consist of an area enclosed within the walls of a Roman military camp and an area extending north of the Castrum, all arranged on a rectangular area of about 330 metres per side. Further north, about 1300 metres from the northern walls of the camp, a tower stands about 14 metres high; in the centre there is a courtyard with a church. What was originally a military fortress later became a vicus militaris. After losing its primary function, the Castrum was completely renovated during the fifth–sixth centuries with the construction of churches and houses, becoming a real urban settlement that expanded well outside the walls. The northern area, which has been the most intensely investigated, has no traces of defensive installations and is organized almost as a settlement independent from the one inside the walls (Fig. 6.2). On the basis of the results of the work carried out since 1986, in particular in the areas surrounding religious buildings and in the civil buildings, a new line of research was developed. One of the main objectives was to have an overview of the archaeo­ logical and topo­graphical context of the Madaba region and more broadly of the Limes Arabicus, on the basis that the data that emerged from the excavation could be compared with the most up to date

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Figure 6.2. Aerial view of the Castrum and the northern urban quarter with the Roman reservoir at the lower right corner (image Google Earth 2016).

studies which situated the historical events of the Syro-­Palestinian region into the complicated period of transition between the Byzantine and Proto-­Islamic periods. Regarding pottery and other materials found during the excavations in Umm al-­R asas, it can be stated that they fit well into the panorama of material culture of the period, well documented thanks to the most recent excavations and studies.

Umm al-­R asas/Kastron Mefa’a and the Limes Arabicus: At the Roots of a Resilient Cultural Landscape Due to the extensive excavations the site has undergone, the significance of the area for the history of humankind — acknowledged by its inclusion in the UNESCO WHL in 2004 — and the role of the site as a liminal defensive outpost along the frontier of the Roman Empire as well as a place of pilgrimage with rich testimonies of the diffusion of Christian

and Islamic monotheism, Umm al-­R asas offers a key narrative which tells the story of a rural community implementing strategies of reorganization while facing changes and intrusion or contacts reinterpreted as intrusive. Simultaneously, the site reinforced its own identity by picking certain identity-­ making elements. It is necessary to identify resilience indicators in order to evaluate when and how the settlement of Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a and its inhabitants reacted to stressful situations created by various external and internal factors. From Military Castrum to Urban Settlement

This could indeed be the case of the urban development of Umm al-­-­R asas outside the Castrum. From the fifth century onwards, the Romans began to establish alliances with the Arab tribes, heirs of the Nabatean kingdom, who controlled the routes and the desert region of the Limes. In fact, some Arab tribes fought alongside the Romans during

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the Sassanid wars of 421–423, thus laying the foundations, albeit under different circumstances, of an alliance that would have been better strengthened — as already mentioned — in the Justinianic era (Whately 2014, 224–30). The fact that the Arab tribes were increasingly responsible for the defence and control of the Limes Arabicus would diminish the strategic importance of the network of military fortifications established under Diocletian. Contemporaneous with that, in Umm al-­R asas there is a progressive development of the town outside of the fortified walls and in particular to the north of them. The space was previously used almost exclusively for funerary purposes, with the exception of a church near to the northeast corner of the Castrum — the so called ‘Tabula Ansata church’, at least in its first phase (Piccirillo 2003) — and was rapidly occupied by new buildings: a dense network of buildings of various sizes and some churches enriched with mosaic floors. What had been a fortress of primary strategic importance along the Limes Arabicus, now became a flourishing town rapidly developing in the territory now under the control of the Ghassans / Jafnids, Arab Christians allied with Byzantium. What could have been a point of crisis, the decline of the site’s military relevance, thus became the opportunity for a new adaptive cycle; the urban development north of the walls flourished during the sixth century and continued, albeit to a lesser extent, until the eighth century. Church Mosaics and the Iconophobic Phenomenon

Another important indicator of resilience could be, for instance, the phenomenon of iconophobia — the systematic and voluntary destruction of the figurative elements of the mosaics of the churches (see Piccirillo 1996; Ognibene 2002; Piccirillo 2002; Pappalardo 2015, 41–44) — whose connection with the Islamic presence or, on the contrary, with a new cultural attitude of the Christian population rediscovering and re-­appropriating its Semitic origins, must be clarified. What at a superficial glance might appear to be a phenomenon of secondary importance, or simply a regrettable incident that spoiled the beauty of a valuable work of artistic expression, is in fact a relevant cultural phenomenon that can be found in various cultures and historical periods. ‘An understanding of the will to destroy or damage an image contributes to our understanding of the hold of images on the human imagination, of their powers, and, indeed, of the ways in which they contribute to our pleasure’ (Freedberg 2021, xviii).

The excavations of numerous churches in Jordan and in particular of their mosaic floors, have brought to the attention of scholars an important fact in terms of its historical, artistic and theo­logical implications. It has been noted that in several cases figurative representations were voluntarily removed or disfigured. This phenomenon was viewed as related to the iconoclastic crisis that affected the Byzantine world and especially Constantinople during the eighth century. However, it has been rightly highlighted that the particular character of the evidence presented in the churches of the Province of Arabialeads to a distinction between the Byzantine iconoclastic movement, with a more properly theo­logical nature regarding the veneration of the icons of Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the Saints, and the iconophobic phenomenon in the territories of the Bilad al-­Sham where human and animal figures were targeted (Piccirillo 2002, 243). This peculiar activity is so well documented in the mosaic floors of the churches of Jordan and in particular those of Umm al-­R asas, to allow us, starting from the epi­graphic data, to draw a well-­ defined chrono­logical fork within which to place the development of the phenomenon, namely the first half of the eighth century, in the Umayyad era, more particularly during the Yazid II caliphate (720–724) or shortly afterwards (on Yazid II and his iconoclastic edict, see Sahner 2017). The care seen both in the destruction of the figures and in the restoration of the mosaics is interpreted as proof that the work was materially carried out by Christian craftsmen and that the churches continued to be in use even after this intervention (Piccirillo 1996, 183–84) (Fig. 6.3).

Figure 6.3. Iconophobic intervention on a human figure in the mosaic floor of St Stephen’s church (after Piccirillo and Alliata 1994, fig. 32a).

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Figure 6.4. The tower, the two-­storey building, and the northern quarry (figure by C. Pappalardo).

Recent studies have attempted to better delineate the causes that led to the iconophobic phenomenon in the mosaics of the Madaba region, trying on one side to understand how much the edict of Yazid II may or may not have influenced it (see Sahner 2017, 38–42), and on the other, to ask how much it may have been be related to the entirely Christian theo­logical question of Byzantine iconoclasm and the Nicene reaction to it. One of the leaders of this movement was John the Damascene, who was closely linked to the Palestinian monastic movement (see Reynolds 2017, especially 53–62). It is important to note, however, that in both cases it was the local Christian community that played a leading role. ‘Palestinian Christians may have been influenced by the nascent aniconism of their Muslim neighbours and taken action against their own images in response. At the same time, it is tempting to see the disfigured mosaics as evidence of the implementation of Yazid’s decree among the area’s Christian population’ (Sahner 2017, 41–42). Furthermore, ‘suppressing the idolatrous images of the past may have been fundamental to establishing a more coherent and distinct Christian orthodox identity in view of an increasingly cohesive Islamic counter narrative’ (Reynolds 2017, 62). Therefore, the iconophobic phenomenon as seen in these mosaic floors indicates a deep fracture with the Roman-­Byzantine culture and the creation of the conditions for the emergence and the progress of Islam, but at the same time the development of a process of resilience that enabled the inhabitants of this region to maintain their Christian identity and continue to use their places of worship. The icono-

phobic phenomenon must thus be understood as an important indicator of the resilience process taking place during the eighth century among the Christian populations living in the Bilad al-­Sham, especially in the Madaba region and particularly in Umm al-­ Rasas / Kastron Mefa’a. Water Harvesting and Distribution Systems

As this is a semi-­desert region, water resources, reservoirs, and environmental management along the Limes Arabicus played a vital and strategic role. ‘Yet despite considerable geo­graphic and demo­graphic variation along its length, the area as a whole shared a common concern over a reliable and consistent water supply. Access to water determined and limited the construction of fortifications, farms, and settlements’ (Dijkstra and Fisher 2014, 12). From this perspective it becomes very important to analyse the water supply systems that were implemented in Umm al-­R asas in its different periods. In such a dry climate, it was necessary to collect as much rainwater as possible. This need was met by several cisterns hewn into the underlying fossiliferous limestone that can be found everywhere, even in the fields outside the inhabited area. The excavations of the churches, of the adjacent rooms, and of some civil buildings, have enabled the identification of the various systems of water collection and supply, and their transformations in parallel with those of other structures. The main rainwater collection basins during the Roman period were the large reservoir to the east of the Castrum, and the deep rectangular cisterns within the large stone quarry north of the Tower. Here, some large basins were covered with stone slabs supported by arches to prevent evaporation.

6. U m m al-Rasas / Kast ro n Me fa’a ( Jo rdan) alo ng t he Li m es A r abicus

Figure 6.5. Aerial view of Umm al-­Rasas with farming activities of various periods visible to the north, towards the tower area (image Google Earth 2014).

At the beginning of its history, and probably due to its nature of Roman military camp, the need for water was not excessive and in any case it did not require large hydraulic facilities for the harvesting, collection and distribution of water (Pappalardo 2017, 58). Stone Quarrying Activities and Agricultural Plantations

The area where the tower stands (Fig. 6.4), clearly distinct from the urban area located north of the Castrum, was mainly used for cultivation purposes and to quarry stones; both of these activities demanded fair amounts of water, so it is not surprising to find some further rainwater collection cisterns dug into the bedrock. (Fig. 6.5) Proceeding towards the slope of the hill, the area situated south-­east not so far from the Tower, initially used as a stone quarry, was in a later phase adapted for agricultural purposes with the building of a two-­storey tower, some buildings extending to the East, and a chapel; in these two buildings there were also cisterns hewn into the rock (Pappalardo 2017, 58–60). The location of the cisterns inside these buildings (a blockhouse and a chapel) emphasizes the vital importance of water

in an arid territory like the Transjordan steppe. All these structures and systems had been devised over time to collect, conserve, and exploit this precious resource, and are additional important stress indicators for the resiliency and adaptive capacity of Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a. Courtyards and Churches as Water Reservoirs

With the progressive urbanization of the surrounding area outside the Castrum and the demo­graphic increase, the demand for water also increased exponentially, ‘as testified by the construction of a large cistern beneath the courtyards of the houses’ (Pappalardo 2017, 61). Every precious drop of rainwater would thus have been collected from the roofs of the houses and churches, and from the nearby courtyards, through a series of collection pipes and decanting pits ‘which can be found everywhere in the dense “network” of buildings’ (Pappalardo 2017, 61). As evidence of how essential the water supply was, the cisterns were frequently placed within the churches themselves. Cisterns inside church buildings have been found in the above-­mentioned chapel in the farming area between the city and the tower; in the church of the Tabula Ansata, in what was orig-

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The Wine Press Facility in the Atrium of the Church of St Paul

Figure 6.6. The wine press area inside the St Paul’s complex (photo by C. Pappalardo).

inally an open-­air courtyard later transformed into the central nave of the church; inside the church of Bishop Sergius with its floor mosaic dating to 587 AD, where near the entrance there is the mouth of a cistern that was certainly in use during all phases of use and restoration of the church. Throughout the entire St Stephen’s church complex (Piccirillo and Alliata 1994), as well as in all other church or residential buildings, a complex network of channels and gutters collected rainwater and carried it into large, well-­waterproofed cisterns, so that it could be used for the variegated needs of the inhabitants of Umm al-­R asas.

Archaeo­logical investigation to the south of the church of St Paul has revealed, in the area between the church itself and the chapel of the Peacocks, a spacious atrium leading to the church through a colonnaded porch. Archaeo­logical research has unexpectedly brought to light an installation for the making of wine in the same courtyard. The discovery of this winery within an ecclesiastical complex sheds new light on the life of the city of Umm al-­ Rasas / Kastron Mefa’a during the transition from the Byzantine to the Early Islamic era (Pappalardo 2002, 385). The entrance to the ecclesiastic complex was from the east, through an access from the adjacent road, leading to a wide corridor. A careful examination of these structures, including their various phases of construction and of the materials found, made it possible to understand that this area was originally occupied by the church’s portico. Later, during the seventh century, the atrium of the church underwent some changes to allow the installation of an industrial-­scale wine press with the connected wine processing and storage facilities. The use of the wine press, along with all the other structures of the area, declined gradually over time, and ended with the abandonment of the town. (Fig. 6.6) The atrium of the church of Saint Paul is probably the most tangible and documented example of how the resilience of a well-­defined territory from the perspective of identity and culture, sets up an adaptive cycle which appears not as merely theoretical or abstract, but as a clearly identifiable and concrete phenomenon that leaves tangible traces on the buildings of a town like Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a. Resilience Indicators Identifiable in the Structural Phases of the Buildings

Focusing on the wall structures, not only of the religious buildings and their annexes, but also of the civil buildings, some structural changes and adjustments occurred quite constantly, suggesting a common causative factor. In particular, the modifications are clearly retraceable in the various phases of occupation of an extensive housing compound discovered in the area facing the northern gate of the Castrum. (Fig. 6.7) The original building was probably the residential dwelling of a prominent Christian family, as attested by the crosses engraved in the architectural elements, and dates back to the Umayyad period when the area north of the Castrum

6. U m m al-Rasas / Kast ro n Me fa’a ( Jo rdan) alo ng t he Li m es A r abicus 103

Figure 6.7. The housing compound facing the northern gate of the Castrum (photo by C. Pappalardo).

saw considerable urban development. Pavements of various types belonging to different building phases remain, as well as several wall restorations. The most recent arrangement of the building is probably to be ascribed to the Abbasid period. Likely due to severe structural damage, the living spaces were narrowed and re-­arranged by creating new wall partitions or reinforcing the old ones, blocking old doors and opening new ones. This consolidation of the walls and the reduction of some rooms or spaces is common and constant in almost all excavated areas, including churches. A dual stress factor, of a natural origin and of a political-­ economic nature, has to be taken into consideration. Firstly, the earthquake of 749, which destroyed a large portion of the region and caused damage to the buildings of Umm al-­R asas, although perhaps not as severe as in other places, was enough to require the restoration and reinforcement of the structures. Then, with the switch from the Umayyad to the Abbasid dynasty in 750, and the relocation of the capital from Damascus to Baghdad, the Transjordanian Belqa’a probably lost its political, military, and above all economic importance. The levels related to the last stable occupation of the buildings are characterized by a clear and continuous layer of abandonment, on which the remains of the collapsed structures are

laid, almost always in their primary position. This suggests that the abandonment did not happen suddenly nor in a traumatic way, but was, instead, a gradual phenomenon that occurred while the structures were still in good condition. This is possibly due to the discontinuance of the above-­identified factors that were supposed to trigger the adaptive cycle at Umm al-­R asas. If the earthquake and the changed political-­economic circumstances had already weakened and downgraded the site, a few decades later, an even more important factor, quite possibly a shift in the climate that initiated a period of drought, contributed to the definitive abandonment of the site. The resilience of Umm al-­R asas and the surrounding landscape nevertheless continued for a considerable period of time as the occasional reuse of some abandoned structures identified in almost all the excavated areas, be they churches or other buildings, seems to suggest.

Future Research Perspectives The processes described concerning the urban settlement of Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a can certainly be better defined and deepened by widening the research field. This is the goal of a project set up by the Laboratory of Applied Geo­graphy (LABGEO)

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at the University of Florence (Azzari and Pappalardo, forthcoming). The purpose is to investigate the Madaba Map (sixth century), a detailed representation of the Holy Land on a mosaic floor pavement in a Byzantine church in Madaba. Ideally by travelling across the map, the project aims to reconstruct the historical landscape on the basis of carto­graphic, documentary, and archaeo­logical sources, analysed through a methodo­logical approach that highlights geo­graphical and cultural components of the landscape and their relationships. Yet it is also a project that aims to test innovative techno­logies for analysis and representation of geodata that varies over time (historical GIS, virtual landscaping, augmented reality), creating a storytelling tool, and a data visualization environment that will allow the enrichment of visual perception through overlaid information; this will allow a better understanding of the document, its history, the main features of the historical landscape, and the material and immaterial signs which are expressions of cultural identity. The ancient environmental and landscape reconstruction of a broad region will allow us to understand if what emerged at Umm al-­R asas was not an isolated and peculiar phenomenon, but was rather a part of a wider resilience process encompassing at least the entire region of Madaba, if not the whole of the Syro-­Palestine / Bilad al-­Sham during the transitional phase between the Byzantine and early Islamic period.

Conclusions The application of resilience theory to the history of Umm al-­R asas helps to shed new light on the different transformations — from a military post to an inhabited settlement with numerous churches and agricultural installations — that the site underwent during its history, and in particular to clarify the causes that brought about its abandonment during the ninth–tenth centuries. An initial application of the adaptive cycle model provides preliminary answers regarding the stress factors that led to the collapse phases, and on the reaction of the community and of the ecosystem that led to the reorganization phases, during which resources were reorganized into a new framework to exploit changed opportunities. It would also be important, further along this path, to grasp the factors which ultimately depleted the resilience of the inhabitants of Umm al-­ Rasas, leading to the ‘failure’ of the adaptive cycle; in this regard, the natural factors which could have modified the ecosystem by influencing the human-­ environment relationship and interfering with resilience strategies, must also be taken into account.

For Umm al-­R asas, as seen, it was possible to identify some resilience indicators: the weakening of the military function of the Castum along the Limes and the consequent urban development outside the walls; the iconophobic phenomenon witnessed by the church mosaics not only in Umm al-­R asas but rather frequently in the whole Madaba region and beyond; the implementation of rainwater harvesting and distribution systems for different purposes, both in the residential area and in the area to the north which was used for quarrying and farming; the different building and restoration phases of the various types of edifices, in particular of the residential complex located not far from the northern gate of the Castum, and the various transformations which involved the colonnaded atrium of the church of St Paul, where a wine press was installed. This enables us to conclude that, with the weakening of these elements, the adaptive capacity (resilience) at Umm al-­R asas came to end: despite occasional efforts to repopulate the settlement — at least in the still usable buildings — during the ninth–tenth centuries, the small town, founded on the ancient camp of the Equites Promoti Indigenae during the Roman period and, even further back in time, the Mefa’a mentioned in the Bible, was definitively abandoned and forgotten until it was rediscovered in the final decades of the last century. Acknowledgements This article is inspired by a research project currently being carried out by the author on the resilience of the Christian communities along the Limes Arabicus during the transition between the Byzantine and Islamic periods. This research is also part of a wider project conducted by the Laboratory of Applied Geo­graphy of the University of Florence and directed by Prof. M. Azzari, aimed at the reconstruction of the cultural and natural landscape represented in the Madaba mosaic map.

6. U m m al-Rasas / Kast ro n Me fa’a ( Jo rdan) alo ng t he Li m es A r abicus 105

Works Cited Primary Sources Stephanus, Ethnica. Stephani Byzantii Ethnica, i, ed. by Margarethe Billerbeck, Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae, 43.1 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006) Procopius, History of the Wars. Procopius. History of the Wars, i: Books 1 and 2, ed. by Henry B. Dewing, Loeb Classical Library, 48 (London: Heinemann, 1914) Strabo, Gheo­graphiká. The Geo­graphy of Strabo, vii, ed. by Horace L. Jones, Loeb Classical Library 241 (London: Heinemann, 1930) Ptolemaeus, Geo­graphia. Claudius Ptolemy. The Geo­graphy, ed. by Edward L. Stevenson (New York: Dover Publications, 1991) Eusebius, Onomasticon. Eusebius Caesariensis. Onomasticon: The Place Names of Divine Scripture. Including the Latin Edition of Jerome, ed. by Richard Steven Notley, and Ze’ev Safrai (Leiden: Brill, 2005) Notitia dignitatum, Notitia dignitatum: accedunt Notitia urbis Constantinopolitanae et laterculi prouinciarum, ed. by Otto Seek (Berlin: Weidmann, 1876)

Secondary Studies Avni, Gideon. 2014. The Byzantine-­Islamic Transition in Palestine: An Archaeo­logical Approach (Oxford: Oxford University Press) Azzari, Margherita, and Carmelo Pappalardo. Forthcoming. ‘The Tabula Peutingeriana and the Madaba Mosaic Map: A Comparative Analysis for the Reconstruction of the Syropalestinian Historical Landscape from the Roman to the Islamic Period’, GeoHumanities Ball, Warwick. 2016. Rome in the East. The Transformation of an Empire, 2nd edn (London: Routledge) Burke, Peter J., and Jan E. Stets. 2009. Identity Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press) Dijkstra, Jitze H. F., and Greg Fisher (eds). 2014. Inside and Out. Interactions between Rome and the Peoples on the Arabian and Egyptian Frontiers in Late Antiquity, Late Antique History and Religion, 8 (Leuven: Peeters) Fisher, Greg. 2020. Rome, Persia, and Arabia: Shaping the Middle East from Pompey to Muhammad (London: Routledge) Freedberg, David. 2021. Iconoclasm (Chicago: University of Chicago Press) Genequand, Denis, and Christian Julien Robin (eds). 2015. Les Jafnides. Des rois arabes au service de Byzance (vie siècle de l’ère chrétienne). Actes du colloque de Paris, 24–25 novembre 2008, Orient et Méditerranée, 17 (Paris: de Boccard) Holling, Crawford S. 2001. ‘Understanding the Complexity of Economic, Eco­logical, and Social Systems’, Ecosystems, 4.5: 390–405 Ognibene, Susanna. 2000. Umm al-­Rasas: la Chiesa di Santo Stefano ed il problema iconofobico (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider) Pappalardo, Carmelo. 2002. ‘Il cortile a Sud della chiesa di S. Paolo ad Umm al-­R asas — Kastron Mefaa in Giordania’, Liber Annuus, 52: 385–440, Tav. 35 —— . 2015. ‘Kastron Mefa‘ah — Umm al-­R asas (Provincia Arabia — Giordania): Alla fine di un’epoca di occupazione urbana sull’altopiano di Madaba. Insediamento urbano e materiali dal VII al X secolo d.C.’ (Unpubl. doctoral thesis, Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana, Rome). —— . 2017. ‘Hydraulic System of Water Harvesting and Distribution in Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’a’, in Precious Water. Paths of Jordanian Civilizations as seen in the Italian Archaeo­logical Excavations. Proceeding of the International Conference held in Amman, October 18th 2016, ed. by Lorenzo Nigro, Michele Nucciotti, and Elisabeth Gallo, ROSAPAT 12 (Rome: La Sapienza University), pp. 55–66 —— . 2018. ‘Persistence and Transformation in the Urban Spaces: Umm al-­R asas / Kastron Mefa’ah on the Jordan Plateau from the 6th to 9th century’, ARAM Periodical, 30: 441–63 Piccirillo, Michele. 1992. ‘La chiesa dei leoni a Umm al-­R asas – Kastron Mefaa in Giordania’, Liber Annuus, 42: 199–225 —— . 1996. ‘Iconofobia o iconoclastia nei mosaici di Giordania?’, in Bisanzio e l’Occidente: arte, archeo­logia, storia. Studi in onore di Fernanda de’ Maffei, ed. by Claudia Barsanti (Rome: Viella), pp. 173–92 —— . 2002. L’Arabia cristiana. Dalla provincia imperiale al primo periodo islamico (Milan: Jaca Book) —— . 2003. ‘La chiesa della Tabula Ansata a Umm al-­R asas – Kastron Mefaa’, Liber Annuus, 53: 285–302 Piccirillo, Michele, and Eugenio Alliata. 1994. Umm al-­Rasas, Mayfa’ah I: gli scavi del complesso di Santo Stefano ( Jerusalem: Studium Biblicum Franciscum) Redman, Charles L. 2005. ‘Resilience Theory in Archaeo­logy’, American Anthropo­logist, 107.1: 70–77 Redman, Charles L., and Ann P. Kinzig. 2003. ‘Resilience of Past Landscapes: Resilience Theory, Society, and the Longue Durée’, Conservation Eco­logy, 7.1, 14 [accessed July 2022] Reynolds, Daniel. 2017. ‘Rethinking Palestinian Iconoclasm’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 71: 1–64 [accessed July 2022]

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Sahner, Christian. 2017. ‘The First Iconoclasm in Islam: A New History of the Edict of Yazīd II (AH 104/ce 723)’, Der Islam, 94.1: 5–56 [accessed July 2022] Saliou, Catherine. 2020. ‘Entre lexico­graphie, histoire et géo­graphie historique: κάστρον’, in Dire la ville en grec aux époques antique et byzantine. Actes du colloque de Créteil, 10–11 juin 2016, ed. by Lilian Lopez-­R abatel, Virginie Mathé, and Jean-­ Charles Moretti (Lyon: Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée), pp. 221–42 Sauer, Jacob J. 2015. The Archaeo­logy and Ethnohistory of Araucanian Resilience (New York: Springer) Walmsley, Alan G. 2007. Early Islamic Syria: An Archaeo­logical Assessment (London: Duckworth) Whately, Conor. 2014. ‘Arabs, Outsiders, and Stereotypes from Ammianus Marcellinus to Theophilact Simocatta’, in Inside and Out. Interactions between Rome and the Peoples on the Arabian and Egyptian Frontiers in Late Antiquity, ed. by Jitze H. F. Dijkstra, and Greg Fisher, Late Antique History and Religion, 8 (Leuven: Peeters), pp. 215–33

Priscilla Ralli

7. Settled Landscapes in the Late Antique Peloponnese A Review for a Topo­graphical Reassessment

ABSTRACT This paper addresses the issue of the

fourth‒sixth centuries’ settlements in Southern Greece. Given the limited documentary sources, the paper offers a re-­examination of the Peloponnesian landscape considering the findings of the nineteenth‒twentieth centuries’ excavations. Through Myrto Veikou’s ‘third-­space’ theory, a reassessment on the Late Antique Peloponnesian settlements is presented which goes beyond the well-­known city-­ countryside dichotomy, in order to reintegrate the issue into a wider debate about Late Roman and Byzantine Greece. KEYWORDS Early Christian topo­graphy; Christian architecture; Greek settlements; urban space; countryside

Introduction An analysis of the Early Christian churches in the Peloponnese, during my PhD research, led me to study the topo­graphical context of each monument. Through my own doctoral research and an examination of specific regional studies (Avramea 1997; Sweetman 2010, 2015a, 2015b) almost 113 Early Christian sites have been identified in the Peloponnese. Among them, around fifty-­three revealed and preserved some ecclesiastical structural evidence (mostly foundations and plans). In most cases the existence of churches has been assumed through the presence of erratic sculptural remains, epi­graphic elements, and/or mosaic decoration. In the total count are also included sites which were known and identified during the earliest Peloponnesian archaeo­logical excavations, but subsequently lost because they were demolished in order to reveal

the previous phases. A similar perspective allows a much more exhaustive interpretation of the Early Christian Peloponnese, based on the most relevant form of archaeo­logical data — as the churches represent what was often the most visible sign in the Late Antique environment — and allowed me to make some observations on the Peloponnesian landscape in the fifth‒seventh centuries. In order to present a review of the settled landscape in the Late Antique Peloponnese in the critical recent debate, this paper will firstly address the issue of the different methodo­logies that have characterized topo­graphical studies on early Byzantine Greece. As the churches often represent a relevant surviving element in the Late Antique landscape, two nineteenth-­century Peloponnesian excavations will be presented so as to partly explain the uneven knowledge of the churches and, consequently, their reference sites. The Peloponnesian area under investigation, first outlined in the Late Antique historical sources, will thus be presented through some fourth‒ sixth-­century case studies, analysing the archaeo­ logical finds scattered throughout the entire region, the varying amount of evidence, and the documentary sources, together with the results of both older and more recent surveys.

Peloponnesian Urban and Rural Spaces: A Methodo­logical Account through the Scientific Debate The area under investigation has already been examined in the specific studies by Anna Avramea (1997) and Rebecca Sweetman (2010, 2015a, 2015b). Thanks to Avramea’s historical-­geo­graphical approach, all the archaeo­logical data ascribed to the fourth‒eighth centuries and discovered in the Peloponnesian area were

Priscilla Ralli ([email protected]) École française d’Athènes Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 107–121 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130675

FHG

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systematized. Later Sweetman began an articulated and detailed study to consider the Peloponnesian Late Antique network connections that brought about religious change. By gathering, updating, and providing archaeo­logical data from the latest surveys and excavations, Sweetman addressed the issue of the Christianization of the Peloponnese, in the evolution of which she recognized the important role played by the location of churches. The study of the landscape induces a consideration of how the concepts of city and countryside have been theorized differently by scholars who have dealt with Late Antique sites in Greece; the difficulties that scholars have encountered in defining the limits of the city and countryside were also explained by Charalampos Bouras at the very first beginning of one of his recent works.1 With regards to the entirety of modern Greece, the analyses by Jean-­Michel Spieser (1984) and Jean-­ Paul Sodini (1984a), as part of the seminar conference ‘Villes et peuplement dans l’Illyricum proto­byzantin’ held in Rome in 1982, clarified the boundaries within which an urban and/or rural space can be defined in the Late Antique Greek world. The review of the evidence scattered throughout modern Greece that came to light in those years allowed Jean-­Paul Sodini to define only the residential occupation of the upper élite members of local society, as more modest housing is usually difficult to recognize. Jean-­Michel Spieser’s urban study, for its part, attests to the fact that, in a transitional period such as Late Antiquity, it is difficult to define a settlement due to a single aspect. In recent times it has been stated that distinguishing a settlement because of the presence, or lack, of rural economic activities is inadequate since in various Early Byzantine settlements the coexistence of urban and rural economies has been observed (Veikou 2013, 126–27). A similar assumption grows in importance when the strong interaction between rural and urban medi­eval settlements is taken into account; these had to be understood as inseparable since the countryside’s agricultural activities often allowed the survival of the towns (Arthur 2004, 123). It should be highlighted, in fact, that the difficulty in classifying a rural or a urban area in Byzantine Greece comes from an unambiguous division between spaces devoted to agricultural economic activities and those dedicated to urban contexts (Veikou 2013, 126), as ‘the contextualization of archaeo­logical and historical evidence for

1 ‘Any attempt at formulating a general overview of the cities of the Byzantine Empire, even just of those that lie within the boundaries of modern Greece, meets with almost insurmountable difficulties’ (Bouras 2013a, 45).

Byzantine settlements, e.g. for seventh-­eleventh century Bishoprics in Southern Epiros, demonstrates a flexible organization of habitation’ (Veikou 2009, 51). Myrto Veikou, in evaluating Byzantine archaeo­ logical settlements, introduced new categories into which the territory should be organized and understood. Starting from the indivisibility of city and countryside, she theorized a ‘third-­space’ alternative to the traditional dichotomy, considering an area in-­between for those settlements which are difficult to define (Veikou 2012b, in particular 159–64). Therefore, leaving aside for a moment the age-­ old question of how to define a Byzantine city, it becomes easier to indicate what it is not (Bouras 2013a). Recently there have been specific studies on the Late Antique Greek area devoted to both town and rural contexts, reconsidering previous and incorporating newly acquired information. Relevant contributions to the knowledge of the Greek landscape settlements in Late Antiquity come from the volume ‘Heaven and Earth. Cities and Countryside in Byzantine Greece’ (Albani and Chalkia 2013), issued in conjunction with the exhibition ‘Heaven and Earth: Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections’. The topic addressed by the volume, already apparent in its title, offers specific and updated reviews on the most important Greek cities in Late Antiquity,2 in which data from the most recent archaeo­logical investigations converges with already existing studies. Specific topo­graphical urban analyses have not been lacking; for the Peloponnesian area: Corinth (Brown 2018), Patras (Moutzali 1989b, 1993), Argos (Oikonomou-­Laniado 1998, 2003; Banaka-­Dimaki and others 1998; Ralli 2022), Olympia (Völling and others 2019); beyond this region: Gortyna (Zanini 2009) and Eleutherna (Themelis 2004). Additionally, studies on local settlements have been published including those related to Elis (Lambropoulou 1991; more recently Eliopoulos 2016), the Argolid (Konte 1985, 1994), Attica (Tzavella 2014), the Cyclades (Roussos 2017), Boeotia (Vionis 2017), Naxos and Cyprus (Vionis and Papantoniou 2017).



2 Such as Thessaloniki (Tourta 2013), Philippi (Korkoutidou-­ Nikolaidou 2013), Nikopolis (Chalkia 2013), Thebes (Karagiorgiou 2013), Athens (Bouras 2013b), Corinth (Athanasoulis 2013), and Argos (Vassiliou 2013).

7. se t t le d land scape s i n t he lat e ant i q u e pe lo ponnes e 109

The Relevance of the Architectural Data on Knowledge of the Landscape: Peloponnesian Early Christian Churches Discovered in the Nineteenth Century

In general, the Early Christian churches in the Peloponnese are currently known only from their plans since nothing has survived of the upper structures, with the exceptions of a few examples such as the Lechaion basilica, or the one in the so-­called ‘Phidia’s workshop’ in Olympia.3 The role that Peloponnesian cities played in ancient times (the most important being Corinth, Argos, Sparta, and Olympia) strongly influenced the first archaeo­logical expeditions of the mid/late nineteenth to the early twentieth centuries. In 1884–1885, during the investigation of the upper walls of the acropolis of Tiryns directed by Heinrich Schliemann, some evidence was observed close to the propylaea referable to an ill-­defined church, which is known only by a detail on the general plan of the site (Schliemann and others 1885, 287). This is the extent of what is known about Christian Tiryns, although it should be mentioned that there is no evidence that allows a specific chrono­logy for the church to be determined. Otherwise in the modern settlement of Nea Tiryns, in the Katevasia area, some wares and building structures that were ascribed to a lost Early Christian church were discovered (Oikonomou 1989, 63). The Late Antique occupation of Tiryns is, in any case, also attested from the building in Dalamanara.4 In Mantinea, similarly, the first campaigns in 1887–1889 directed by Gustave Fougères brought the most ancient phases of the settlement to light, obviously removing the upper and more recent layers, and it is therefore not a surprise that in the final publication of the site (Fougères 1898) just two para­ graphs were devoted to the period between the second century and the Middle Byzantine age.



3 Recently Völling and others 2019. 4 Not far from the modern Hagios Panteleimon church, a bath complex, two cisterns, and other rooms which were part of a bigger complex were found containing several fourth–sixth-­century wares, metalwork, third–fourth century lamps, numerous tiles, and one hypocaust. A deposit of 268 Constantinian assiaria and minimi was recovered, showing an abandonment date around the sixth century (Piteros 2000, 189–90).

Defining the Area under Investigation from Contemporary Documentary Sources The Peloponnese, the extreme offshoot of Illyricum, is the Greek southern peninsula located between the Ionian and Aegean seas, almost in the centre of the Mediterranean. The name, which traditionally refers to a territory characterized by an ancient cultural and geo­graphical unit (Vlassopoulos 2007), today indicates one of the thirteen Greek administrative regions, and covers most of the peninsula. Its north-­western part is comprised of the Western Greece region, while the Argolid peninsula forms part of the modern Attica region. Some references to Peloponnesian settlements between the fourth and the seventh centuries can be found among the few documentary sources. The Synekdemos, an administrative list drawn up in the year 535 but which refers to an Imperial assessment done in the first half of the sixth century, indicates twenty-­six cities in the Peloponnesian area out the total of seventy-­nine for the entire Province of Achaia (Table 7.1). In the Peloponnese, the presence of one-­third of the cities of the entire Province is not a negligible element (Avramea 2000). Administratively dependent on the provincial capital Corinth, the largest number of settlements (ten) were located within its proximity in the north-­east. Only four cities are attested in the central and inner zone, while coastal cities were most frequently located in the western and southern Peloponnesian areas. Procopius in his De Aedificiis, although considered a literary source, records a state of ruin for Corinth due to earthquakes (Proc., De Aed., vi, 23–26). Referring to the whole area, to which he assigns the name Πελοποννήσο, he points out the absence of city walls as a reason why Justinian ordered the restoration of the Isthmian walls and the construction of some fortresses (Proc., De Aed., vi, 27–33). Procopius’ intention to exalt Justinian’s actions has evidently relegated possibly more specific references to the territory to the background. The Achaean provincial capital of Corinth is, indeed, the only Peloponnesian settlement mentioned. From the first book of the hagio­graphic text Miracula Sancti Demetrii (Lemerle 1979, 10–13), composed at least by the end of the seventh century, it can only be concluded that in the last quarter of the fourth century, the province of Achaia was part of the praetorian prefecture of Illyricum, as it would appear was also the case for the years around 685 when the second book was composed (Lemerle 1981, 177). These kinds of sources are inadequate to outline the Peloponnesian settlement development in Late Antiquity and because of this it is relevant to cross-­

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priscilla ralli Table 7.1. Late antique Peloponnesian settlements from contemporary documentary sources.

Tabula Peutingeriana (Second half 4th century) Agion Agira Argos Asine Asopos Boas Cencris Cleonae Corintho Cyllene Cyparissa Dyme Epitauro

reference them with sources from different categories. A more comprehensive picture can be drawn up from the historical carto­graphy. In the second half of the fourth century the Tabula Peutingeriana attests thirty-­one settlements in the Peloponnese (Table 7.1) connected by thirty-­four routes (Sanders and Whitbread 1990). Comparing these settlements with the ones attested in the Synekdemos it can be assumed that during the second half of the fourth to the middle of the fifth century, a shift occurred eastwards in the direction of Corinth. In this way the western and inner centres seem to have lost their importance in favour of the eastern ones (Avramea 1997, 108). The different nature of these two documents must be kept in mind however: the settlements in Tabula Peutingeriana are shown to elucidate the road network, not necessarily to include major administrative settlements as was the case in the Synekdemos. The correspondence between the Tabula Peutingeriana and the Synekdemos is however verifiable for sixteen settlements.5 The list of Episcopal sees is another relevant document that has to be taken into account, although the signatures of the bishops at the councils do not always reveal the real situation of the bishoprics, whose representatives may, or may not, have participated depending, at least in part, on the rank of importance of their seat. According to these lists, between the fourth and the seventh century there were bishoprics in Corinth, Sicyon, Argos, Troezene, Aegion, Patras, Elis, Messene, Methone, Korone, Asopos, and Sparta (Fig. 7.1). Their existence was not always contemporary and, again, it is possible that the bishops did not all participate in the same Councils because of the rank of their seats. The Hermione Episcopal seat, however, is attested only by a funerary epi­graph (ICG 3446), therefore suggesting the need to consider the archaeo­logical evidence to evaluate not only the Peloponnesian bishoprics but, in a broader sense, also the regional settlements. The sites analysed in this paper are those identified, therefore, from the cross-­reference of the

Synekdemos (Composed before 535 ad, describes first half 5th century) Aigion Aigeira Akreai Argos Asine Asopos

Corinth Kyparissia Elis Epidavros Geronthrai

Gytmon Hermione Istamo

Lacedemone Lechi Leondari

Korone Krommyon Lacedemone

Mantinea Megalopili Melena Messene Micenis Mothone Nemea Netide (Elis) Olympia Pathras

Messene Methana Methoni Nemea

Patras Pharis Phigaleia

Pylios Pityussa Samacos Sicione Tegea

Sikyon Tegea Thelpoussa Troezene



5 It must be noticed that the settlements gravitating to the orbit of Corinth — i.e the harbours of Kenchreai (= Cenchris), Lechaion (= Lechi), and Isthmia (= Istamo) — and which are mentioned in the Tabula Peutingeriana, are absent in the Synekdemos where, otherwise, it is the present Krommyon. Comparing the two documentary sources Anna Avramea noticed the omission, in the Synekdemos, of Cleonae, Cyllene, Leondari, Melena, Micenis, Olympia, Pylos, and Samacos, observing that these were mostly settled in the western part. In the Peloponnesian eastern area she recognized new settlements which were present in the Synekdemos but absent in the Tabula Peutingeriana, that is to say Akreai, Geronthrai, Hermione, Methana, Pityussa, and Troizen (Avramea 1997, 108).

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documentary sources previously mentioned and the archaeo­logical data, namely ecclesiastical structures.

Outlining the Settled Landscape of the Fourth–Sixth Century Peloponnese The lack of documentary sources and the uneven amount of archaeo­logical evidence could lead, at first look, to an incomplete presentation of the settled landscape. In fact, referring to Early Byzantine Greek sites, the archaeo­logical evidence has not always been published exhaustively (Bouras 2012b, 3–4). What has been stated so far, however, allows for all available data, despite their different typo­ logies, to be queried with a view to a reassessment. Considering such a patchy group of information from the Veikou ‘third-­space/in-­between’ perspective (Veikou 2009; 2013) allows for a more comprehensive analysis of the fourth‒sixth-­century sites (Fig. 7.2) identified in my on-­going architectural research. The often-­mentioned unequal panorama leads to an evaluation that takes into consideration the different historical and local backgrounds of each single site. The Urban Space of Patras, Corinth, and Argos

A city should be more identifiable and circumscribable than a rural site: the Greco-­R oman phase of an urban site could be easily detectable because of its plan and/or monumental public infrastructure. According to Procopius De Aedificiis (ii, 10–22) it can be assumed that in the sixth century the urban rank of a settlement was defined by its public infrastructure (walls, aqueducts, and other significant public buildings). Regarding the archaeo­logical evidence, however, the matter of a Late Antique city seems much more complex as, despite its rank, it could have had different features depending on the survival of public amenities and the consequent endurance of the various urban areas (Vionis 2017, 144–45). In the Byzantine world in general and on this occasion in the Peloponnese, the distinction between urban and rural spaces is not clearly defined and, besides, it has been noticed that none of the Peloponnesian written sources describes a settlement of a lower grade than a city (Avramea 1997, 107). The correspondence between the literary sources and the bishops’ conciliar signatures, with the archaeo­logical evidence of the previous Hellenistic and Roman phases as well as those from Late Antiquity, permits us to recognize Corinth, Patras, and Argos as cities. Except for Patras, these settlements have been the subject of many excava-

Figure 7.1. The bishoprics in Peloponnnese (fourth–seventh centuries) according to the documentary sources. 1. Corinth, 2. Sicyon, 3. Aegion, 4. Patras, 5. Elis, 6.  Methone, 7. Korone, 8. Messene, 9. Sparta, 10. Asopos, 11. Argos, 12. Troezene.

Figure 7.2. The Peloponnesian Late Antique settled landscape: some case-­ studies to illustrate the region. 1. Corinth, 2. Patras, 3. Argos, 4. Patras’ suburban area, 5. Berbati valley, 6. Eua-­Loukou, 7. Spetses, 8. Sicyon, 9. Elis, 10. Methone, 11. Nemea, 12. Epidavros and Ano Epidavros (figures by author).

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tions, surveys, studies, and their importance as Late Antique cities is well-­known.6 All are attested in the Sinekdemos and in the Tabula Peutingeriana (Table 7.1),7 and Corinth, Patras, and Argos are also known to have been bishoprics, although Corinth has a longer documented episcopal continuity than Argos, which was attested as a see only in the fifth and the seventh centuries; Patras’s bishops are known only for the mid-­fourth and mid-­f ifth centuries (Fedalto 1988, 483, 488, 517). The Late Antique Patras phase is well known thanks to the rescue excavations that took place due to its intense and rapid urbanization during the 1960s. The lack of open area excavations, obviously impossible in such an urban context, and the resulting knowledge being restricted to different sectors, did not prevent the accomplishment of numerous topo­graphical studies.8 The acquaintance of the upper class Roman and Late Antique residential area in modern Psila Alonia Square,9 or the extensive Christian complex which is articulated in the modern 124–26, 128, 139 Kanakari Street, 281–83 Korinthos Street, and 64 Ermou Street 64,10 for which it is possible to imagine the bishop’s seat, indeed make up for the lack of open area excavations. In assessing the Corinth and Argos gap, primary consideration must be given to the role of Corinth as the capital of Achaea from 44 bc as well as its role in the wider Mediterranean with its two ports: Lechaion towards the west (Pallas 1959; 1965; Rothaus 1995) and Kenchreai towards the east (Rife 2010, 396–400). Turning to Argos, despite its lack of known bishops for the fourth to the end of the fifth century, several elements indicate a new framework in that period, as shown by the urban shift from the ancient monumental centre, settled around the Larissa hill, towards the areas to the south and east of the theatre, where the Roman city had already expanded and where several Late Antique houses were found (Pariente 1990, 728;

6 For the latest historical-­topo­graphical publications see Brown 2018 and Papafotiou 2021 non vidi on Corinth, Oikonomou-­ Laniado 2003 on Argos. For detailed accounts one may consult the annual reports by the local Ephorate together with the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, present in Corinth since 1896, and the École française d’Athènes, active in Argos since the 1950s. 7 Regarding the recording in these documentary sources compared to the archaeo­logical data, Boiaioi should be mentioned. Attested in the Tabula Peutingeriana with the same image as the ones used to indicate Corinth and Patras, no other elements survived after the fourth century (Avramea 1997, 188). 8 See Moutzali 1989a; 1989b; 1991a; 1991b; 1993. 9 ADelt A, 26 (1971), 171–73; ADelt A, 35 (1980), 182; Rizakis and Petropoulos 2005, 46. 10 Asimakopoulou-­Atzaka 1987, 84–88 was first to understand the several mosaic findings as part of a unique complex.

Abadie-­Reynal 1998, 398–99; Oikonomou-­Laniado 2003, 60–69). The monumental ancient centre was still frequented, as demonstrated by the high-­ranking house on Tripoleon Street (Asimakopoulou-­Atzaka 1987, 54; Bonini 2006, 225; Siomkos 2013) and, more generally, during the fifth century the entire Agora area also became a private residential space (Bonini 2006, 225). In the last part of the fifth century in the ancient monumental centre, a metallurgical workshop was installed in the southern Stoa (Piérart and Talmann 1978, 777; Piérart 1981, 902–04), while in the Agora porch several melting pits were discovered (Feissel and others 1976, 753–54). The so-­called ‘bath B’ was abruptly abandoned at the end of the sixth century, as attested by traces of fire and destruction accompanied by findings of fragmentary Late C Ware and sixth-­ century coins (Daux 1969, 982). The catastrophe that could have damaged ‘bath B’ was not the reason for the end of its original function as several glass slags were found in the area, together with modest hydraulic interventions (Aupert 1983, 849–53), demonstrating that another transformation occurred in the monumental ancient area for productive purposes. These few structures datable to the beginning of the sixth century (Abadie-­Reynal 2013, 215) allow us to imagine a modest occupation of space and thus partly respond to the lack of known bishops; the evidence grows when considering the Argos Christian churches, the majority of which are traditionally ascribed not earlier than the fifth century (Oikonomou-­Laniado 2003, 11–25). In Argos, several layers assigned to the fifth‒sixth centuries revealed that fire and collapse occurred in different areas while, at the same time, the city’s closer rural areas increased (Abadie-­Reynal 1998, 400). The dynamism of the rural world around the city could be attested by the suburban Profitis Ilias basilica or by the foundation of the great basilica in Kephalari, a settlement 6 km away from Argos and 2.5 km from the Erasinos spring. The Profitis Ilias basilica’s luxurious decoration was considered a sign of its episcopal role (Piérart and Touchais 1996, 89–90), although the Argos Early Christian cathedral remains unknown (Ralli 2022, 203–04). The doubts arising from the lack of the certain identification of the Argos cathedral can be partially dispelled according to a previous analysis of southern Epirus in the seventh–eleventh centuries, because it should be considered that ‘the location of bishoprics may indicate that populations were more dispersed and the seats of bishoprics were rather “hybrid” and “in-­between rural and urban” settlement formations with both rural and urban features’ as ‘Episcopal sees in this case [Southern Epiros] do not seem to correspond to any clear distinct type of settlement’ (Veikou 2009, 44, 51).

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Methone and Elis: Further Hypothetical Urban Sites

This latter assumption draws attention also to two, probably urban, settlements known from the documentary sources but for which there is little archaeo­ logical evidence. Despite almost no trace having survived of any local Early-­Christian church (Sweetman 2015a, 303), Methone, in Messenia, is attested in both the Sinekdemos and Tabula Peutingeriana and was also a bishopric in the mid-­fourth century, as attested from a signature at the 343/344 Council of Serdica. Elis too is an attested bishopric in the mid-­fourth century, as the bishop Dionysus’ attendance at the Council of Serdica indicates, and the settlement is registered in the Synekdemos and in the Tabula Peutingeriana. In this case too, the cathedral is unknown but through some evidence it has been observed that the Late Antique Elis corresponded to the space of the previous phases (Lambropoulou 2000, 99). Moreover, the relevance of Elis as a bishopric could partially be detected from the significant amount of surviving Christian epi­graphs; it is indeed in second place after Olympia for the greatest number of surviving Early-­Christian inscriptions in the region.11 The settlement rank testified by the documentary sources could be partly confirmed by the epi­graphic prosopo­graphical data: the funerary inscription ICG 336412 seems to point to a link with the Athenian aristocracy, a family belonging to the deme of Berenikiadi (Zoumbaki 2001, 80), which, in some way, could demonstrate the importance of Elis not only at a local level but perhaps also in the wider Achaean context.

Applying Veikou’s ‘third-­space’ Theory to the Peloponnesian Early-­Christian Sites

Byzantine settlement because of its rural economic role can be inaccurate due to the variable organization that goes beyond the traditional categories of city and countryside to give rise to a hybrid third reality (from which derives the name of ‘third-­space’) whose contours are less clear (Veikou 2009, 51; 2013, 126–27). Rather, a typo­logy which takes into account the fundamental importance of the suburb for the survival of the urban settlements is to be preferred (Arthur 2004, 123). The Epidavros Area

Epidavros (today Archaia Epidavros, previously Palaia Epidavros), which was probably a civitas foederata after 115–114 bc ( Jameson and others 1994, 102 n. 37; Alcock 1993, 23), where the Asklepieion and Apollo Maleata Temple were part of a rooted cult (Paus. 2.27) still ongoing in the second century ad (Kavvadias 1900, 19, 169–70; Svolos 1988, 232; Alcock 1993, 125), provides support for the case of an ancient settlement still alive in Late Antiquity, as it is attested in the Tabula Peutingeriana (Table 7.1) and in the Synekdemos (Table 7.1). The Late Antique development of Epidavros confirms the double polarity of the city, as one part was settled on the Nisi cape (in the Akte peninsula) where the acropolis, walls, and the odeion were installed, while the other part, 7 km inland on the south-­west, flourished around the Asclepius shrine. The Late Antique phase is recognizable in the Nisi urban area from a house close to the propylaea (Kavvadias 1918, 191), the so-­called ‘Byzantine wall’,13 assigned to around the mid-­fifth century from the wall’s restoration (fifth century), visible only in the eastern part (Kritzas 1972a, 199; Avramea 1997, 62). Referring to the Late Antique evidence in the Asklepieion, a relevant intervention in the alsos, a fundamental part of the traditional cult, has been identified; in the holy grove it was noticed that in the traditionally known ‘Gothic wall’,14 the stylobate runs parallel to the inner walkway without filling in the space between the two, and the construction of the corridor and the porch of the sanctuary within a short time period of each other

Since it has been observed that from the fourth to the sixth centuries in some parts of Greece, the ‘settlements differed in density, spatial configuration and land use of properties’ (Veikou 2013, 128), it is useful to re-­consider the case of urban sites for which abandonment has been suggested rather than eval- 13 The ‘Byzantine-­wall’ was part of a large irregular structure uating a different pattern of frequentation. David K. (34 × 19.5 m, and east-­west direction) divided into two parts by Pettegrew (2010) has clearly indicated the impora corridor of which the southern part has survived better than the northern one. Each area was articulated into several rooms tance of re-­evaluating an abandoned Greek site conamong which the room IV floor mosaic allowed dating to around cerning the Corinthian area. the second quarter and mid-­fifth century (Kavvadias 1918, 191; As has been demonstrated by Myrto Veikou in Spiro 1978, 117–18; Asimakopoulou-­Atzaka 1987, 62). reference to Southern Epiros, discerning an Early 14 A peribolos surrounding the temples of Asclepius and Artemis, 11 As to say ICG 3364, ICG, 3370, ICG 3371, ICG 3372, ICG 3373. 12 SEG xxii, N. 330. SEG xxxv, N. 399, SEG xlviii, N. 536.

the tolos, the so-­called temple ‘T’, the building ‘E’ and the holy fountain. The initiative has been attributed to the Emperor Julian (Kanellopoulos 2000, 98) as it lies beyond single private interventions, being such an impressive change of a public space.

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has been recently interpreted to definitely exclude a defensive purpose (Kanellopoulos 2000, 58). The systematic re-­use of building material from the nearest structures has not been ascribed to a destruction/ abandonment of the area, but rather to an organized initiative for the redevelopment of space, as can be confirmed by the sloping arrangement of the peribolos’ stylobate or the construction of stairs, solutions that considered the development of the soil. Looking at Epidavros’ Early Christian structures it can be observed that they are mostly located, except for the Nisi Basilica,15 in the modern settlement of Ano Epidavros, located in the hinterland 3 km away from Epidavros. Referring to Ano Epidavros, where three churches have been discovered,16 the archaeo­ logical evidence testifies to an occupation from the fifth century until at least the seventh century. Because of this, a proposal has been put forward to extend the indications in Tabula Peutingeriana, Synekdemos, and in Ravenna Cosmo­graphy not only to the settlement on the peninsula of Akte but also to the one in modern Ano Epidavros (Oikonomou 1986, 311–12). The abandonment of the site on the promontory in favour of the inland settlement would appear to be, in fact, a composite dynamic development, to be understood as a contraction of the ancient Roman centre on the Nissi, in which the preservation of the monumental apparatus did not have to be simple, and also in the light of the shift from the rural sector, already begun in the fourth century by the local élites.17 Considering what is attested by the documentary sources combined with the archaeo­logical evidence related to Epidavros (Akte and Asklepieion) as well as Ano Epidavros, the process that led from the ancient city plan to the Byzantine configuration may be demonstrated.

Nemea

The strong interaction between city and countryside is also seen at Nemea, attested in both Tabula Peutingeriana and Synekdemos. Located in a valley closed from the outside, the famous temple of Apollo in Nemea is in an area that in the fourth‒fifth centuries was populated by a Christian rural group who built a church close to the gymnasium.18 The various irrigation ditches found in the area (Miller 1990, 78–91) together with a cemetery with poor grave goods,19 validate the idea of Nemea as a rural settlement, whereas the female’s tomb with precious jewellery found in the nearby temple of Apollo (Miller 1981, 48–50) may attest to the presence of a local rural aristocracy. On the hill overlooking the temple of Apollo another church has been discovered, the so-­called Panagia Evangelistria basilica (Orlandos 1957, 112; Pallas 1977, 176; Miller 1990, 80), which has not been entirely excavated; it is possible that the area excavated near the temple of Apollo is the rural section of a bigger and more composite settlement. The Suburb of Patras

The flourishing exploitation of Patras’s countryside was a process supported by the local élites (Moutzali 1989b, 83–84; Lambropoulou and Moutzali 2005, 70) and the surplus production could reasonably have been used for commercial purposes thanks to the city’s harbour (Lambropoulou and Moutzali 2005, 71). In the Roman Imperial period intensive sheep farming, viticulture, and olive cultivation began, which was often accompanied by the production of real artefacts for the transport of goods; in a hundred Roman urban and houses in Patras, in fact, at least one grape press has been found (Rizakis and Petropoulos 2005, 26, fig. 22). These nearly self-­ sufficient production units were very often settled along the roads leading to Patras’s harbour. In Late Antiquity agricultural activity continued, preserving the already existing dynamics (Moutzali 1989b, 83–84; Lambropoulou and Moutzali 2005, 70); it was led by the landowners possibly settled in the already mentioned Psila Alonia Square area (see above).

15 Kritzas 1972a, 186; Pallas 1977, 179–80; Avramea 1997, 177; Sweetman 2010, 250–51. 16 The Panayitsa basilica in Gephiraki area (Oikonomou 1989), the basilica in Hagia Paraskevi (Protonotariou-­Deilaki 1970; Oikonomou 1986, 310–11), and the Lalioteika basilica (Bakourkou 1982, 130–31; Oikonomou 1986). In the Kolloti area, around the Hagios Nikolaos, in a-­single-­aisle basilica, several sculptural architectural elements have been found that have been compared, because of limited specific stylistic criteria, to the ones in the Lalioteika basilica (Sodini and Kolokotsas 1984, 193; Oikonomou 1986, 310). In the Katevassia area, because of an altar (Oikonomou 1986, 309) ‘à bandeau lisse et sans rebord’ surviving in seven fragments and ascribed at the fifth‒sixth 18 Blegen 1925, 125–27; 1927, 421–22, 435; Pallas 1977, 176–77; Miller 1981, 57; 1990, 78–91. century (Sodini and Kolokotsas 1984, 200), the existence of an Early 19 It was not organized but evidently attracted by the presence Christian church has been hypothesized. of the church. The tombs were tile-­built or covered with stone 17 In the fourth century the population asked Imperial permission slabs, most of which were re-­employed building-­material from to erect a statue in honour of Bassus to thank him. The chrono­ the nearest ancient monuments, like the basilica which was built logy has been based on the epi­graphs’ expression ἀνάκτων which with blocks from the temple of Apollo and the so-­called ‘Nu’ seems to be referred to the need to have the unanimous imperial building (respectively Miller 1978, 67–68; 1980, 192; Birge and consensus, which otherwise would not have been needed in the others 1991, 48–55). second century (CIG i, 1167; Feissel 1984, 550–51).

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Several stone mills and workshops were found during modern urban excavations (Papapostolou 1971, nn. 14–26; Sodini 1984a, 387). In 2000 in the immediate suburb, in Midilogli (the site of Chatzeliakou), 3.5 km to the south of Patras, small buildings have been discovered that were engaged in gypsum production. These structures have sloping floors and drainage holes connected externally to a pythos in which some solidified plaster was found. In the same area a tank probably connected with grape pressing was found, together with some hypocausts and paved rooms (ARepLond 2000–2001, 40).

The Peloponnesian Countryside

opus sectile decoration recognized in the area of the modern Hagios Ioannis chapel. The discovery, in proximity, of a trapeta (olive oil press) and several storage premises strongly corroborates the identification of Berbati valley as a rural area (Wells and Runnels 1996, 285 with previous references). Other late antique agricultural spaces have been found by coastal settlements in the Southern Argolid ( Jameson and others 1994, 55). The Sites on Spetses Island

Similarly, on the island of Spetses (attested as Pityoussa in the Synekdemos) it is possible to recognize an agricultural production area, as attested by some storage buildings. In a bay in the northern area (Zogerias) one of the harbours has been located and two storage buildings were discovered with four coin hoards, wares, and metallic materials dated no later than the sixth century.20 Local activity, articulated in several sites, suggests a certain level of prosperity, as is possible to imagine from the gold coins discovered in the so-­called Building 2 and Building 3,21 where evidence of fire and a defined chrono­logy anchored in the mid-­f ifth–sixth centuries suggests a destruction event, further confirmed by the chrono­ logy of the nearby Zogerias basilica.22

In recent times the Late Antique Mediterranean countryside has been the issue of studies (Bowden and others 2004) whose attention to the material data has in some cases shown survival up to the seventh‒eighth centuries. This is confirmed also for the Peloponnese where, through the critical analysis of the substantial ceramic evidence from the Corinthian area (Pettegrew 2007, fig. 1, 746 tables 1 and 2, 747–48; 2010, 216, table 1), the previous idea of a strong revival occupation of the Peloponnesian Late Antique countryside compared to the Roman phase has been confirmed. Through the Corinthian ceramic data, it was possible to recognize that rural trade and settlement did not spread during Late Antiquity as they had already developed in the Roman times, yet persisted into the sixth and seventh centuries (Pettegrew 2007; 2010, 225). 20 In the so-­called ‘Building 2’ signs of fire have been observed in The Berbati Valley (Mycenae Eastern Area)

Regarding the Peloponnesian rural areas, the Berbati valley seems to be a noteworthy example of continuing vitality as millstones and mills have been found in almost the entire group of topo­graphical units into which the territory was divided during the ‘Berbati-­Limnes survey’ led by the Swedish Institute at Athens from 1988 to 1990 (Wells and Runnels 1996, 340–41). The large amount of fourth‒sixth-­century wares found in Prosymna has been interpreted as a confirmation of the supposed rural area already in the Roman period. The presence of several springs in the valley suggests arable land, facilitating cultivation. Because of this, and considering the quantity of wares, it has been suggested that the area was relatively wealthy in Late Antiquity (Wells and Runnels 1996, 337, 432–33). Moreover, in the nearby area of Limnes a bath and its residential building were found, the latter identified on the basis of the huge amount of brick material and because of a hypogeum with

three of the four rooms into which it was organized, although it was not entirely excavated (Koilakou 1992, 67). The so-­called ‘Building 3’ was composed of two rooms in which pythoi for wine or oil storage, a possible press for the oil, some lechanes, a small copper cross, nails and a fishhook were found (Koilakou 1992, 67–68). 21 In 1962 a deposit with twenty-­seven Justinian and two Justin II solidi was discovered; 2 m from that deposit in 1990 in ‘Building 2’ a deposit with thirteen golden coins, i.e. thirteen solidi and two tremisses issued by Justinian, Justin II, Tiberius, and Maurice came to light. In 1970, on a road close to ‘Building 3’, a deposit composed of 114 sixth-­century copper coins (minimi, follis and semi-­follies) was found. In ‘Building 3’ two deposits were found in 1992; one composed of thirty-­one copper coins: five minimi ascribed to the fifth-­sixth centuries, twelve follis and semi-­follis issued by Justinian, Justin II, and Sophia, one semi-­follis issued for the twelfth year of Justinian II kingdom, i.e. 576–577; the other one consisting of nine copper coins: eight minimi dated to around the fifth-­sixth centuries, one pentanummio of Justin I (Krikou-­Galani 1992, 69–71). 22 In the evaluation of local occupation, the Early Christian funerary epi­graph found in 1977 is relevant; the use of the word μακάρια suggests the identification of the deceased as a nun, otherwise the formulary, the dectus, and the data expressed with the indiction (presence of which is hypothesized due to the fragmentary survival of the epi­graph) allows a chrono­logy to around the mid‒end fifth century (Koilakou 2007, 269–72).

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Loukou/Eua

The rural environment of the Loukou villa, settled in the Eua village (20 km west of Argos) and already mentioned by Pausanias, was maintained in Late-­Antiquity. Built as an impressive complex of 20,000 square metres, the original core of which could be assigned to Hadrian’s time, its rich and complex sculptural group has led to the postulation of Herodes Atticus as its owner. The villa was articulated in pavilions located on three floors following the oro­graphic pattern of the terrain (Spiropoulos 2006, 220). The fragmentation of the representative areas, assigned to the fourth century, shows the survival of the complex high lineage also because of the maintenance of the imperial statues. The presence of fifth century Christian lamps in the filled and defused channel of the atrium (Spyropoulos 2006 42–43) shows that the spaces of representation at that time were changed. In the sixth century, in fact, the totally agricultural vocation of the villa is exemplified by the shifting of its fulcrum from being around its representative buildings to 200m beyond, where there were water supply facilities. In that area a Middle-­Byzantine monastery has been located whose walls reuse Roman-­era building materials. The sculptural elements dated to the sixth century has been interpreted as the remnants of a prior Early-­Christian church.

Concluding Remarks According to Jean-­Paul Sodini (1984a) and to some of the regional and specific studies on the Late Antique Peloponnese conducted in the 1990s (i.e. the Southern Argolid and Messenia), it is possible to detect an increase in population and economic activity around 450–600 (Avramea 1997, 116–17; Jameson and others 1994, 403–04), as indicated by an expansion from sixty-­six Imperial Settlements to ninety-­nine during this period in the Southern Argolid ( Jameson and others 1994, 554). Although during the two conferences entitled ‘Recent Research on Late Antique Countryside’ (Bowden and others 2004) the focus was placed on the rural world of the entire Empire and useful comparisons for the Greek case were provided, modern investigations have further confirmed improvements that occurred during the fourth century and an increase of rural settlements compared to prior periods (Lewit and Chavarria 2004, 19–20). The Late Antique phase of Patras could indeed partially corroborate this idea. Re-­interpreting this site through Veikou’s ‘third-­space’ concept and through Pettegrew’s studies on Corinthian countryside fre-

quentation (Pettegrew 2007; 2010), it turns out that the maintenance of Patras’ civic and urban status, together with its suburban agricultural production, demonstrates both a continuity from the previous era and also indicates a new type of settlement pattern. From the Peloponnesian case-­studies presented in this paper it emerges that the changes which occurred in the already existing settlements in Late Antiquity are multiple and not always the same at each site. In addition, it must be considered that the classical urban plan, still discernible in the cities of the early fourth century, requires a careful and individual assessment of each case, due to the different information available for each site. In Epidavros, as mentioned, the survival of the already existing areas (the Nisi promontory and the Asklepieion), proceeded alongside the formation of the new centre corresponding to the modern Ano Epidavros at the end of the fifth century. Otherwise, the transformation of the previous urban area, that is to say its contraction, determined the backing of the ancient monumental centre ( Jameson and others 1994, 107). Proof of this dynamic is the settlement, in the southern slope of Nisi promontory, of a villa rustica, so defined because of the presence of at least twenty dolia (Kritzas 1972a, 195). Considered from the Veikou ‘third-­space’ perspective, and going beyond the urban/rural dichotomy, it is possible to truly consider the Peloponnesian settlements in their entirety. Despite the scarce documentary sources, in several Peloponnesian areas it has been possible to confirm the persistence of the prior Roman settlement patterns well into Late-­ Antiquity, as has been observed from the Early-­ Christian traces in Arcadia (Sweetman 2015a, 301). Analysing the landscape according to the ‘third-­space’ category has also allowed the possible understanding of new forms of settlement, where the Roman regional and wider networks were still active (e.g., Corinthian area, see Pettegrew 2007; 2010), despite the parallel and original processes which led to the proper Byzantine settlements. Acknowledgements I would like to thank the anonymous referees for carefully reading my paper and for giving such constructive and valuable comments.

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Works Cited Abbreviations AAA = Αρχαιολογικά Ανάλεκτα εξ Αθηνών ADelt A = Αρχαιολογικόν Δελτίον Μελέτες ADelt B = Αρχαιολογικόν Δελτίον Χρονικά Aephem = Αρχαιολογική Eφημερίς AJA = American Journal of Archaeo­logy ARepLond = Archaeo­logical Reports BCH = Bulletin de correspondance hellénique DChAE = Δελτίον της Χριστιανικής Αρχαιολογικής Εταιρείας CIG = Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum ICG = Inscriptiones Christianae Graecae SEG = Supplementum Epi­graphicum Graecum

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Orlandos, Anastasios K. 1957. ‘Rapport sur les monuments paléochrétiens découverts ou étudiés en Grèce de 1938 à 1954’, in Actes du Ve Congrès International d’Archéo­logie Chrétienne (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana), pp. 109–16 Pallas, Demetrios. 1959. ‘Scoperte archeo­logiche in Grecia negli anni 1956–1958’, Rivista di Archeo­logia Cristiana, 35: 187–223 —— . 1965. ‘Ανασκαφικαί ερευναί εν Λεχαίω’ [‘Excavation Research in Lehi’], Prakt: 137–66 —— . 1977. Les monuments paléochrétiens de Grèce découverts de 1958 à 1973 (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana) Papafotiou, Apostolos E. 2021. Μνημειακή τοπογραφία της πρωτοβυζαντινής Κορίνθου. Παλαιοχριστιανικοί ναοί [Monumental Topography of Early Byzantine Corinth. Early Christian Temples] (Corinth: Katagrama Publications) Papapostolou, A. I. 1971. ‘Tοπογραφικά των Πατρών’ [‘Topo­graphies of Patras’], in A. I. Papapostolou, Θέματα τοπογραφίας καί πολεοδομίας τών Πατρών κατά τή Ρωμαιοκρατία [Topo­graphy and Urban Planning in Patras under Roman Rule], Meletamata, 13 (Athens: National Hellenic Research Foundation), pp. 305–31 Pariente, A. 1990. ‘Chroniques et rapports’, BCH, 114.2: 703–850 Pettegrew, David K. 2007. ‘The Busy Countryside of Late Roman Corinth. Interpreting Ceramic Data. Produced by Regional Archaeo­logical Surveys’, Hesperia, 76.4: 743–84 —— . 2010. ‘Regional Survey and the Boom-­and-­Bust Countryside: Re-­reading the Archaeo­logical Evidence for Episodic Abandonment in Roman Corinthia.’, The Abandoned Countryside: (Re)Settlement in the Archaeo­logical Narrative of Post-­ Classical Greece. Special Issue. International Journal of Historical Archaeo­logy, 14. 2: 215–29 Piérart, Marcel. 1981. ‘Agora: Zone Ouest’, in Marcel Pierart, Pierre Aupert, Gilles Reynal, Hubert Rio, Jean-­Francois Bommelaer, Jacques des Courti, Jean-­Yves Empereur, and Pascal Darcque, ‘Argos’, BCH, 105.2: 902–06 Piérart, Marcel, and Jean-­Paul Talmann, 1978. ‘Agora: Zone du Portique’, in Pierre Aupert, Marcel Piérart, Jean-­Paul Talmann, Denis Feissel, Patrick Marchetti, and Gilles Touchais, ‘Argos’, BCH, 102.2: 777–90 Piérart, Marcel, and Gilles Touchais. 1996. Argos. Une ville grecque de 6000 ans (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scien­ tifique) Piteros, C. 2000. ‘Δαλαμανάρα. Περιοχή Αγίου Παντελεήμονα (αρχαίο Τημένιο) (οικόπεδο Δ. Διαμαντάκου)’ [‘Dalamanara. The Agios Panteleimon Area (Ancient Temenio) (Land of D. Diamantakos’], ADelt B, 55: 189–91 Protonotariou-­Deilaki, E. 1970. ‘Αρχαιότητες και μνημεία Αργολιδοκορινθίας. Άργολις. Άργος’ [‘Antiquities and Monuments of Argolidokorinthia. Argolis. Argos’], ADelt B, 25: 154–60 Ralli, P. 2022. ‘Caratteri architettonici delle chiese paleocristiane di Argos (IV-­VII secolo)’, Rivista di Archeo­logia Cristiana, 98.1: 136–212. Rife, Joseph L. 2010. ‘Religion and Society at Roman Kenchreai’, in Corinth in Context: Comparative Studies on Religion and Society, ed. by Steven J. Friesen and others (Leiden: Brill), pp. 391–432 Rizakis, Athanassios, and Michalis Petropoulos. 2005. Ancient Patrai (Athens: Kotinos) Rothaus, Richard M. 1995. ‘Lechaion: Western Port of Corinth. A Preliminary Archaeo­logy and History’, Oxford Journal of Archaeo­logy, 14.3: 293–306 Roussos, Kostantinos. 2017. Reconstructing the Settled Landscape of the Cyclades: The Islands of Paros and Naxos During the Late Antique and Early Byzantine Centuries (Leiden: Leiden University Press) Sanders, Guy D. R., and Ian K. Whitbread. 1990. ‘Central Places and Major Roads in the Peloponnese’, British School of Athens, 85: 333–61 Schliemann, Henrich, Felix Adler, and Wilhelm Dorpfeld. 1885. Tirynthe, Le palais préhistorique des rois de Tirynthe. Résultat des dernières fouilles (Paris: Reinwald) Siomkos, N. D. 2013. ‘97. Floor Mosaic with Personification of Autumn (?)’, in Heaven & Earth. Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections, ed. by Anastasia Drandaki, Demetra Papanikola-­Bakirtzi, and Anastasia Tourta (Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports), p. 228 Sodini, Jean-­P., and Konstantinos Kolokotsas. 1984. Aliki 2. La basilique double (Athens: École française d’Athènes) Sodini, Jean-­P. 1984a. ‘L’habitat urbain en Grèce à la veille des invasions’, in Villes et peuplement dans l’Illyricum protobyzantin (Rome 1982) (Rome: École Française de Rome), pp. 341–97 —— . 1984b. ‘La sculpture architecturale à l’époque paléochrétienne en Illyricum’, in Actes du Xe Congrès international d’archéo­ logie chrétienne, Thessalonique, 28 septembre – 4 octobre, 1980 (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana), pp. 207–98 Spieser, Jean-­M. 1984. ‘La ville en Grèce du iiie au viie siècle’, in Villes et peuplement dans l’Illyricum protobyzantin (Rome 1982) (Rome: École Française de Rome), pp. 315–40 Spiro, Marie. 1978. Critical Corpus of the Mosaic Pavements on the Greek Mainland, Fourth/Sixth Centuries, with Architectural Surveys (New York: Garland) Spyropoulos, Georgios. 2006. H έπαυλη του Hρώδη Aττικού στη Eύα / Λούκου Kυνουρίας [The Mansion of Herodes Atticus at Eua / Loukos Kynourias] (Athens: Olkos)

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Svolos, I. 1988. ‘History of the Tholos from the Fourth Century bc to the Present’, in The Propylon of the “Gymnasium” and the Tholos in the Asklepieion at Epidauros v, ed. by V. Lambrinoudakis (Athens: Committee for the Preservation of the Epidauros Monuments), pp. 225–33 Sweetman, Rebecca J. 2010. ‘The Christianization of the Peloponnese: The Topo­graphy and Function of Late Antique Churches’, Journal of Late Antiquity, 3.2: 203–61 —— . 2015a. ‘The Christianization of the Peloponnese: The Case for a Strategic Change’, The Annual of the British School at Athens, 110.1: 285–319 —— . 2015b. ‘Memory, Tradition and Christianization of the Peloponnese’, AJA, 119.4: 501–31 —— . 2017. ‘Networks and Church Building in the Aegean: Crete, Cyprus, Lycia and the Peloponnese’, The Annual of the British School at Athens 112: 207–66 Themelis, P. G., 2004. ‘Yστερορωμαϊκή-­πρωτοβυζαντινή Eλεύθερνα’, in Creta romana e protobizantina. Atti del congresso inter­ nazionale organizzato dalla Scuola Archeo­logica Italiana di Atene (Iraklion, 23–30 settembre 2000), ii, ed. by Antonio Di Vita, M. Livadiotti, and I. Simiakaki (Padua: Bottega d’Erasmo), pp. 445–58 Touchais, G. 1980. ‘Chronique des fouilles et découvertes archéo­logiques en Grèce en 1979’, BCH, 104.2: 581–683 Tourta, Anastasia. 2013. ‘Thessalonike’, in Heaven & Earth, ii: Cities and Countryside in Byzantine Greece, ed. by Jenny Albani and Eugenia Chalkia (Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports), pp. 74–93 Tzavella, Elli. 2014. ‘The Christianization of Attica. The Topo­graphy of Early Christian Churches’, Pharos, 20.2: 121–58 Vassiliou, Anastasia. 2013. ‘Argos from the Ninth to Fifteenth Centuries’, in Heaven & Earth, ii: Cities and Countryside in Byzantine Greece, ed. by Jenny Albani and Eugenia Chalkia (Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports), pp. 216–23 Veikou, Myrto. 2009. ‘Rural Towns’ and ‘In-­Between’ or ‘Third’Spaces: Settlement Patterns in Byzantine Epirus (7th–11th centuries) from an Interdisciplinary Approach’, Archeo­logia Medi­evale, 36: 42–54 —— . 2012a. Byzantine Epirus: A Topo­graphy of Transformation. Settlements of the Seventh-­Twelfth Centuries in Southern Epirus and Aetoloacarnania, Greece (Leiden: Brill) —— . 2012b. ‘Byzantine Histories, Settlement Stories: Kastra, “Isles of Refuge”, and “Unspecified Settlements” as In-­Between or Third Spaces’, in Oι Bυζαντινές πόλεις [The Byzantine Cities], ed. by T. Kiousopoulou (Rethymnon: University of Crete), pp. 159–206 —— . 2013. ‘Settlements in the Greek Countryside from Fourth to Ninth Century: Forms and Patterns’, Antiquité Tardive, 21.1: 125–33 Vionis, Athanasios K. 2017. ‘Sacred Townscapes in Late Antique Greece: Christianization and Economic Diversity in the Aegean’, Journal of Mediterranean Archaeo­logy, 30.2: 141–65 Vionis, Athanasios K., and Giorgos Papantoniou. 2017. ‘Sacred Landscapes as Economic Central Places in Late Antique Naxos and Cyprus’, Antiquité Tardive, 25: 265–86 Vlassopoulos, Kostas. 2007. ‘The Regional Identity of the Peloponnese’, in Being Peloponnesian. Proceedings of the Conference Held at the University of Nottingham, 31st March–­1st April 2007 (Nottingham: Centre for Spartan and Peloponnesian Studies), pp. 1–17 Völling, Thomas, Holger Baitinger, Sabine Ladstätter, Arno Rettner, and Martin Miller. 2019. Olympia in frühbyzantinischer Zeit: Siedlung – Landwirtschaftliches Gerät – Grabfunde – Spolienmauer (Wiesbaden: Reichert) Wells, Berit, and Curtis Runnels (eds). 1996. The Berbati-­Limnes Archaeo­logical Survey 1988–1990 (Stockholm: Astrom) Zanini, Enrico. 2009. ‘Città, microterritorio e macroterritorio (e mobilità degli uomini) nel Mediterraneo proto-­bizantino: il caso di Gortina di Creta’, in Geografie del popolamento. Casi di studio, metodi e teorie. Atti della giornata di studi (Grosseto 24–26 settembre 2008), ed. by Giancarlo Macchi Jànica (Siena: Edizione dell’Università), pp. 111–21 Zoumbaki, Sophia. 2001. Elis und Olympia in der Kaiserzeit: Das Leben einer Gesellschaft zwischen Stadt und Heiligtum auf prosopo­graphischer Grundlage (Athens: Centre for Greek and Roman Antiquity of the National Research Foundation)

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Ivan Gargano

8. Aquae in the De Aedificiis Territorial and Administrative Issues in Dacia Ripensis during the Sixth Century Introduction and Preliminary Notes

ABSTRACT This article explores the debate around

the soundness of hypothetical structural changes which occurred in the administrative organization of the provinces along the Lower Danube during the sixth century. The hypothesis of a gradual shift from a centralized, provincial administration towards a city-­based governance has been advanced on the basis of the information provided by the fourth book of Procopius’ De Aedificiis. The manu­script shows an interesting incoherence in the categorization of the forts and fortified settlements in the region, insofar as when describing the situation of Dacia Ripensis and Dacia Mediterranea it abandons a province-­based listing in favour of a city-­based organization. This has led different scholars to surmise a progressive increase in the autonomy and power of major settlements at the expense of the provincial central authority. This hypothesis, however, presents several issues, which emerge through the comparison of Procopius’ work with another relevant source of the time: the Novellae Iustiniani. The ambiguities around the use of the lists in the De Aedificiis as evidence for administrative changes along the Lower Danube will be analyzed within the historical framework provided by the development of the city of Aquae, in Dacia Ripensis.

Thorough comprehension of the historical and administrative status of Dacia Ripensis is essential for understanding the development of the Illyricum during Late Antiquity (Fig. 8.1). The aim of this article is to highlight certain fundamental features of the administrative organization of this area throughout Justinian’s reign, which will be explored on the basis of the data acquired around the city of Aquae. As we can infer from relevant written sources, such as the 11th Novella Iustiniani and Procopius’ De Aedificiis, Aquae became an important military and religious hub for the region during the sixth century. The information provided by Procopius has led to several theories regarding important adjustments that might have affected the provincial administration during Justinian’s reign. These theories can hardly be supported, however, in that the De Aedificiis is in fact a rather controversial source, as will be explored later in the paper. In this sense, the rise of Aquae is an ideal case study for outlining the historical and geo­graphical framework of the issue at hand.

The Historical and Territorial Setting Dacia Ripensis was one of several provinces established at the end of the third century along the Danube, at the northern borders of the Empire. Its institution occurred within the context of a retrenchment of the external frontiers ordered by Aurelian, which determined a reshaping of the provinces of Moesia Superior and Moesia Inferior,1 later followed

KEYWORDS Dacia Ripensis, Aquae, Procopius,

Iustiniani Novellae, Administration



1 Although it is impossible to establish whether Dacia Ripensis was founded by direct order of the Emperor, an inscription retrieved from Bov, Bulgaria, represents a certain terminus post quem to ascertain its existence during the rule of Carus and Carinus.

Ivan Gargano ([email protected]) Université de Lille, Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana – Archaeo­logical Institute of Belgrade Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 123–130 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130676

FHG

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Figure 8.1. The Illyricum in Late Antiquity (map from https://en.wikipedia.org /wiki/Via_Militaris, reproduced under a CC-­BY 3.0 licence).

Since the end of the third century and throughout Constantine’s rule, this region witnessed a period of important development, which led to the establishment of new civitates/πόλεις, such as Bononia,3 Aquae,4 and Castra Martis,5 which grew rapidly alongside the older coloniae of Ratiaria6 and Oescus.7 Naturally, the entire Illyricum fell into several years of mayhem and unrest following the invasion of Attila’s Huns in the fifth century: Ratiaria was captured by the barbarian leader,8 and the eastern lands were settled by Hun and Sarmatian tribes,9 who removed the region from the imperial authority. In fact, Dacia Ripensis was surrendered to Hun rule by an agreement signed in 449,10 and it remained under Barbarian occupation until the beginning of the sixth century. After Attila’s death, the territory fell under the domination of Theodoric the Amal, King of Ostrogoths, upon whom Zeno bestowed in 483 the title of magister militum praesentalis,11 and the rule of Moesia Secunda and Dacia Ripensis,12 which he kept until 488. Barbarian rule was eventually ended by Anastasius, who brought the Danubian provinces back under imperial authority and began the administrative, military, and religious reorganization of the Illyricum; his work was then continued under Justinian and significantly affected the organization of Dacia Ripensis.

close contact with areas strongly influenced by Greek language and culture, such as the Diocese of Thracia and the Black Sea regions. 3 Ivanov 2003. Figure 8.2. Aquae’s territory (figure by author). 4 Petrović 2018. 5 See Bajenaru 2010. 6 See Dinchev 2015. by the institution of Moesia Prima, Moesia Secunda, 7 Ivanov and Ivanov 1998. Dacia Mediterranea, and Dardania. Dacia Ripensis 8 Prisc., Fr. 3. occupied the area of the ‘Lower Danube’, in a terri- 9 ‘Hernac quoque, iunior Attilae filius, cum suis in extremo minoris Scythiae sedes delegit. Emnetzur et Ultzindur, tory that today would be situated between Serbia, consanguinei eius, in Dacia ripense Uto et Oesco Almoque Bulgaria, and Romania (Fig. 8.2). Its wide valleys potiti sunt, multique Hunnorum, passim proruentes, tunc se and boating rivers allowed swift movement of people in Romani dediderunt, e quibus nunc usque Sacromontisii et and goods but, at same time provided an easy access Fossatisii dicuntur’ (And Eernac, Attila’s youngest son, with his family chose his lands in the most distant part of Scythia minor. route for barbarian raiders to the southern regions.2 Emnedzur and Ultzindur, his relatives, took possession over Utus, Oescus, and Almus in Dacia Ripensis and many other Huns, coming from every part, then penetrated into the lands of See Alföldi 1939; Demougeot 1981; Mócsy 2014, 285. On the the Roman Empire; from them descend those who still today are inscription,‘Caro et Carino // Augu(stis) Gaianus // praeses called Sacromontisi and Fossatisi), Iord. Get. 266–67, 223. finem // posuit (i)nter du[as D]acias dila[psum]’, see Filow 1912; 10 Prisc., Fr. 7. See Stein 1959, 292; Liebeschuetz 2007, 105. AE 1912, 200. 2 Dacia Ripensis represented also the hinge between the linguistic 11 See Stein 1959, 11–15; Jones 1964, 224–28; Heather 2007, 179–84. 12 Marc., Chron. 483, 28. Stein 1959, 18. The Amal established his traditions of the western and eastern areas of the Empire; even headquarters in the city of Novae. though it was a distinctly Latin province, Dacia Ripensis was in

6. U m m al-Rasas / Kast ro n Me fa’a ( Jo rdan) alo ng t he Li m es A r abicus 12 5

The Rise of Aquae during Justinian’s Rule

enced a period of significant growth; during Justinian’s reign the city had gained control of a wide territory that stretched from the Timok valley to the Balkan Mountains. Furthermore, the Bishop of Aquae was given full powers over omnia castella et territoria et ecclesias (all its castles, territory, and churches) within the city’s territory,19 and was commissioned to vanquish the Bonosiac heresy spreading across the region.20 These developments are chronicled in Procopius’ De Aedificiis and in the eleventh Novella Iustiniani. The former recounts a list of thirty-­eight forts across Aquae’s region that were restored by imperial order: the identification of some of those outlines the extent of the area controlled by the city.21 Since the historian included locations near the Danube, such as Ζάνες-­Diana and Πότες-­Pontes,22 as well as others quite far from the river, such as Τιμακίολον-­Timacum Minus,23 we can infer how large the territory under

The development of Aquae progressed along with the institution of Dacia Ripensis,13 and the other settlements in the province (Fig. 8.2).14 The town undoubtedly benefited from the political and administrative adjustments that occurred by the end of the third century and gained greatly from its favourable geo­graphic position within the region.15 Due to the importance, it attained in those years, during the fourth and presumably the fifth century Aquae became also one of the four Episcopal sees, along with Ratiaria, Oescus, and Castra Martis.16 Unfortunately, there is no archaeo­logical or literary evidence to surmise the conditions of the settlement during Attila’s invasion and the following troubled decades. It is not known, in fact, whether Aquae experienced the same tragic fate as Ratiaria,17 although the attested necessity to restore the Episcopal see in 535 might indicate that the crisis of the middle of the fifth century had plagued 19 Bishops’ duties and prerogatives were highly increased during the city as well.18 the sixth century, as it is widely known that the Church could However, the turmoil was left behind during the occasionally commission new fortifications, either by its own first half of the sixth century, when Aquae experiinitiative or in cooperation with the central government.

Regarding this, see Ravegnani 1983, 80–89 and Sodini 2013, 865–68. 20 ‘… Aquensis autem episcopus habeat praefatam civitatem 13 See Janković and others 1981; Petrović 2018. et omnia eius castella et territoria et ecclesias, ut possit 14 As now, it is not yet possible to determine the exact topo­graphy Bonosiacorum scelus ex ea civitate et terra repellere vel in of the site, since researches on its urban area could only identify orthodoxam fidem transformare …’ (The Bishop of Aquae shall part of the late antique city walls, along with few artefacts from have that city with all its castles, territory, and churches under his the fourth and fifth centuries, and the remains of an intra-­muros jurisdiction, so that he can banish the heresy of the Bonosians building, in place till the sixth century. The city walls were from that city and country, and bring them into the orthodox made of carved stone, bricks, and spolia, surrounded by a 2.20faith), Iust. Nov. 11, 94. On the Bonosiac heresy, see (Zeiller 1918, metre deep ditch, which protected an area of 850 × 450 m. The 344–45; Jouassard 1961; Bratož 2011, 135–38; Fox 2018). similarities with the techniques employed for the construction 21 The fortifications built in this region were needed to counter the of the fortifications at Diana-­Karataš, seem to suggest that the extensive use of bricks in the eastern section of Aquae’s city wall easy passage to the inner territories of the Peninsula. It is fair to is likely due to later renovation during Justinian’s rule. Regarding assume that behind this work there was the intent to secure these this topic, see Janković and others 1981, 124–27 on Aquae, and routes, especially if one compares the situation of Aquae with that Vasić and Kondić 1986, 557 on Diana-­Karataš. of Naissus, situated in Dacia Mediterranea at the intersection of the 15 It was founded by the right bank of the river as a statio along so-­called Via Diagonalis with the Ratiaria-­Lissus, and of Remesiana, the Danubian Route. Moreover, it stood astride the pathways on the road to Serdica. In the region surrounding Naissus there were of the Timok valley, which connected the Illyric inland with thirty-­two fortifications built ex-­novo, whilst another seven were the Adriatic coasts through the Ratiaria-­Naissus-­Lissus route. restored; in the case of Remesiana thirty strongholds were rebuilt, Regarding the Ratiaria-­Naissus-­Lissus, see Petrović and Filipović which highlights the Emperor’s concerns about protecting this key 2006. region. The fact that the valley of Timok was an important part of 16 The oldest evidence regarding a local Christian community dates the Roman border at the Lower Danube is also proved by the solid back to the ’40s of the fourth century, and it is connected to the possibility that the massive Slavic expeditions of 548 and 550 could events of the Council of Serdica in 343. Hilarius Pictaviensis states have crossed the imperial frontier right in this region. If we consider in fact that Vitalis, Bishop of Aquae was among the participants, the two expeditions that arrived in Dyrrachium and Naissus, in fact, although no further information is provided about his work or the Timok area was the fastest and most direct way between these temperament. Hil., Fr. ii, 15 Vitalis e Dacia Ripensi de Aquis, 135. two cities and Valacchia, occupied by the Slavs. Again in 601 General 17 The city was captured by the Huns in 447 (Prisc., Fr. 8). Petrus, arrived in Dardania during the wars against the Avars, and 18 ‘Sed et in Aquis, quae est provinciae Daciae ripensis, ordinari reached the enemy campsite, situated in the area of the floodgates volumus a tua sanctitate episcopum, ut non in posterum sub of the Danube, passing right through the valley of Timok, and thus Meridiano episcopo sit constituta …’ (We desire Your Highness passing through what was the territory of Aquae. Theoph. Sim., Hist. to select a bishop for the City of Aquae, situated in the province viii.4, 322. On the topic see Popović 1975, 474. of Dacia Ripensis, so that the said city may no longer be subject 22 About Pontes-­Kostol see Vasić and Kondić 1983, 543; Garašanin to the spiritual jurisdiction of the Bishop of Meridio), Iust. Nov. and Vasić 1986, 85; Špehar 2010, 31. 11, 94. 23 See Petrović 1995; Diers 2018.

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of Remesiana,32 to eventually reach the territory of Aquae,33 which is the focus of this article. Notably, Procopius changes his method of categorization again between the fifth and tenth chapters, switching to a list of the forts built along the Danube between the province of Moesia Prima and the Black Sea.34 The peculiar organization adopted for Dacia Ripensis and Dacia Mediterranea35 has been indicated as evidence of a hierarchy between πόλεις and χώραι, meaning that the major cities controlled directly both the minor settlements and the territories nearby.36 For instance, it was inferred that the χώρα of Aquae and its fortifications were under the jurisdiction of the πόλις of Naissus,37 as they are listed right after it.38 This hypothesis, however, presents an administrative inconsistency, insofar as it is hard to explain why a major settlement in Dacia Mediterranea, such as Naissus, should have exerted authority over the territory of another settlement in Dacia Ripensis. To overcome this issue it was therefore supposed that the two provinces were actually merged into a single entity, simply referred to as Dacia, in which Naissus was hierarchically above Aquae.39 Alternatively, it was also surmised that at the time of De Aedificiis the provincial organization in the region had been weakened by a gradual rise in urban autonomy, hence Procopius chronicled this pattern, through the aforementioned geo­graphical categorization.40 A third hypothesis, instead, presents a unique situation in which the χώρα of Aquae became an independent entity that controlled the western territories of Dacia Ripensis autonomously, up to the borders of Ratiaria’s territory; this might explain why the peculiar description of the city so evidently differs from that of any other centre in the province.41 The considerations proposed around Procopius’ list entail significant implications for the administrative development of this region during the Justinianic Age, hence they require an extensive analysis through comparison with the other relevant source of that period, the Iustiniani Novella. In fact, even though Dacia Ripensis and Dacia Mediterranea are not mentioned in the De Aedificiis, they are instead mentioned

the authority of Aquae was, hence its importance within the region.24 The Novella Iustiniani, on the other hand, is an official document of considerable relevance, as it includes an imperial decree from 535, which formalized the authority of Iustiniana Prima’s archbishop over Dacia Ripensis. Since Aquae was the only attested bishopric in the province during the sixth century, this document constitutes clear evidence for the restoration of the Episcopal see in the city and its relevance to the religious life of the territory.25 Both these sources provide remarkable information about the topo­graphic, military, and religious arrangements of the province, which leads to important considerations regarding the administrative adjustments that occurred throughout the sixth century. As a matter of fact, according to some scholars, the fourth book of the De Aedificiis seems to point out that the provincial organization of Dacia Ripensis and Dacia Mediterranea was progressively replaced by increased administrative autonomy, bestowed upon centres such as Aquae, Serdica and Remesiana.26 Procopius provides an exhaustive list of Balkanic φρούρια/castella ordered by province, which covers all the forts along the Adriatic and Aegean coasts, and part of the Diocese of Dacia.27 However, when it comes to Dacia Ripensis and Dacia Mediterranea, the author abandons the province-­ based method of categorization, mentioning instead the major settlements first. Since this change was only applied to these two provinces, the feasible historical and administrative implications of this exception have become a subject of debate. Procopius, in fact, does not mention the two provinces and the forts within them, but proceeds to list major cities (πόλεις),28 territories (χώραι),29 and the minor fortified settlements controlled by them. The first forts listed by the author belonged to the city of Serdica and the territory of Cabetzus;30 then he presents the cities of Germania and Pautalia, and finally the fortifications in the territory of Scassetana.31 The list proceeds with all the settlements under the authority of Naissus and those in the jurisdiction 24 Proc. Aed. iv.4, 313–15; fig. 8.2. 25 Iust. Nov. 11, 94. 26 Dagron 1984, 9; Petrović 1995, 27–28; Curta 2001, 124. 27 ‘Ἐν δὲ Ἠπείρῳ παλαιᾷ…Ἐπὶ Μακεδονίας…Ἐπὶ Δαρδανίας…’ (In ancient Epirus…in Macedonia…in Dardania), Proc. Aed. iv.4, 299–307. 28 Using ‘Ὑπὸ πόλιν…’ (Near to the city of …) followed by the list of forts. 29 Using ‘Ἐν χώρᾳ…’ (In the region of …) followed by the list of forts. 30 Proc. Aed. iv.4, 308. 31 Proc. Aed. iv.4, 310.

32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

Proc. Aed. iv.4, 311–12. Proc. Aed. iv.4, 312. Proc. Aed. iv.4, 315–67. Proc. Aed. iv.4, 307–15. Petrović 1995, 27–28. Following this logic, also Remesiana would have been under the jurisdiction of Naissus. Petrović 1995, 27–28. Bajenaru 2010, 17. See Dagron 1984, 7–9 and Curta 2001, 121–24. Иванов 1984 (transl. Ivanov).

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in the 11th and 131st Novellae, which are respectively dated to 530 and 545.42 These texts avoid both the hypothesis of administrative unification and of the separation of Aquae into an autonomous territorial body, inasmuch as they refer distinctly to the two Daciae as separate provinces, and state that Aquae … est provinciae Daciae Ripensis…43 Considering this reliable data, it is also rather unconvincing to propose any solid hypothesis over the alleged shift from a centralized provincial administration towards a city-­based jurisdiction.44 Furthermore, given the attested existence of the two Daciae, it is unlikely that Aquae’s χώρα could have really been subordinated to the πόλις of Naissus, which demonstrably belonged to a different province. The terms πόλις and χώρα reported by Procopius should not be considered evidence of an administrative hierarchy among the different settlements listed in the De Aedificiis 4.4.45 The comparison between the two sources also highlights how the definition of Aquae as a χώριον should not be interpreted in terms of its juridical status. The 11th Novella states clearly, in fact, that the settlement was a full-­f ledged civitas,46 hence hold 42 ‘…ut Primae Iustinianae patriae nostrae, pro tempore sacrosanctus antistes non solum metropolitanus, sed etiam archiepiscopus fiat, et certae provinciae sub eius sint auctoritate, id est tam ipsa mediterranea Dacia quam Dacia ripensis … (We, being desirous of conferring many and various benefits upon the province in which God first permitted Us to see the light, do hereby establish there the centre of sacerdotal authority; intending that the temporal head of the first Justinianian shall be not only a metropolitan, but also an archbishop; and that his jurisdiction shall include other provinces, that is to say Dacia Mediterranea, as well as Dacia Ripensis…) Sed et in Aquis, quae est provinciae Daciae ripensis …’ (And in Aquae, situated in the province of Dacia Ripensis) Iust. Nov. 11, 94. ‘Per tempus autem beatissimum archiepiscopum Primae Iustinianae nostrae patriae habere semper sub sua iurisdictione episcopos provinciarum Daciae mediterraneae et Daciae ripensis, Privalis et Dardaniae et Mysiae superioris atque Pannoniae …’ (The Most Blessed Archbishop of Iustiniania Prima shall continue to retain under his jurisdiction and authority the bishops of the provinces of Mediterranean Dacia, of Dacia Ripensis, of Privalis, of Dardania, of Upper Moesia, and of Pannonia.) Iust. Nov. 131, 3, 655. 43 Iust. Nov. 11, 94. 44 As proposed by Curta 2001, 121–24. It is nevertheless true that, during the sixth century, the position of the provincial governor lost much of its importance in favour of the potentiores who administrated the cities, and to whom was given the task of electing the governor himself. See Roueché 1998. 45 As stated by Petrović 1995, pp. 27–28. 46 ‘… Aquensis autem episcopus habeat praefatam civitatem et omnia eius castella et territoria et ecclesias, ut possit Bonosiacorum scelus ex ea civitate et terra repellere vel in orthodoxam fidem transformare’ (The Bishop of Aquae shall have that city with all its castles, territory, and churches under his jurisdiction, so that he can banish the heresy of the Bonosians from that city and country, and bring them into the orthodox faith.) Iust. Nov. 11, 94.

ing the same status of neighbouring πόλεις such as Naissus and Serdica: it is rather impossible that an important bishopric like Aquae could have really been subordinated to a city of the same status, and from a different province no less. Given that the comparison between the two sources has outlined several conceptual misunderstandings, one might wonder whether the De Aedificiis may really be a reliable source for elucidating important changes in the administrative pattern of the region. As a matter of fact, Procopius’ work presents several features and critical issues that should prompt prudence in considering it as an accurate account of the provincial administration during Justinian’s reign. Above all, one should bear in mind that the De Aedificiis was never finished and remained an incomplete draft,47 which Roques has defined as a ‘travail inachevé…des notes jetées à la hâte’.48 Moreover, Procopius’ effort was never intended to draw up a thorough overview of the imperial reorganization but was rather aimed at dazzling the readers with an enormous amount of descriptions, which were not even particularly relevant to the administrative issues of the time.49 The fourth book in particular contains several issues that must be considered. This part of the De Aedificiis consists of a descriptive section and two lists, 4.4 and 4.11; the first one concerns the territory of Aquae. This section, just as the rest of the work, is characterized by numerous inaccuracies and mistakes, which suggest the author’s lack of revision.50 This is made even more evident if one points out not only that the two lists appear as sketched notes and that the conclusions are quite disorganized,51 but also that it includes a tribute to Justinian that should have supposedly been at the beginning of the De Aedificiis,52 and, most notably, a fundamental site such as Iustiniana Prima is barely even considered.53 The disorganization thus affects the description of Dacia Ripensis, as for instance Aquae is mentioned twice incoherently, first in 4.4 and then again in 4.5; the site of Pontes54 is referred to with two dif 47 Downey 1947, 172; Cameron 1996, 83; Roques 2011, 24. 48 Roques 2011, 24. 49 Elsner 2007, 38, Roques 2011, 40. For an exhaustive overview see Roques 1988. 50 Downey 1947, 179; Perrin-­Henry 1980; Cameron 1996, 93. 51 Perrin-­Henry 1980. 52 Roques 2011, 25. 53 Proc. Aed. iv.1, 277–79. 54 Πότες (Potes) in iv.4, Πόντες (Pontes) in iv.5. As in the case of Remesiana in Dacia Mediterranea, which is mentioned first as ῾Ρουμισίανα (Roumisiana) in iv.1 and then as ῾Ρεμισίανα (Remisiana) in iv.4.

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ferent toponyms; and the cities of Singidunum and Viminacium55 are included within the boundaries of the province Dacia Ripensis, whereas they actually belonged to Moesia Prima.

Conclusions It appears quite evident that due to the issues presented, the De Aedificiis cannot be considered a reliable source to attest relevant changes in the administrative structure of Dacia Ripensis in the sixth century, as suggested by the aforementioned theories. Additionally, it is evident that Justinian and his predecessors simply restored the provincial system already in use during the fourth and fifth century, as we can infer from the Novellae 11 and 131. Dacia Ripensis retained the same territorial extension of the previous centuries, whilst the only notable change that occurred in the province’s organization was a shift in the status of its governor, which we know of thanks to Hierocles’ Synecdemus.56 Although this document’s date is still debated,57 we do know that it was certainly completed by 527. Since the latest part of this manu­script is a list of provincial governors58 it proves particularly useful in outlining their organization in the Justinianic Age. Hierocles recorded the rank shift of Dacia Ripensis’ governor from ηγεμόνας/praeses, as he was addressed in the third-­f ifth centuries, to κονσουλάριον/consularion,59 which attests to an adjustment during the sixth century that led to the dismissal of the praeses. It is rather uncertain, indeed, why Procopius decided to change his method of categorization of the territories in Dacia Ripensis and Dacia Mediterranea, by shifting from a province-­based listing, as he did for Dardania, Epirus, and Macedonia, to a division by πόλεις and χώραι. We can infer that given the numerous φρούρια listed within the jurisdiction of Aquae and Remesiana, this part of the manu­script was influenced by official reports from that period,60 that accounted for the military organization of the terri-

55 Proc. Aed. iv.5, 317–19. 56 ‘Ἐπαρχία τῇ παρά … ὑπὸ κονσουλάριον, πόλεις ε’, Ῥατιάρια μητρόπολις, Βονωνία, Ἀκυές, κάστρα Μάρτις, Ἴσκος’ (In the province of Dacia Ripensis under the ‘consularion’ the cities of: Ratiaria metropolis, Bononia, Acues, Castra Martis, Iskos) (Hierocles, Synecdemus 655, 1–6 p. 20). 57 Regarding the composition and the date of the work see the introduction to Honingman 1939 and Roueché 1998. 58 Roueché 1998, 84. 59 The manu­script attests this shift in sixteen provinces. For a list, see Jones 1964, 382–89. 60 See Downey 1947, 173–76; Cameron 1996, 85; Elsner 2007, 39 regarding the three different lists in Aed. iv.4, iv.9, and v.9.

tory,61 although there is no solid archaeo­logical evidence to support this assumption. After all, it is also quite challenging to determine the overall credibility of the sources employed by Procopius,62 no less so because the vocabulary reported by the author often lacks the semantic accuracy of a military account. The term φρούρια, for instance, refers primarily to military forts, but it can also be generally applied to fortified settlements or even smaller refugia for the rural communities,63 which creates semantic confusion.64 This link is even strengthened by the fact that Procopius includes these φρούρια within the urban χώραι, namely large farmlands under the authority of a πόλις. After all, in Justinian’s Age the term χώραι65 was still widely used to indicate such farming territories,66 and thus Procopius’ vocabulary might just be following this strongly rural identity. Even though the reasons behind the different methods of categorization in the De Aedificiis are too dubious to be used as reliable sources, they still deserve careful attention, as they account for an historical reality of which we do not yet know enough. As of now, all we can infer is that this discrepancy is consistent with the genesis and redaction of Procopius’ entire work, as well as the uncertainty and diversity of the sources to which he referred.

61 About ‘φρούρια’ (translit.: FROURIA) see Dagron 1984, 8. 62 This issue had already been pointed out in Perrin-­Henry 1980; Cameron 1996, 84. 63 Ravegnani 1983, 9–17; Dagron 1984, 7–8. Usually, only sites of up to 3 acres are called refugia, although the historian has rarely also applied this definition to bigger settlements, as in the case of Novae, see Curta 2001, 121. For what concerns inland settlements we can notice a wide diversity in layout, due to the adjustment of the ramparts to the characteristics of the ground, which has produced fortifications of ellipsoidal, polygonal or irregular shape. 64 The rise of minor fortified settlements represents a peculiar feature of the development of Dacia Ripensis following the fourth century. For example, the sites of Golemanovo Kale, Borovets, and Romuliana developed into walled hubs towards the end of the fourth century. As a matter of fact, during the fifth and sixth century the difference between civil villages and military settlements started to gradually fade away, as the two features would regularly coexist in the following centuries. See Ciglenečki 2014, 240. The very definition of a fortified village is often debated, as many claim that these sites were actually imperial strongholds that gradually attracted a few civilians, which points towards a semantic issue regarding the proper identification of such settlements. See Curta 2013, 837 and Curta 2017. Regarding the development of this kind of sites throughout the Eastern Empire and their maintenance cost, see Brandes and Haldon 2000, 148. 65 On the semantic evolution of the word see Carrié 2012, 30–31. 66 In other Iustiniani Novellae this word was translated to Latin as ager or praedium. About the χώραι see also Haldon 1999, 10. Regarding the use of this term in connection with χώραι and its financial and administrative importance, see Brandes and Haldon 2000, 143.

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Works Cited Primary Sources Hier., Synec. = Hierocles, Synecdemos, ed. by Ernst Honigmann (Bruxelles: Éditions de l’Institut de Philo­logie et d’Histoire Orientales et Slaves, 1939) Hil., Fr. = Hilary of Poitiers, Fragmenta, ed. by Alfred Feder (Vienna: Tempsky, 1916) Iord. Get. = Jordanes, Getica, ed. by Antonino Grillone (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2017) Iust. Nov. = Iustiniani Novellae, ed. by Rudolf Schoell, Wilhelm Kroll (Berlin, Weidmann, 1905) Marc., Chron. = Marcellinus Comes, Chronicon, ed. by Brian Croke (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001) Prisc., Fr. = Priscus of Panium, Excerpta et fragmenta, ed. by Pia Carolla (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008) Proc. Aed. = Procopius, De Aedificiis, ed. by Carlo Dell’Osso, Olof Brandt, and Gabriele Castiglia (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Classica, 2018) Theoph. Sim., Hist. = Theophylact Simocatta, Historiae, ed. by Carl de Boor (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1972)

Epi­graphic Sources AE = Année épi­graphique

Secondary Studies Alföldi, Andreas. 1939. ‘The Invasions of People from the Rhine to the Black Sea’, in The Cambridge Ancient History, xii: The Imperial Crisis and Recovery ad 193–324, ed. by S. A. Cook, F. E. Adcock, M. P. Charlesworth, and N. H. Baynes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), pp. 138–62 Băjenaru, Costantin. 2010. Minor Fortifications in the Balkan-­Danubian Area from Diocletian to Justinian (Cluj-­Napoca: Editura Mega) Brandes, Wolfram, and John Haldon. 2000. ‘Towns, Tax and Transformation: State, Cities and their Hinterlands in the East Roman World, c. 500–800’, in Towns and their Territories between Late Antiquity and Early Middle Ages, ed. by Neil Christie, Nancy Gauthier, and Gian Pietro Brogiolo (Leiden: Brill), pp. 141–72 Bratož, Rajko. 2011. ‘La Chiesa aquileiese e l’Illirico occidentale al tempo di Cromazio’, in Chromatius of Aquileia and His Age, ed. by Pier Franco Beatrice and Alessio Peršič (Turnhout: Brepols), pp. 103–43 Cameron, Averil. 1996. Procopius and the Sixth Century (London: Routledge) 1996 Carrié, Jean Michelle. 2012. ‘Nommer les structures rurales entre fin de l’Antiquité et haut Moyen Âge: le répertoire lexical gréco-­latin et ses avatars modernes’, Antiquité Tardive, 20: 25–46 Ciglenečki, Slavko. 2014. ‘The Changing Relations between City and Countryside in Late Antique Illyricum’, in Hortus Artium Medi­evalium, 20: 232–50 Curta, Folorin. 2001. The Making of the Slavs: History and Archaeo­logy of the Lower Danube Region, c. 500–700 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) —— . 2013. ‘Horsemen in Forts or Peasants in Villages? Remarks on the Archaeo­logy of Warfare in the 6th to 7th Century Balkans’, in War and Warfare in Late Antiquity, ii, ed. by Alexander Sarantis and Neil Christie, Late Antique Archaeo­logy, 8 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 809–52 —— . 2017. ‘Coins, Forts and Commercial Exchanges in the Sixth-­and early Seventh-­Century Balkans’, in Oxford Journal of Archaeo­logy, 36: 439–54 Dagron, Gilbert. 1984. ‘Les villes dans l’Illyricum protobyzantin’, in Villes et peuplement dans l’Illyricum protobyzantin. Actes du colloque de Rome (12–14 mai 1982), Publication de l’École française de Rome, 77 (Rome: École Française de Rome), pp. 1‒20 Demougeot, Emilienne. 1981. ‘Le partage des provinces de l’Illyricum entre la pars occidentis et la pars orientis, de la tétrarchie au règne de Théodoric’, in La géo­graphie administrative et politique d’Alexandre à Mahomet. Actes du Colloque de Strasbourg 14–16 juin 1979 (Leiden: Brill), pp. 229–53 Diers, Lina. 2018. ‘Timacum Minus in Moesia Superior. Centrality and Urbanism at a Roman Mining Settlement’, Land, 7.4: 126–43 Dinchev, Ventzislav. 2015. ‘Ratiaria. From Colonia Ulpia Traiana Ratiaria to Anastasiana Ratiaria’, in Thracian, Greek, Roman and Medi­eval Cities, Residences and Fortresses in Bulgaria, ed. by Rumen Ivanov (Sofia: Rataria), pp. 173–96 Downey, Glanville. 1947. ‘The Composition of Procopius, De Aedificiis’, Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philo­ logical Association, 78: 171–83

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Elsner, Jas. 2007. ‘The Rhetoric of Buildings in the De Aedificiis of Procopius’, in Art and Text in Byzantine Culture, ed. by Liz James (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), pp. 33–57 Filow, B. 1912. ‘Die Teilung des Aurelianischen Dakiens’, Klio, 12.2: 234–39 Fox, Yaniv. 2018. ‘Sent from the Confines of Hell: Bonosiacs in Early Medi­eval Gaul’, Studies in Late Antiquity, 2.3: 316–41 Garašanin, M., and M. Vasić. 1987. ‘Castrum Pontes — rendu des fouilles en 1981–82’, Ђердапске свеске, 4: Београд [Cahiers de Portes de Fer, 4]: 71–116 Haldon, John. 1999. ‘The Idea of Town in Byzantine Empire’, in The Idea and Ideal of the Town between Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Gian Pietro Brogiolo and Brian Ward Perkins, Transformation of the Roman World, 4 (Leiden: Brill), pp. 1–23 Heather, Peter. 2007. ‘Goths in the Roman Balkans, c. 350–500’, in The Transition to Late Antiquity: On the Danube and Beyond, ed. by Andrew G. Poulter (Oxford: British Academy Scholarship), pp. 163–90 Ivanov, Sergei Arkadyevich. 1984. ‘The Defense of the Balkan Provinces of Byzantium in the First Half of the 6th Century and the Invasion of the Barbarians in the Balkans’, Byzantine Times, 45: 35–53 Ivanov, M. 2003. ‘Bononia’, in Римски и ранновизантийски селища в България [Roman and Early Byzantine Settlements in Bulgaria], ii, ed. by P. Ivanov (Sofia: Arheo­logičeski institut s muzej pri Blgarskata akademija na naukite), pp. 18–22 Ivanov, Rumen, and Teofic Teofil Ivanov. 1998. Ulpia Oescus: rimski i rannovizantijski grad (Sofia: Agató) Janković, Dorde, Borislav Jovanović, and Jovan Kovačević. 1981. Podunavski deo oblasti Akvisa u VI i početkom VII veka (Bel­ grade: Arheološki Institut) Jones, Arnold H. M. 1964. The Later Roman Empire 284–602, 2 vols (Oxford: Blackwell) Jouassard, Georges. 1961. ‘Un évêque de l’Illyricum condamné pour erreur sur la Sainte Vierge: Bonose’, Revue des études byzantines, 19.1: 124–29 Liebeschuetz, John Hugo. W. G. 2007 ‘The Lower Danube Region under Pressure: from Valens to Heraclius’, in The Transition to Late Antiquity: on the Danube and Beyond, ed. by Andrew G. Poulter (Oxford: British Academy Scholarship), pp. 101–34 Mócsy, Andràs. 2014. Pannonia and Upper Moesia. A History of the Middle Danube Provinces of the Roman Empire (London: Routledge) Perrin-­Henry, Martin. 1980. ‘La place des listes toponymiques dans l’organisation du livre IV des Édifices de Procope’, Geo­ graphica Byzantina, Byzantina Sorboniensia, 3: 93–106 Petrović, Petar. 1995. ‘Timacum Minus et la vallée du Timok’, in Inscriptions de la Mésie Supérieure, iii, ed. by Fanula Papazoglu (Belgrade: Centre d’études épi­graphiques et numismatiques de la Faculté de philosophie de l’Université de Beograd) Petrović, Vladimir P. 2018. ‘The Aquae Station on the Roman Danube Limes Road in Upper Moesia’, Open Archaeo­logy, 4.1: 386–93 Petrović, Vladimir P., and Vojislav Filipović. 2006. ‘Newly-­discovered Traces of the Roman Naissus–Ratiaria Road and the Problem of Locating Two Timacum Stations’, Balcanica, 38: 29–43 Popović, Vladislav. 1975. ‘Les témoins archéo­logiques des invasions avaro-­slaves da l’Illyricum bizantin’, in MEFRA, 87: 445–504 Ravegnani, Giorgio. 1983. Castelli e città fortificate nel VI secolo (Ravenna: Edizioni del Girasole) Roques, Denis. 1998. ‘Les Constructions de Justinien de Procope de Césarée: document ou monument?’, Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-­Lettres, 142e année, 142.4: 989–1001 —— . 2011. Procope de Césarée, Constructions de Justinien Ier, introduction, traduction, commentaire, cartes et index par Denis Roques, ed. by E. Amato et J. Schamp (Alessandria, Edizioni dell’Orso) Roueché, Charlotte. 1998. ‘Provincial Governors and their Titulature in the Sixth Century’, Antiquité Tardive, 6: 83–89 Sodini, Jean P. 2013. ‘L’activité architecturale et urbanistique des évêques dans la Préfecture du Prétoire d’Illyricum et d’Orient’, in Acta XV congressus internationalis archaeo­logiae christianae, Toleti, 8–12. 9. 2008 episcopus, civitas, territorium, ed. Olof Brandt et Silvia Cresci (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana), pp. 835–80 Stein, Ernest. 1959. Histoire du Bas-­Empire, ii: De la disparition de l’Empire d’Occident à la mort de Justinien (476–565) (Paris: de Brouwer) Vasić, M., and Vladislav. Kondić. 1986. ‘Le limes romain et paléobyzantin des Portes de Fer’, Studien zu den Militärgrenzen Roms, iii: 13. Internationaler Limeskongress, Aalen 1983: Vorträge, Germany (Stuttgart: Kommissionsverlag K. Theiss), pp. 542–60 Zeiller, Jacques. 1918. Les origines chrétiennes dans les provinces danubiennes de l’Empire Romain (Paris: de Boccard)

Paul Arthur

9. From Twilight to a New Dawn Byzantine Southern Italy

ABSTRACT This paper aims to present some issues

related to The ‘Byzantine Heritage of Southern Italy’ project. The scope of this project is the archaeo­ logical investigation of some 500 years of Byzantine domination of Puglia, Calabria, Basilicata, and Sicily. This study on Byzantine Heritage includes settlement patterns and connectivity, language and religion, food and society, and, perhaps we might add, mentality. Nonetheless, this large territory was constantly changing in volume and boundaries, and in social composition through politics and mobility. So even if we may speak of it as a significant entity, it was also somewhat of a palimpsest. The examination of the ‘Byzantine Heritage of Southern Italy’ is thus an examination of differences and contrasts, in which we will explore unity in disunity. KEYWORDS: Byzantine Heritage; Puglia, Basilicata, Calabria and Sicily; food habits; environment; con­ nectivity

Ten years ago, approaching Christmas 2010, the French School at Rome held a very important colloquium on L’héritage byzantine en Italie (viiie-­xiie siècle). It was published in four volumes, containing the thoughts of tens of scholars who, all together, provided a much-­needed appraisal of the current state of historical research on the subject. Unfortunately, I do not have sufficient knowledge to be able to review the wide-­ranging themes that were tackled by the various participants, or the views and analyses of the many published papers. Nonetheless, I felt that something was lacking. Most of the excellent contributions were text-­based. As an archaeo­ logist by training, alongside the published papers, I would like to have also seen works on themes such as the analysis of material culture, the contribution of the natural sciences and bioarchaeo­logy, or envi-

ronmental issues. The few contributions that deal with physical remains tackle subjects such as palatial architecture, ecclesiastical wall painting, site and settlement analyses, monumental bronze doors, reliquaries and lead seals. In sum, the overall presented picture of the Byzantine heritage tended towards a top-­down view, representing more the ruling categories of society and their material manifestations, rather than providing a more-­balanced panorama of the much larger, complex and all-­embracing society. Nonetheless, I do not intend to be negatively critical, as the colloquium and resulting volumes undoubtedly represent a remarkable step forward in our knowledge and, hopefully, suggest that Byzantium in the West is becoming ever more a significant research topic. It is high time that its role in understanding the greater phenomenon of Byzantium breaks down modern borders and east-­west divides (Cameron 2011). We have now moved quite some way since Enrico Zanini’s cry (1998) for an archaeo­ logy of Byzantine Italy, in the wake of a developing post-­classical archaeo­logy in Italy that may date its formal origins to the 1970s. Although his masterful work only covered the sixth and seventh centuries, Byzantium continued to govern parts of Italy, particularly the south, for almost 400 years more, until the Normans eventually established their dominion. This, in itself is a remarkable feat of what was a particularly resilient Empire that, with ups and downs, survived for around one thousand years, and it is much more astonishing if we consider it to have represented the continuity of the Roman Empire (as it indeed it was), that had shifted its centre of gravity from Rome to Constantinople. Nonetheless, even if there have been sporadic shows of interest in Byzantine archaeo­logy in southern Italy, remembering above all Paolo Orsi’s splendid volume on Byzantine Sicily, published in 1942 but written some ten years earlier, the 500 years or so of Constantinople’s dom-

Paul Arthur ([email protected]) Università del Salento, Lecce Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 131–140 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130677

FHG

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ination are all too often forgotten by both scholar and layman alike. Perhaps the time has come, with a more developed, powerful, and holistic archaeo­ logy, to begin to make amends. Because of these apparent omissions in much of academia, we decided to help towards redressing the balance by applying for Italian government funding so as to explore the Byzantine heritage of southern Italy including, of course, what was then the fundamental and central island of Sicily. The research project was approved in 2017, with the official title of ‘Il patrimonio bizantino dell’Italia meridionale: insediamenti, economia e resilienza di contesti territoriali e paesaggistici in mutamento’, thus creating a synergy between four universities in southern Italy, those of Salento, Foggia, Cosenza and Catania.1 As the project call did not allow for more than four formal research teams, a fifth university, that of Basilicata, joined as an associated team so as to complete the territorial range. Members of the teams, together with various scholars and students who have offered their collaboration towards achieving the project’s goals, now means that there are well over fifty people in some way involved in the project. Returning to the main question that we need to answer, what effects did half a millennium of Byzantine rule have on medi­eval and modern Italy and the Italians? Although this brings to mind a series of related enquiries, to be able to answer such a large and intricate leading question we first of all need to characterize Byzantine southern Italy in its varied parts, to identify unificatory elements and to examine and chart how and why the whole and its parts changed over the centuries. This naturally means that we must define the land under Byzantine control, both in terms of its extent, that was constantly changing with shifting frontiers, as well as its potential as a principal resource for southern Italy and other areas of the empire. The potential of the land changed through time, also because of changing environmental conditions, changing management across the centuries, and perhaps even through the introduction or efficient use of new crops such as mulberries (for silk) or papyrus.2 The actual exploitation of the land’s potential was governed largely by people, settlement patterns, and communications, and direct state intervention appears to be shown by the various moments of colonization through immigration that Byzantium attempted across the centuries.



1 For details of the project see the website http://byzantineitaly. unisalento.it/wordpress/en/home-­2/ 2 Perhaps it is even time to reassess or, at least, nuance Watson’s influential study (1983) of early Islamic agricultural innovation.

Clearly much had changed since Late Antiquity, perhaps the major changes being caused by the numerous crises of the sixth century, from the twenty or so drawn-­out years of Justinian’s reconquest and the devastating and relentless bubonic plague, to the subsequent invasion of a substantial part of peninsular Italy by the Lombards (Longobards), itself achieved in a remarkably short period of time. The following decades appear to have been characterized by some degree of chaos and readjustment, as various people abandoned their old settlements, perhaps only partly deserting their farmlands, to seek security elsewhere, both on a relatively local level such as in the shift to hilltop settlements, or as large-­scale migrations such as those fleeing the Avar and Slavic invasions of the Balkans and Greece or the Lombard invasion of Italy. It was in these years that, apparently, a substantial number of people from Patras fled to Reggio in southern Calabria (Stouraites 2020, 145–46), although this was probably the tip of a fluctuating iceberg of migration that was to continue throughout Byzantine times. All of this must be set against gradual and eventually successful attempts at the restoration of a substantially functioning agrarian economy by peasants in search of livelihood, by the Church, by the Byzantine administration and, presumably, by some landowners. In due course they were to form a new order that, in settlement location and communications, was to endure, perhaps in large part, down to the present day. Indeed, on current dating, judging at least from southern Puglia, a significantly new settlement pattern was materializing by the later seventh and eighth centuries. Some, but not all, old Roman towns continued to serve as administrative centres, but their previous status quo had changed markedly. By the early seventh century the port-­town of Egnatia had been totally abandoned after a brief spell of it serving as a castrum. Lupiae/Lecce and Brundisium/Brindisi, on frontier interfaces, were severely reduced in importance, the inhabitants of Lupiae perhaps gathering within the old Roman amphitheatre. Otranto, on the other hand, was rapidly increasing in political and economic importance. Urban settlement studies of Basilicata and Calabria depict a similar story, while, as mentioned above, the populations in Salento were coalescing into almost entirely new rural agglomerations. Datable archaeo­logical finds from both excavations and field surveys of deserted medi­eval villages (DMVs) in the Salento area of southern Puglia appear to show that new villages were being created at that time. Sometimes, but not always, they developed on or close to the sites of small fifth and sixth-­century buildings, as indicated by the ubiquitous small scatters of African Red Slip ware, amphorae, and coarse

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pottery found in archaeo­logical field surveys, but appear to represent larger demo­graphic groups than those originally supported by the supposedly single-­ family farmsteads of Late Antiquity (the colonate (?) ‒ see, for instance, Wickham 2005). This may indicate some form of continuity, in the sense that many villages were apparently created on the sites of earlier smallholdings without there ever having been a moment of total settlement desertion. This might be further substantiated by the partial survival of various field boundaries, suggesting some form of continuity in farming and the size of landholdings, as well as by the abundance of predial toponyms in roughly about a third of medi­eval villages in southern Puglia. If this were so, it is right to question where the new inhabitants came from, as they do not simply seem to be the result of natural procreation and demo­graphic growth of the earlier inhabitants. At a time when there appears to have been a generalized population decline, two possibilities spring immediately to mind. Some of the new inhabitants may have abandoned their homes in old urban centres, perhaps sensing greater security, at least in terms of food supply, in small rural agglomerations directly in touch with productive farmlands. Others, instead, might have represented the influx of migrants from Greece, the Balkans, and elsewhere, fleeing foreign domination or death. These possibilities, we hope, may be examined through the future use of genetic and isotopic studies (see, for instance, the papers in Giostra 2019). Sicily may reveal a different pattern of post-­ Classical settlement, as it seems to be characterized by the appearance of agro-­towns that survived the Arab conquest (Carver, Fiorentino, and Molinari 2019, 120), more akin to the late Roman vici that appeared and then disappeared in peninsular southern Italy. Perhaps these are indicative of the presence of large Byzantine estates on the island. The best-­ known example is that currently being revealed by Emanuele Vaccaro (2013a; 2013b) at Philosophiana in the central part of the island. Although dedicated to agriculture, it provided its inhabitants with necessities such as professionally-­made pottery that, with its range of forms, including open basins, are more reminiscent of urban productions, such as those of Rome and Naples, than of the more restrictive repertoires seen in other parts of southern Italy (Vaccaro and La Torre 2015). In southern Puglia it is further fascinating to see that many modern municipal boundaries reflect hypothetical boundaries based on Thiessen polygons created around all settlement sites, including those that were abandoned in the later Middle Ages (Arthur and Gravili 2006). Thus, it would

seem that the modern settlement pattern in various parts of Salento, together with administrative boundaries and, presumably, much of the road network up until recent expansion, gradually took form during Byzantine domination of the area from the later seventh or eighth century onwards, but without totally disregarding earlier settlement patterns. It would, indeed, be fascinating to excavate across various boundaries and see if there are any long-­lasting and datable physical remains, such as ditches, field walls, or tracks (Stranieri 2017; Arthur in press). It would be even more important to discover the role that central authorities may have played in the formation of these settlements and their dependent territories, particularly as a source of revenue. The somewhat synchronous evidence of settlement formation and conversion of woodland to olive groves in the Alimini lake area, together with the appearance of kilns for the production of maritime commercial amphorae at the port-­town of Otranto to the immediate south, may rather suggest that authorities were involved in land management from the eighth century (Arthur and others 2012; Muci 2012) Of course, there is now also a great need to excavate within modern small towns and villages to ascertain their foundation dates, and not just in DMVs, despite the difficulties and limitations of conducting archaeo­logy within built-­up and inhabited settlements. Systematic test-­pitting as is being employed by Carenza Lewis (2016; 2019) would be a cost-­effective way of tackling this and other questions but, unfortunately, would be extremely difficult to conduct in Italy, given legislative restrictions. Furthermore, it is necessary to see if the picture of rural settlement formation that appears to be emerging from Salento holds true for other parts of mainland southern Italy and Sicily. The answer, however, is within our grasp as sensitivity towards the archaeo­logy of early medi­ eval southern Italy and particularly Sicily has developed significantly over the last couple of decades (Nef and Prigent 2006; Molinari 2013; Castrorao and others 2021). Let us now return to the question of who the people living in these new settlements were, and how they lived. We have already suggested that some of the new inhabitants may be descended from the pre-­Byzantine, Roman-­era, communities, in themselves composed of both autochthonous and immigrant populations who had largely moved from their previous settlements, whilst others presumably represented Byzantine-­ period immigrants, mainly from other areas within the empire. A number of historical documents attest to such movements, usually in times of crisis, although some may have come over as colonists sent by the

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State, or as contingents of the imperial and ecclesiastical administrations. Future work on genetics and stable isotope analyses should help us in better characterizing the inhabitants, especially once we begin to have more substantial anthropo­logical samples, as we are currently hindered by the relative scarcity of well-­excavated and analysed Byzantine-­ period cemeteries and burials (see below). Indeed, the situation is critical and unacceptable for modern archaeo­logy (Tulumello 2020). In Calabria alone, of 193 excavated Late Antique and early medi­eval cemeteries, only two have been subjected to anthropo­ logical analyses (albeit partial), and no individuals have been examined for genetic and stable isotope (dietary, sourcing) information. In Puglia, a significant charnel-­pit dating to around the sixth century was brought to light during excavations at Otranto, but was never subjected to any form of study, even if it might be related to the Justinianic War or the bubonic plague (ex inf. Marshall Becker; Michaelides and Wilkinson 1992, 117–22). Only Sicily will apparently be in a slightly better position because of the current Sictransit project that is examining change and continuity in the island from Byzantine to Swebian times (Carver and others 2019; Carver, Fiorentino, and Molinari 2019). Archaeo­logy, however, is perhaps now finally coming to our aid in understanding, or at least in hypothesizing immigration and mobility. Such might be indicated by the appearance of an atypical material culture even if, in many cases, it is still somewhat early to decide what was ‘typical’ of Byzantium in southern Italy. Excavations by Lucia Arcifa at Bronte in Eastern Sicily (Arcifa 2015; Arcifa and others 2020), for instance, have revealed a series of circular buildings with drystone footings dating to the late eighth and early ninth century, that appear to have no local parallels and which, at first sight, are reminiscent of the yurts of nomadic or semi-­nomadic populations. They are associated with a series of striated cooking bowls (so-­called ‘Rocchicella’ or a stuoia type), that also have a somewhat restricted distribution and no precedents on the island or in mainland Byzantine territories in Italy. It is extremely tempting to see this unusual material culture as representative of newcomers to the island, transferred from somewhere else within, or perhaps even from outside, the borders of the Empire. Analogous considerations might be entertained for the appearance of sunken-­featured buildings (SFBs) during the early Middle Ages, once thought of as being typical of ‘barbarian’ cultures of the North. Apart from various (Lombard?) examples known in north and central Italy, several examples have been identified in Salento (Arthur and others 2008) and

now, also, at Bova in southern Calabria (Coscarella 2016, 73–75). They are not yet commonly recognized within the area of the Byzantine Empire, where rural archaeo­logy is poorly developed, although seventh‒ eighth century examples are known from Macedonia (Babic 1995). What do they represent: the norm in some areas of rural Byzantium, immigration from beyond the frontiers, or, perhaps, the resurgence of traditional rural building forms and techniques? There is, however, nothing inherently negative about such structures when compared to what little we know of Roman peasant farms (e.g. Bowes and others 2017; cf. Fronza 2019) that, however, is not a great deal more. Indeed, their appearance may have been a response to particular environmental conditions. Clearly, meticulous excavation of post sixth-­century rural settlement sites and correct identification of features is an archaeo­logical priority. A similar priority applies to the excavation of Byzantine cemeteries and burials. Unlike settlements, they are not particularly easy to locate and, in the few cases where Byzantine settlement sites have been excavated, there do not appear to be any closely associated cemeteries except, perhaps, in the case of monastic sites.3 Conversely, the known Byzantine cemeteries, at least in Salento, have generally been found at some distance from settlements. This might imply that different locations were used, still respecting the Roman practice of keeping burials outside of the perimeters of life and, sometimes, at quite a distance (Goodman 2006, passim). Such appears to have been the distancing in southern Puglia, that I have even wondered if rural cemeteries sometimes served more than one settlement, as seems to have been the case of Vaste (D’Andria and others 2006), where use appears to have continued into the tenth century, and Piscopio, Cutrofiano (Bruno 2008), where burials continued until at least the seventh‒eighth centuries. Classical, early Lombard and, to some extent, even later medi­eval cemeteries have attracted the attention of many archaeo­logists for their potential in yielding well-­preserved and often intact grave goods or associated artefacts, often to the detriment of the anthropo­logical remains and all that they can now tell us. As many early medi­eval burials in southern Italy after the sixth‒seventh centuries are often almost devoid of artefacts, they have been largely ignored. I have even been told about archaeo­logists who have discarded or reburied the 3 Both the monastic sites of Le Centoporte, Giurdignano, being the monastery of Saints Cosmas and Damian (Arthur and Bruno 2009) and S. Maria di Cerrate (not published) have yielded early medi­eval burials.

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skeletal remains, despite the fact that archaeo­logy is first and foremost about people!4 When I directed excavations at the early medi­ eval cemetery at Santa Lucia alle Malve at Matera in 1999, I found that most burials were largely devoid of grave goods, apart from the occasional earring (Bruno 2001), whilst C14 dating showed them to date to around the eighth century; preliminary analyses of the human remains suggested that the individuals were of relatively high stature and that their genetic makeup was especially well preserved (Gilbert and others 2005; ex inf. Trevor Anderson). Matera was an exceptional, nucleated site, perhaps the centre of a Lombard gastaldate, as the remains were of that date, but the finds indicated enormous potential in reconstructing early medi­eval populations in southern Italy. Indeed, the high stature noted amongst the individuals from Matera seems to be fairly frequent in Italy, when early medi­eval remains are compared to those of Roman date (Barbiera and Della-­Zuanna 2009, 368–69). Does this indicate immigrant populations or, perhaps, a more varied, balanced, and thus, healthier diet when compared to earlier times? Of course, the two possibilities may coincide. On documentary evidence Massimo Montanari (1988, and 1994) had already suggested that early medi­eval peasants in northern Italy had a more balanced diet than in Roman times, and the picture of peasants having ‘enjoyed a rich and diverse diet of vegetables, meats, and fish; not dulled — as during the previous centuries — by the monotony of grains, seems to be accepted by Irene Barbiera and Gianpiero Della-­Zuanna. They go on to write that ‘changes in agriculture, the economy, climate, and population density contributed to these improvements in nutrition’ (Barbiera and Della-­Zuanna 2009, 369–71). Unfortunately, Byzantine populations have not yet been included in these anthropo­logical studies. Leaving aside shortages and famines due to war, or bad weather and other calamities, apparently the average peasant household produced enough for his subsistence, and more.5 In normal or good times, the Byzantine diet, whose constituent elements are confirmed by the archaeo­logical evidence, was better and more balanced than that of Western Europeans, as is the ‘Cretan’ diet today (Laiou and Morrisson 2007, 17).

4 Paradoxically, some pagan remains have been reburied in consecrated Christian cemeteries, as if there was such a thing as enforced post-­mortem religious conversion. 5 Unfortunately, much more is known about the later Byzantine peasant, than early medi­eval peasantry, even from an archaeo­ logical point-­of-­view (cf. Safran 2012; Gerstel 2015), although most documentation comes from written sources (Laiou-­ Thomadakis 1977; Lemerle 1979, for instance).

We still know too little about Byzantine diet, and one of the main thrusts of the current project will be to try and better understand what was being eaten and, indeed, if various traditional south Italian foods still consumed today, components of the so-­ called Mediterranean diet, may have had origin in Byzantine times (see Sabatelli and others 1998). Rather preliminary archaeo­logical evidence may suggest some truth in the above statements that suggest a better diet than was general in the Roman period. The few seventh‒eighth century individuals (perhaps a family group?) recovered from the same tomb in the cemetery at the monastery of S Maria di Cerrate, near Lecce, reveal the highest protein intake than late Roman, later medi­eval and even other early medi­eval individuals analysed from Salento, which reveal a terrestrial C3-­based diet with a limited intake of protein from meat and fish (ex inf. Giorgia Tulumello).6 Given the current rarity of early medi­eval anthropo­logical remains from Salento, it is not advisable to draw any great conclusions from this discovery. Excavations of the early medi­eval rural site at Supersano, where the people lived in simple wooden huts, appear to reveal a self-­sufficient economy with a good range of potential vegetable and meat (excluding fish) intakes to the diet, including cereals, lentils, olives, wine, fruit, and both domestic and wild animals (Arthur and others 2008; De Grossi Mazzorin 2016). It is indeed a pity that we have not yet been able to locate and excavate the cemetery in which individuals from the site were buried. A healthy diet is not, however, synonymous with average life expectancy, which depends upon many other factors including disease, hygiene, living and working conditions, strife, and so on. In general, data is thus still insufficient for a nuanced or even a balanced picture of average diet and lifestyle of Byzantine peasants, or any other inhabitants of Byzantium for that matter. Indeed, the assessment of standards of living is highly subjective and cannot certainly be measured against modern ‘Western’ standards, in themselves somewhat debatable.7 Standards depend upon many parameters (health, average age mortality, comfort, communication, accessibility of services and material goods, sense of well-­being, etc.) that cannot always be eas

6 For the isotopic values of the remains of later medi­eval individuals see now Rolandsen and others 2019. 7 There are few explicit studies on standards of living in the Middle Ages, especially by archaeo­logists whose contribution, however, could be substantial given the evidence that they have to hand. Generally, I would recommend the book on social change in later medi­eval England by the historian Christopher Dyer (1989).

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ily measured and compared. To be able to roughly judge the changing standards of living throughout the centuries of Byzantine domination of southern Italy, it is perhaps best to compare them with what came before, in Roman Imperial times. Even this is extremely difficult, as standards varied between social classes and between urban and rural populations that, in themselves, differed according to the part of Europe or the Mediterranean in which they lived. We are also largely ignorant about possible differences in social complexity or inequality in Byzantine rural or peasant society, although this is likely to have been less marked in early medi­eval times than later (see, for instance, Kaplan 2012). Despite what we have said above concerning a conceivably more balanced diet during the early Middle Ages, in general terms, there was greater comfort, communication, and accessibility of services and goods before the mid-­sixth century than afterwards. There have undoubtedly been many lost opportunities for historical reconstruction through archaeo­logy, largely because of negligent excavation, unawareness of archaeo­logical and historical potential of data (both documentation and finds), inferior data collection, bad data storage and analysis, and lack of publication. Excavations and fieldwork are often performed too light heartedly or with insufficient conditions. Too often we hear hair-­raising stories about the irretrievable loss of information. For instance, Le Centopietre, in the municipality of Patù in southern Puglia, is an astounding monument although, at first sight, perhaps not particularly striking to the layman. The site, which has been excavated, can hardly be said to be of international import — hardly any scholar has ever heard mention of it. However, it is quite likely a unique testimonial to the numerous Saracen raids in Europe that, archaeo­ logically, are far too poorly documented. Many have heard about Richard Hodges’ exciting discoveries at San Vincenzo al Volturno, which are well-­known as much for their historical significance as for Richard’s great ability in making archaeo­logy speak out loud with his compelling narratives (Hodges 1997). On October 10 881, as the Chronicon Vulturnense tells us, a Saracen raiding party made its way up the Volturno river so as to sack the then famous Benedictine monastery of San Vincenzo al Volturno, in mountainous Molise, some 55 km from the Tyrrhenian coast as the crow flies. This is written history. Through good fortune and careful excavation technique, archaeo­ logy has, instead, supplemented this with a detailed and thought-­provoking image of flaming arrows, struck from composite bows, that hit and burned the monks’ artisanal workshops (Hodges 2005).

Le Centopietre appear to be a rather curious, early medi­eval rectangular mausoleum (Brunetta 2012; see, however, Whitehouse and Whitehouse 1966), built of reused limestone blocks coming from the nearby Roman town of Veretum. It stands in front of the later medi­eval church of S. Giovanni di Patù (Lippolis and Violante 1990), which bears a Latin inscription that records a certain Charles (Carolus) and his army who ended the wars with the Moors (Saracens) whilst a certain Geminianus, according to local tradition, was duke. He (Geminianus?) then built the temple in honour of St John (see Rosafio 1968). In and around the mausoleum, extending towards the south, was a substantial cemetery of burials cut into the bedrock that was partly excavated by the Archaeo­logical Superintendency in 1983. The burials would all seem to be medi­eval but are difficult to date. In one case a tomb was covered with a reused stone slab with a Late Antique inscription in Latin. Despite the undoubted importance of the site and the excavations, not only for local archaeo­ logy but also perhaps for a better understanding of Italy’s reaction to Saracen raids, there appears to be no surviving documentation in the archives, save for some sketchy plans and a series of photo­graphs. Not only does Le Centopietre remind me of the fascinating evidence from San Vincenzo al Volturno but, in some ways, reminds me of the Vikings’ Great Army burial site at Repton in Derbyshire, England, dating to around 873–874 (Biddle and Kjølbe-­Biddle 1992) and should, perhaps, be given equal importance. I do not wish to be overly pessimistic about the future of early medi­eval or Byzantine archaeo­logy in southern Italy, but we should strive towards a general awareness of its potential interest and even importance in understanding the making of the Mezzogiorno, both through research and public outreach. Even without conducting any new excavations there is still much to learn and to divulge. Indeed, I would argue for limited new excavation, if not principally for the purposes of rescue archaeo­logy, where digs nonetheless abound. As has been stated by various scholars over the years, research excavation should be conducted solely after careful thought and the definition of significant research questions. Carenza Lewis’ largely non-­destructive test pits, for instance, have opened up an entirely new chapter in the understanding of rural settlement history in eastern England (Lewis 2019). Unfortunately, current Italian heritage legislation makes similar projects in this country somewhat difficult to achieve. On the other hand, virtually non-­destructive field survey can now often be conducted with a better understanding of early medi­eval and Byzantine ceramics and their chrono­logy (e.g. Arthur and Leo Imperiale

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2015; Cacciaguerra 2020), which is a fairly recent development. It can further be integrated with geophysical surveys, environmental surveys, and the growing potential of a Lidar. There is also much to be said for the re-­examination and reinterpretation of old field survey data, leading to similar endeavours to The British School at Rome’s Tiber Valley Re-­evaluation Project (Patterson and others 2020). Similarly, a strong case can be made for the study and publication of unpublished excavations, when a sufficient time has passed for it to be reasonably unlikely that the original director will publish them. Indeed, increased awareness and the development of a host of analytical techniques means that we can retrieve far more information from past remains than was thought possible only a few years ago (McCormick 2008). Changes in current legislation in Italy would also help to improve knowledge immeasurably. The UK’s Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS), established in 1997 by the National Museum of Wales with the objective of documenting archaeo­logical finds made by the general public, has changed our perceptions of site, context, and contact across the country. Just to cite one example, a recent paper by Oksanen and Lewis (2020) has explored the distribution of around 220,000 medi­eval objects recorded in the PAS online database of archaeo­logical small finds. Through use of a Geo­graphic Information System and documentary evidence, it has been possible to illustrate trends in commercial interaction between town and country, based on statistical data, thus helping to understand the development of Britain’s historical landscape and society. It is clear that, in comparison, our knowledge of Byzantine and medi­eval Italy (not to mention the rest of the Mediterranean) is just the tip of the iceberg. Nonetheless, there is enormous potential in the future. The Byzantine Heritage of Southern Italy Project, although planning some limited excavation, will try to make the most of the disparate data that is already available, so as to present a new, original, and more general understanding of the contribution and impact of 500 years of Byzantine domination. Furthermore, one of the main objectives of the project is that of offering the population of southern Italy further knowledge, a pride in some half a millennium and more of Byzantine culture, and an increasing sense of place. This may seem overly ambitious and we realize that we can only go so far, although if, through publications, conferences, and other forms of outreach, we are able to provide inspiration and to reach the general public, then I believe that the project will have served a very useful purpose.

Acknowledgements I am very grateful to both Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, for having encouraged me to write a paper for this volume. This paper is presented within the framework of the PRIN 2017 project ‘Il patrimonio bizantino dell’Italia meridionale: insediamenti, economia e resilienza di contesti territoriali e paesaggistici in mutamento’, financed by the Italian Ministry of Education, University and Research (MIUR). With little time at my disposal, I thought that it might interest fellow scholars if I present the reasoning and hopes behind the project.

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Lago Gurrida e Sciare di Santa Venera, ed. by Agata Puglisi and Maria Turco (Nicolosi: Parco dell’Etna), pp. 143–55 Arcifa, Lucia, Francesco Leanza, Antonino Luca, and Michelangelo Messina. 2020. ‘Evidenze archeo­logiche e temi di ricerca per la Sicilia medio-­bizantina: il sito di contrada Edera di Bronte (CT) nel IX secolo’, Archeo­logia Medi­evale, 47: 153–79 Arthur, Paul. 2017. ‘Environmental Archaeo­logy and Byzantine Southern Italy’, in A Most Pleasant Scene and an Inexhaustible Resource, Steps Towards a Byzantine Environmental History, Sonderdruck aus Byzanz zwischen Orient und Okzident Veröffentlichungen des Leibniz-­WissenschaftsCampus Mainz, Interdisciplinary Conference November 17th and 18th 2011 in Mainz, ed. by Henriette Baron and Falko Daim (Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-­Germanischen Zentralmuseums), pp. 137–48 —— . (in press). ‘The Archaeo­logy of Dry-­stone Walls in Rural Contexts’, in Humilis Italia. Studi di Storia e Archeo­logia in ricordo di Cosimo Pagliara, ed. by Riccardo Guglielmino, Luigi Coluccia, and Marco Merico, Studi di Antichità, 19 (Lecce: Editrice Salentina) Arthur, Paul, and Brunella Bruno (eds). 2009. 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Rural Com­ mun­ities in a Globalising World, ed. by Tymon C. A. de Haas, and Gijs Tol, Mnemosyne, Supplements, 404 (Leiden: Brill), pp. 170–99 Brunetta, S. 2012. ‘Archeo­logia delle Centopietre (Patù, Le)’ (unpubl. doctoral thesis, University of Salento) Bruno, Brunella. 2001. ‘Archeo­logia medi­evale nei Sassi di Matera’, in Scavi medi­evali in Italia 1996–1999, Atti della Seconda Conferenza Italiana di Archeo­logia Medi­evale (Cassino, 16–18 dicembre 1999), ed. by Stella Patitucci Uggeri (Rome: Herder), pp. 137–48 —— . 2008. ‘L’area cimiteriale e il casale in località S. Giovanni Piscopìo, Cutrofiano (Lecce)’, Archeo­logia Medi­evale, 35: 199–239 Cacciaguerra, Giuseppe. 2020. ‘Siracusa nel contesto socio-­economico del Mediterraneo tardoantico e altomedi­evale: le ceramiche bizantine e islamiche dei contesti di Piazza Minerva e del Foro Siracusano’, in From Polis to Madina, La trasformazione delle città siciliane tra Tardoantico e Alto Medioevo, ed. by Lucia Arcifa and Mariarita Sgarlata, Themata (Bari: Edipuglia), pp. 55–86 Cameron, Averil. 2011. ‘Thinking with Byzantium’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, Sixth Series, 21: 39–57 Carver, Martin O. H., Alessandra Molinari, Veronica Aniceti, Claudio Capelli, Francesca Colan-­geli, Léa Drieu, Girolamo Fiorentino, Fabio Giovannini, Madeleine Hummler, Jasmine Lundy, Antonino Meo, Aurore Monnereau, Paola Orecchioni, Milena Primavera, and Alice Ughi. 2019. ‘Sicily in Transition. 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The Agrarian History of Byzantium from the Origins to the Twelfth Century: The Sources and Problems (Galway: Galway University Press) Lewis, Carenza. 2016. ‘Disaster Recovery: New Archaeo­logical Evidence for the Long-­Term Impact of the “Calamitous” Fourteenth Century’, Antiquity, 90.351: 777–97 —— . 2019. ‘Test Pit Excavation as a Method for Reconstructing the Development of Currently-­Occupied Rural Settlements: Evidence from England’, in The Archaeo­logy of Medi­eval Villages Currently Inhabited in Europe, ed.  by Jesús Fernández Fernández and Margarita Fernández Mier (Oxford: Archaeopress), pp. 7–34 Lippolis, Enzo and P. Violante. 1990. ‘Saggi di scavo nelle chiese di S. Pietro di Giuliano del Capo e S. Giovanni di Patù’, Taras, Rivista di Archeo­logia, 10.1: 157–206 McCormick, Michael. 2008. ‘Molecular Middle Ages. Early Medi­eval Economic History in the Twenty-­First Century’, in The Long Morning of Medi­eval Europe. New Directions in Early Medi­eval Studies, ed. by Jennifer R. 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Giuseppe Cacciaguerra and Angelo Castrorao Barba

10. The Sicilian Countryside during the Byzantine Period Archaeo­logical Perspectives on Settlement Patterns

ABSTRACT Caught between the tradition of clas-

sical/Roman archaeo­logy and recent developments in Islamic archaeo­logy in Sicily, research on the Byzantine period has not yet emerged as a real object of investigation in its own right. This article offers a summary of the trends in settlement patterns in the countryside detected by excavations and surveys relating to the period between the sixth and ninth centuries. This time span saw the end of the late Roman landscape, characterized by villas, and the emergence of new settlements that often reoccupied the Roman complexes. The formation of the thema of Sikelia at the end of the seventh century would seem to be the turning point for the formation of new structures in the countryside, where a defensive system of castra was planned and the use of rupestrian settlements began to emerge. Between the phenomena of continuity, discontinuity, innovation, and resilience, the dynamics of the Sicilian Byzantine countryside present a challenge for new archaeo­logical research projects to place these patterns within the macro-­p henomena that characterized the post-­ Roman Mediterranean area. KEYWORDS rural settlements; castra; rupestrian sites; Sicily; Early Middle Ages

Introduction [GC, ACB] Between Justinian’s (re)conquest in 535 and the complete fall of the last town (Rometta) into the hands of the Muslim army in 902, Sicily was part of the Eastern Roman/Byzantine Empire. Despite these long centuries of occupation, however, a true archaeo­ logy of Byzantine Sicily has not really emerged, with the exception of Paolo Orsi’s pioneering research (1942). The consolidated tradition of classical (De Angelis 2016) and Roman (Wilson 1990) archaeo­ logy in Sicily, along with the renewed interest in the Islamic period (Nef and Ardizzone 2014) have left the Byzantine centuries in the shadows. The recent new historical interpretation of sources and the development of archaeo­logical research on the socio-­economic issues of the early medi­ eval Mediterranean have emphasized that Sicily was central to the interests of Constantinople between the seventh and eighth centuries (Nef and Prigent 2006; Cacciaguerra 2018a; Arcifa 2021). This is witnessed by the long life of its mint, a symbol of its economic vitality, and the role of the strategoi of the thema who had his seat in Syracuse and represented the hinge, the bridge of dialogue, and the basis of action for any further projection of power by Constantinople, towards Africa, Italy, the Papacy, and Carolingian Europe. During the last two decades, archaeo­logical research has dealt with the question of the role played by Sicily that represented the political, administrative, military, and economic centre of the Byzantine rule in western Mediterranean. On these themes, however, the archaeo­logists are still late (Arcifa 2021).

Giuseppe Cacciaguerra ([email protected]) Istituto di Scienze del Patrimonio Culturale, Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche (ISPC-­CNR) Angelo Castrorao Barba ([email protected]) Institute of Archaeo­logy and Ethno­logy, Polish Academy of Sciences (IAE-PAS) Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 141–163 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130678

FHG

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Figure 10.1. Archaeo­logical survey areas mentioned in the text: 1) Monreale ( Johns 1992); 2) Himera (Alliata and others 1988; Belvedere and others 2002); 3) Resuttano (Burgio 2002); 4) Caccamo (Lauro 2009); 5) Segesta (Bernardini and others 2000; Cambi 2005); 6) Trapani Mountains (Rotolo and Martín Civantos 2013); 7) Trapani/Erice (Filippi 2003); 8) Contrada Mirabile in Mazara del Vallo (Fentress and others 1990); 9) Salemi area (Kolb and Vecchio 2003; Di Miceli and Spagnolo 2009); 10) Heraclea Minoa (Wilson 1981); 11) Agrigento/Siculiana (Di Bella and Santagati 2000); 12) Entella (Corretti and others 2004; 2006); 13) Platani Valley (Rizzo 2004); 14) Milena (Arcifa and Tomasello 2005); 15) Gela (Bergemann 2011); 16) Nicosia/ Sperlinga (Valbruzzi 2012); 17) Morgantina (Thompson 1999); 18) Sofiana (Bowes and others 2011); 19) Centuripe (Biondi 2002); 20) Mineo (Arcifa 2001); 21) Megara (Cacciaguerra 2011); 22) Via Eloriana (Arcifa 2008); 23) Iblei Mountains (Di Stefano 2005). Roman villas with Byzantine occupation mentioned in the text: A) Villa del Casale di Piazza Armerina (Pensabene and Barresi 2019); B) Gerace (Wilson 2018); C) Patti Marina (Sfameni 2007); D) Bagnoli-­San Gregorio (Spigo 1993–1994); E) Contrada Grammena/Valcorrente (Bonacini and others 2012); F) Cignana (Rizzo 2014); G) Contrada Saraceno (Castellana and McConnell 1990); H) San Luca (Vassallo and Zirone 2009); I) Contrada Mirabile (Fentress and others 1990); J) Scauri Scalo, Pantelleria island (Santoro Bianchi 2003) (GIS map by Angelo Castrorao Barba).

This article aims to sketch out a general overview of the settlement dynamics in the countryside of Byzantine Sicily. The reconstruction of some specific patterns of the Byzantine Sicilian countryside is not easy because few excavations and projects have targeted this period, and it was only recently that knowledge of ceramics (Arcifa 2010a; Cacciaguerra 2020) between the late seventh and ninth centuries — after the end of the last imports from North Africa — has allowed progress to be made to better identify certain phases of occupation during the period of the Byzantine thema of Sikelia. In this paper, archaeo­logical evidence of the formation of Byzantine landscapes in Sicily is approached from the scale of micro-­regional field-­survey trends, the change and reoccupation of Roman villas, the emergence of new settlement types, the creation of a defensive system and the development of rupestrian settlements.

Micro-­regional Diachronic Trends in the Countryside: An Overview of Field-­survey Data [ACB] From the various, more or less systematic, survey projects, an attempt has been made to summarize the results of the settlement dynamics between Late Antiquity and the Islamic conquest of the island. These are heterogeneous data, difficult to compare precisely, but which still represent the basis of knowledge for outlining a general framework for the western and eastern parts of Sicily (Fig. 10.1). Western Sicily

In the Monreale survey ( Johns 1992), an increase in the size of villas between the third and fourth centuries (in some cases they became villages in the

10. t he si ci li an co u nt rysi d e d u ri ng t he byzant i ne period 143

fifth century) was highlighted, while during the second half of the fifth century, a settlement in Monte Maranfusa developed which was active until the tenth‒eleventh centuries. At other sites, however, the assumption is that the occupation continued until at least the sixth‒seventh centuries, and perhaps even during the first period of Muslim domination. In the hinterlands of ancient Himera (Alliata and others 1988; Belvedere and others 2002), three farms seem to have had a long occupation, from the first to the fifth-­sixth centuries, while only the extended settlement of Burgitabis remained continuously active until the Norman era. However, two small sites, popular during the Greek era but deserted in Roman times, were built in the Byzantine era (seventh‒ninth centuries) on the tops of small hills, in close proximity to the river, which was perhaps used as a means of connection. In the neighbouring territory of Resuttano (Burgio 2002), the situation appears different to that of the Himera area. There was, in fact, a growth from thirteen imperial sites to twenty-­t wo in Late Antiquity, which includes sites frequented on a continuous basis until the fifth‒sixth centuries, and the newly established settlements were located in previously uninhabited areas. Only a few complexes survived between the sixth and seventh centuries, and only in the large settlement of San Giacinto was a twelfth‒fourteenth century reoccupation assumed: there was a gradual abandonment of the Roman land system, then, and a clean break with the population of the eighth‒tenth and eleventh‒fourteenth centuries which occupied new premises in discontinuity with the late Roman settlements. In the San Leonardo river valley (Lauro 2009), there was a reorganization of the territory beginning in the third century, with the birth of new sites (40% of the imperial era) and, in particular, the development of large villages surrounded by significant farms: at sixteen sites (40% of those occupied after the third century) sixth‒seventh century materials were found that, for some settlements, indicate the maximum period of development; in ten farms from Late Antiquity, a hypothetical continuity of occupation between the eighth and tenth‒eleventh centuries has been recognized (25% of sites with phases between the third and seventh centuries). Another important finding is the strict contiguity between the roads, rural churches, and areas yielding Roman pottery fragments. In the area of Segesta (Bernardini and others 2000; Cambi 2005), from the middle of the fifth century, in parallel to the crisis of small scattered houses, the great villages of Rosignolo and Ponte Bagni-­Aquae Segestanae and some minor cells close

to them, played an active and vital role until the seventh century. At this stage — with the crisis of urban centres — villages and postal stations became places for sorting agricultural products as well as market places. The increase of dropouts during the fifth century also characterizes the territory of the mountains around Trapani (Rotolo and Martín Civantos 2013), while in the Byzantine period (sixth‒seventh centuries) the complexes gave rise to what can be interpreted as farms/small rural settlements and, at least in five cases, as real villages. Indeed, the ‘visibility’ of the phases of pre-­Islamic inhabitation of the eighth‒ninth centuries is the most problematic issue regarding Byzantine Sicily. For the area between Trapani and Erice (Filippi 2003), field surveys, which have identified a total of 83 new archaeo­logical sites, have found widespread continuity of settlement between the imperial age and Late Antiquity, with cases of growth in extent and also better quality materials; in later centuries, particularly significant settlements have not been documented, with twenty-­f ive sites of the first Byzantine period (30.1% of the total), of which fourteen (56%) led to the discovery of materials dating to the eleventh century. The surveys carried out as part of the excavation of the villa at Contrada Mirabile in Mazara del Vallo (Fentress and others 1990) highlighted a number of dropouts during the fifth century as well as the survival of the most extensive sites in the seventh and eighth centuries; in one case, continuity until the twelfth or thirteenth century, with the development of a series of houses around the peristyle of a villa, may be identified as the remains of Casale Bazir, which was known in the first Norman age. A persistence of settlement structures with continuous inhabitation between the late Roman and the Muslim ages emerges from the survey conducted in the Salemi area (Kolb and Vecchio 2003; Di Miceli and Spagnolo 2009), which revealed the presence of sites in both the valley and on the hill slopes, arranged along a road network and characterized by centralized settlements to which other small units probably belonged. In the surveys carried out between 1986 and 1988 in the region of Entella (Canzanella 1993), continuity in the use of many sites between the second and fifth centuries was emphasized, followed by a drop in evidence for the sixth‒seventh centuries. The exception was the settlement of Bagnitella, which increased its extent in this period. New research between 1998 and 2002 (Corretti and others 2004; 2006) found a fair number of active sites from Late Antiquity in the southern portion of the territory in

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the face of a more marked depopulation in the valleys of Vaccarizzo and Realbate, while a phase of ‘re-­ colonization’ of the territory would have occurred only from the end of the tenth to the eleventh century. In detail, thirty sites are from the fourth‒seventh centuries (two fewer than the thirty-­t wo of the first and middle imperial ages): in the fourth century, twenty-­four sites with earlier stages of the imperial era were active, and there were also five new foundations on previously abandoned settlements. The population of these twenty-­nine sites continued even into the fifth century, when a new site arose and the village reached its maximum expansion. Only ten sites lasted across the fifth century, one of which did not go beyond the beginning of the sixth century, and only five of these sites, all in the western and southern parts of the town, returned materials from the seventh century. Of the eleven active sites in the eighth and ninth centuries, six were certainly already inhabited in the previous period (sixth‒seventh centuries) and continued to be used throughout the tenth century. An increase in the population appears to have occurred only in the tenth (seventeen sites + five uncertain) and the eleventh (twenty-­ five sites) centuries. The work on the inland areas around Heraclea Minoa (Wilson 1981) revealed many dropouts after the fifth century, made in relation to the concentration of ownership, evidenced by the rise around the second quarter of the fifth century of a ‘villa’ (almost three acres) that remained active until the beginning of the seventh century, close to both a cemetery with arcosolium graves, which may have been used only by the inhabitants of the villa, and to three or four small farms built no earlier than the fifth century. The birth of new sites in Late Antiquity (9 in all) was documented in the territory between Agrigento and Siculiana (Di Bella and Santagati 2000) where, between the fourth and sixth centuries, both small hill-­perched farms (with specialized crops and livestock/pastures) and a larger agglomeration around which smaller production units gravitated, developed, perhaps in connection with a new set of roads. Some settlements (landings for cabotage routes) can be seen in close connection with the lines of river communication and coastal navigation, in the territories of Menfi and Sciacca (Caminneci 2010; Parello 2012), which arose in the imperial age and experienced modest development during Late Antiquity, but which did not survive into the sixth century. In the Platani Valley, intensive explorations in the Butermini district (Rizzo 2004) identified two major sites, Masseria Genuardi (a village) and Canalicchio (a farm), with occupation phases between the middle of the fifth and the first half of the seventh centuries,

arising in an area rich in water resources, and spaced out with a necropolis containing arcosolium tombs. A late Roman settlement with continuity until the seventh century, perhaps identifiable with the statio Pitiniana, was identified two miles to the north; in the same area, between the mid-­seventh century and the tenth century, there were small farms, which would signal a return to a type of population characterized by small scattered units. In general, in this area, the sites at the end of fifth to the early sixth centuries testify to a continuity until at least the mid-­seventh century, with few changes. The rural landscape between the fifth and seventh centuries was divided into open settlement structures, villages, or isolated farms, arranged in lowland areas or low hills, and only rarely in naturally defended positions. In the following centuries (eighth‒tenth), the same questions have emerged as in other parts of Sicily, with a tendency to a development of medi­ eval houses (late tenth‒eleventh centuries) in areas that had already been occupied from the sixth to the mid-­seventh century. The data of the surveys on western Sicily shows a certain degree of continuity in the population at least up to the middle of the seventh century, but this data is strictly connected to the archaeo­logical visibility of ceramic indicators, especially of North African imports, while the recognition in the survey of materials dated from the eighth to the first half of the ninth century still appears to be problematic. This preliminary state of knowledge therefore invites prudence in the formulation of historical frameworks on the demo­graphic density and productive capacity of western Sicily in the thematic era. The increase of studies on material culture, the planning of new survey campaigns aimed precisely at understanding the early Middle Ages, and above all the possibility of carrying out new excavations on Byzantine rural sites will allow the current picture of knowledge to be enriched in the coming years. Eastern Sicily

The numerous rock necropolises in the Nicosia and Sperlinga area (Valbruzzi 2012) may indicate a continuity of settlement from the end of the fourth century to the Middle Ages, with scattered settlements located in open areas along communication routes, while in the northern Erei Mountains the development of rock settlements on hill-­perched and defensible positions that, in some cases, reoccupied and transformed early Christian hypogea, may date back to the Byzantine period.

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In the hinterlands of the ancient city of Morgantina (Thompson 1999), many sites near transit routes that developed between the first century bc and the first century ad perhaps remained alive even up to the sixth‒seventh centuries. In the district belonging to the city of Centuripe (Biondi 2002), the farms of the middle imperial era did not undergo any breakdowns during the fourth‒ fifth centuries, perhaps due to their proximity to communication axes, while only sporadic evidence indicates a human presence in the Byzantine era (tombs; a ring from Contrada Cavalera). Evidence of occupation in the eleventh–thirteenth centuries is documented in sites with phases from the fourth‒ fifth centuries, though without definitive clarification of possible continuity during the early Middle Ages. Recent prospecting (Bowes and others 2011) in the area surrounding the Sofiana site (mansio Philosophiana) has revealed the growth of rural nuclei in the fourth‒fifth centuries (eleven sites, nine of which were new), a decrease in the sixth‒seventh centuries (eight sites, none of which arose from scratch), and growth in the eighth‒ninth centuries with the birth of new settlements (fourteen sites, nine of which were new). The increase in sites and the quantity of the late seventh‒eighth century ceramics were related to the important economic role assumed by Sicily in the strategies of the Byzantine Empire after the Arab conquest of Egypt in 641. The data of the Gela survey (Bergemann 2011) showed that, after a decline in the third century (39 sites), there was an increase in the number of settlements in the fourth‒fifth centuries (127 sites), followed by a decline in the sixth‒seventh centuries (119 sites). In the area of the ancient Milocca farmhouse (Milena) (Arcifa and Tomasello 2005), numerous sites have been identified that can be dated to the fifth‒seventh centuries, some of which are located in continuity with phases of frequentation dating back to the middle and late imperial periods. In the early Middle Ages, there were various abandonments in relation to the emergence of the high ground site of Monte Conca (eighth‒ninth centuries). A prolonged inhabitation in the eighth and ninth centuries would seem to have occurred in Zillante and Rocca Amorella, though both did undergo a shrinkage. In the territory of Mineo (Arcifa 2001), a decline in population after the fifth century characterizes the lowland areas, while in the hilly areas there are more cases of continuity or of reoccupation (Monte Catalfaro) between the Roman age and the Middle Ages. The evidence seems to exclude the possibility that changes in the ancient roads created new poles of aggregation.

In the Megarese area (Cacciaguerra 2009; 2011; 2014) north of Syracuse (365 km2), the fifth century was a period of reorganization of the settlement plot, with the abandonment of some sites, both near the roads and in peripheral areas, and the creation of a new site or the expansion of a settlement network to areas further away from the roads and in isolated places. This layout of the countryside seems to have remained substantially unchanged between the sixth and eighth centuries, with the crisis of these sites beginning in the ninth century. The relationship with the Via Elorina (Arcifa 2008) may have favoured the vitality of the coastal areas and, consequently, the long settlement continuity documented by the topo­graphical coincidence between the medi­eval hamlets and the late ancient settlements (the Rahalhadet farmhouse located in the Late Antique villa of Contrada Caddeddi, and the casale San Lorenzo de Biserii which developed around a Byzantine church), while episodes of discontinuity between the Byzantine age and the Middle Ages affected the sites of Eloro and Respensa. Of a total of 135 rural sites (isolated farms or groups of buildings) in the area of the Iblei Mountains between Ragusa and Modica (Di Stefano 2005), twenty-­eight per cent (35 sites) returned chrono­ logies from the Late Antique period, while twelve per cent (25 sites) of the reports were attributable to the Byzantine period. The Byzantine settlements (65–70% of the sixth‒seventh century sites were located on the plateau) were characterized as single farms or villages formed by single-­celled buildings in the ‘megalithic’ technique, interspersed with courtyards inside of which there was a Christian cult building. In some cases, between the seventh and eighth centuries, fortification works were carried out that were related to the establishment of the thema of Sicily. In any case, these types of evidence from the Iblei Mountains require serious revision in light of recent progress in the study of pottery indicators and the use of systematic survey methods. A continuity in the population from Late Antiquity up to the sixth‒seventh century would thus seem to exist also for eastern Sicily, while a new phase of territorial configuration can be observed between the eighth and ninth centuries.

The Afterlife of Roman Villas during the Byzantine Period [ACB] An important aspect in the formation of settlement patterns in the Byzantine period is the relationship with the previous sites and in particular with the villas (Fig. 10.2). In recent years the research on

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Sicilian Roman villas has shown interesting data on the change and transformation that occurred in the Byzantine period and sometimes also beyond (Castrorao Barba 2016). In light of the new investigations (Pensabene and Barresi 2019) carried out on the site of the Villa del Casale (Piazza Armerina Enna) and a thorough reassessment and revision of all the previous documentation, transformations after the fourth century have been identified. After a possible traumatic event (levels of fire in the southern thermal baths) which can be placed around the middle of the fifth century and were perhaps associated with the barbara vastitas of the Vandal raids, some restoration operations were carried out on mosaics, perhaps dating back to the first half of the sixth century. These included random compensation in the floor of the octagonal room of the frigidarium of the Terme Ovest, on the east side of the peristyle where two mosaic bands were inserted, and on the east side of the peristyle in front of the access stairs to the ambulatory where two mosaic bands were inserted with the probable acclamation of a charioteer, Bonifacius. After the end of the fifth century, the structures of the southern baths were reoccupied for residential and productive purposes, and construction elements, such as capitals and columns, were reused as construction materials for new walls. In the Byzantine age, the villa underwent new renovations that suggest the loss of the characteristics of a luxurious residence in favour of new structures more appropriate for a new owner, no longer of the highest rank, and possibly an agent or a conductor of the estate. The discovery of Byzantine diplopmatic leads, one relating to Gregoras ex eparco and the other to a Dionysos, could confirm the existence of the new tenants responsible for managing the property and in contact with certain officials of the Byzantine administration. Masonry works characterized by small and medium-­sized blocks bonded with mortar, were used for the restorations and new structures, in particular in the infill of the arches of the aqueduct to form a sort of fortification complete with an access door (probably during the eighth century). The basilica fell into disuse and was occupied

Figure 10.2. The Sicilian Roman villas in the Byzantine period. A) Byzantine kiln cut into one of the mosaic floors of the Villa del Casale in Piazza Armerina (re-­worked from Pensabene 2016); B) glass weight of half-­solid of Sergion (1), diplomatic leads of the Byzantine officials Dionysos and Gregoras ex eparco (re-­worked from Pensabene 2016); C) Byzantine building constructed by reusing elements of the villas of Gerace (re-­worked from Wilson and Mukai 2018).

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by graves, while a furnace was installed to the north of the peristyle, perhaps connected to some scraps of sixth‒seventh century striped tiles. The development of a possible Christian presence (a worship building?) is hinted at by a few elements such as a clay window perforated with Christian symbols which was found in the underground layers of the southern baths, and the various oil lamps with Christograms from the excavation of the frigidarium of the spa. In the southern part, prior to the Islamic phase, there was a large fortification wall, perhaps also equipped with a rampart, made of irregular blocks packed with both combed and vacuolated tiles and bent tiles, whose construction was assigned to the eighth century. A continuity of occupation of the site between the late eighth and the ninth centuries, on the other hand, is only attested by the out-­ of-­context discovery of specific ceramic indicators, such as ‘calcitic ware’ fire forms and ‘mat decorations’. Starting from the advanced Islamic era (second half of the tenth century), a rural settlement to the south of the urban part of the villa developed up until the second half of the thirteenth century (Pensabene and Bonanno 2008). The Late Antique villa in contrada Gerace (Enna) (Wilson 2018) was destroyed by an earthquake in the second half of the fifth century and was systematically stripped of reuseable materials. After this traumatic event, which also caused a fire (dated to 450‒537 on the basis of radiocarbon testing and ceramic materials), a new phase of occupation occurred in the Byzantine period starting from the sixth century and lasting until at least the first half of the seventh century. In this phase, new walls were built, including a building with a paved courtyard outside which featured a flight of stairs on the east side for access to a second floor. A burial box probably also dates to this phase, with three bodies buried inside, two of which were female individuals with simple circular bronze earrings. The discovery of kitchen pottery with ‘mat’ decoration in the surface layers indicates a continuity of occupation of the site even to the eighth‒ninth centuries. The site of the villa of Patti Marina (Patti, Messina) (Sfameni 2007, 288) continued to be inhabited from the sixth‒seventh until the tenth century. In the area of the peristyle and north of the porticoed courtyard, limestone slab flooring and canalizations were built, while new rooms were built by reusing the building materials of the Late Antique villa. In the thermal sector of the villa, pit tombs were inserted with perimeter walls and a flat cover with lithic slabs. From these, funerary equipment consisting of pottery, often associated with glass, bronzes, and jewels (basket earrings in gold, a cru-

ciform pendant in foil, and a silver fibula with decorated carnelian) of a typo­logy datable to the second half of the sixth and seventh centuries were excavated. In Bagnoli-­San Gregorio (Capo d’Orlando Messina) (Spigo 1993–1994), in the seventh century, after more than a century of abandonment, three rooms were built on the thermal baths, of 6 × 7 m, 2.5 × 2 m and 4 × 3 m respectively, while large paving slabs were superimposed on a mosaic floor and a simple channel was created. Five graves dating back to the seventh century were found 70 m west of the baths: four with a rectangular pit lined with sandstone slabs and one (infantile) consisting of a single roof tile. In the Contrada Grammena site in Valcorrente (Belpasso Catania) (Bonacini and others 2012), the remains of the probable pars rustica of a third–fifth century villa were reused with the insertion of new buildings constructed with more modest techniques, using lava stone and pebbles bound with earth mixed with poor cement mortar or a dry stone technique. These structures were destroyed by a fire and, during the eighth century, a tripartite basilica church was built on the site. The complex consisted of several houses containing a series of rooms arranged around a central courtyard that was also used for carrying out small activities, evidenced by hearths covered by canopies in correspondence with a warehouse for the storage of foodstuffs. In the area closest to the Gela river, there were remains related to ceramic and metallurgical processing activities. From the beginning of the fifth century to the mid-­seventh century, the villa in the Cignana district (Naro, Agrigento) (Rizzo 2014) grew into a large village of approximately 15 ha, while in the valley opposite the built-­up area there was a necropolis with Paleo-­Christian hypogea. The structures of the new town were constructed following the conformation of the land, and reused the pre-­ existing rooms of the villa, creating rooms with one or two spaces with masonry foundations and probably elevated on perishable materials. In this Late Antique/Byzantine nucleus, traces of domestic activities, storage of foodstuffs, and handicraft activities related to the processing of iron (slag) were found. This village reduced its settled area when a part of it was levelled by a layer on which new buildings were built between the end of the seventh and eighth centuries, although this could also refer to a tomb and is perhaps a clue to a larger cemetery area. In the pars rustica of the villa in the Saraceno district (Favara, Agrigento) (Castellana and McConnell 1990), a farm was formed during the fifth century which, in the mid-­sixth century, underwent transformations that did not alter either the structural

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organization or orientation of the structures of the previous phase. A rectangular room and a silo for storing grain (diameter 1.30 m) belong to this Byzantine phase, while a small Christian chapel was built in the second half of the seventh century. This farm remained occupied until the ninth century. The structures in the peristyle of the villa in the Contrada San Luca (Castronovo di Sicilia, Palermo) (Vassallo and Zirone 2009) were obliterated by a sequence of layers of natural washout on which a building of indefinite function, with a rectangular apsidal plan and a beaten earth floor, was erected. A collection of fragments of African amphorae and evidence of iron smelting activity for the production of knife blades were also found at the site. The last phase of occupation of the villa in the Contrada Mirabile (Mazara del Vallo, Trapani) (Fentress and others 1990) is represented by the remains of a pit that can be interpreted as a silo dating back to the second half of the fifth century, while an accumulation of waste contained material dating from the late sixth‒early seventh centuries. The absence of glazed ceramics suggests that the frequentation of the site did not continue into the later medi­eval period. In Scauri Scalo (Pantelleria, Trapani) (Santoro Bianchi 2003), a Byzantine village developed (sixth‒ seventh centuries) in which a structure with a furnace was levelled by a butto to be reused as a dwelling, with an adjoining cemetery area consisting of various burials (over 30), which were dug into the rock and organized into small family groups, showing no prevalent or liturgical orientation, and which in some cases reused the ancient channels for collecting rainwater. The increase of investigation and stratigraphical approach to the long-­term sequence of occupation of Roman villas is crucial for better understanding the changes in land ownership and management during the different stages of the Byzantine age from the Justinianic period until the formation of the thema and the arrivals of the Islamic army during the ninth century.

Estates, Production, and New Settlement Patterns [GC] After the loss of Africa and the fluctuating phase of supply (439–476) (Giunta 1958, 104–41), post-­ fifth century settlement in Sicily was reorganized to maintain an ownership and land management system aimed at realizing high agricultural production. Indeed, although archaeo­logical data do not show a unitary settlement model, expansion towards

new low-­anthropized areas and marginal territories appears widespread. This settlement pattern permitted a large portion of the central Mediterranean’s food demands to be met, mainly for Rome itself. At the same time, some large rural agglomerations of over 10–15 ha. developed during this period, characterized by evident signs of complexity, and with cemetery basilicas built on the edge of the settlement, housing a population of peasants and other social groups. The Sophiana site (Fig. 10.3), near Mazzarino in the hinterlands of Gela, was undoubtedly a remarkable para-­urban settlement between the fourth and the seventh centuries, covering an area over 21 ha and maintaining regional and overseas ties along trade routes and commercial networks, as is shown from the ceramic evidence (Bowes and others 2011; Vaccaro 2013b; 2017). On the western edge, a cemetery basilica was built. During the eighth and ninth centuries, Sofiana continued to be a village of considerable size (11 ha). In south-­eastern Sicily, an exemplary case is the site of Manomozza-­San Foca, a large third-­to twelfth-­ century settlement near Priolo Gargallo whose total archaeo­logical surface can be estimated as between 15 and 20 ha (Cacciaguerra 2014, 382–83). The area of the fifth-­to seventh-­century settlement is displaced to the north and east, probably in connection with the cemeterial Basilica of San Foca built on the north-­eastern edge of the settlement (Fig. 10.3). This vast settlement (approx. 15–20 ha) thrived until the ninth century. During the Islamic and Norman periods the settlement area contracted significantly to a small area (approx. ½ ha) nucleated around the Basilica of San Foca, identified with the Norman casale Agulie. It is necessary, however, to underline the role of the massa fundorum in the system of the great Sicilian estate properties during the formation phase of the Late Antique and Byzantine settlement network. The diffusion of the massa fundorum system, first as a patrimonial and later a fiscal circumscription between the fourth and sixth‒seventh centuries, is therefore an important aspect of the post-­R oman Sicilian landscape. It is clear that the massae were aggregates of fundi, not always contiguous, united because they belonged to the same civic territory. Within these fifth‒sixth century large, fragmented estates, therefore, one or more settlements with differing demo­graphic capacities, and different social and legal compositions, may have existed (coloni, slaves, conductores, etc.) (Carrié 2012–2013: p. 44). The main question is how the fifth‒sixth century settlement network reflects the different juridical forms of property, and systems of land exploitation and management. Faced with this problem, I do not

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Figure 10.3. A) The settlement of Philosophiana (Vaccaro 2017); B) the settlement of Manomozza — San Foca. Dark grey: surveyed areas with scattered materials; light grey: settlement area; stars: hypogeic cemetery (re-­worked from Cacciaguerra 2011; 2014).

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believe that archaeo­logy can lead us to a solution (see also Belvedere 2018); only large scale planned excavations of different settlements in a single territory could provide data on this issue. However, it does not seem that the fifth and sixth century landholding organization based on massae was always the same. On the basis of the late sixth century Gregorian Registrum, Vivian Prigent has recently hypothesized that in Sicily, within each massa, or large public, ecclesiastical, or private property, there would have been a conduma, a place inhabited and managed by a conductor, where the structures and means of production and labour were concentrated (Prigent 2017, 229–31; Nef and Prigent 2019, 350–52). If this hypothesis were to be confirmed, it would reveal the first step towards a territory structured on the village, that would go on to become the fiscal and productive base of the Byzantine centuries. In fact, archaeo­logical data make it increasingly evident that, in Sicily, the seventh century settlement network kept its original seats until the ninth century. This apparent continuity is very interesting and shows that the territory maintained a settlement system based on the village with a capillary distribution, even though it was perhaps demo­graphically impoverished. This landholding organization places the village and its estates as the unit of taxation of the Byzantine Empire after the middle of the seventh century, following the tax transformations that provided for a land and hearth tax in place of the capitatio/iugatio (Brandes and Haldon 2000, 149–50). Therefore, the maintenance of the settlement network does not assume that the model of landholding and estate organization, as well as the tax system and socio-­economic context was unchanged, but that this model could well have been adapted to the changes taking place. On the other hand, this continuity shows that the land and hearth tax system was able to maintain high production levels even compared to the capitatio/iugatio adopted during Late Antiquity. Such changes, however, were accompanied by intermediate periods of fiscal reorganization that impacted on both urban and rural communities. In this regard, we can mention the imperial iussio, issued in 667, which reformed the capita and introduced a ship-­tax for landowners in Sicily, Sardinia, Calabria, and Africa, and also 681 when the number of capita and the collection rate of coemptio were reduced for Sicilian and Calabrian ecclesiastical estates (Haldon 1997, 142–43). Recently it has become possible to acquire important data on the internal structure and organization of Sicilian Byzantine villages between the seventh and ninth centuries. The seventh‒eighth cen-

tury Byzantine village of Giarranauti near Sortino (Syracuse) consisted of at least eight residential structures composed of two rooms, each with a standard surface area of about 40 m2. In many houses, space was organized as a domestic room with a cooking area and a storage/productive (olive press) room. A small church with a graveyard represents the only religious place. Some diagnostic ceramics (Keay 34, Late Spatheia 3 and ‘Santa Caterina 2’ cookware) and a small group of coins date its abandonment to the late seventh‒eighth centuries (Basile 1996). The settlement of Santa Caterina (Melilli, Syracuse) had a similar size, organization, and chrono­logy (Cacciaguerra 2008). These represent the standard typical seventh-­to eighth-­century Byzantine village of south-­eastern Sicily. Research carried out in the area around Mt. Etna has recently revealed the settlement of Edera (Turco and Arcifa 2016) which extended over an area of 9 ha. There are about twenty identified structures which consist of quadrangular dwellings with smaller circular structures which may have been for storage and domestic use. The associated materials include Sicilian domestic pottery, lead-­glazed ceramics, and chafing-­dishes. The materials date the settlement to between the late eighth and the first half of the ninth centuries. The coexistence of residential units with a circular plan and structures for the storage of foodstuffs, underlined by a deposit of regional and imported globular amphorae, along with the presence of craft activities for pottery production, characterize the settlement of Rocchicella di Mineo (Arcifa 2018), dated to the first half of the ninth century (folles of Michael I, 811–813 and Michael II, 820–829). The late Byzantine and Islamic site of Colmitella (Agrigento) is an exceptional case of a settlement with a large open area covered with numerous dolia for the storage of foodstuffs. A lead seal of a certain notary, Antiochos, opens up many points for reflection on the role of the ‘village’ entity in the centralization of agricultural production, perhaps aimed at paying taxes in kind. These sites give signs of the progressive formation of new settlement patterns related to the thema of Sicily with a certain vitality in the production of agricultural surpluses, a process that was probably interrupted by the Islamic invasion. The collapse of this settlement network, on the other hand, occurred after the beginning of the Islamic conquest during the ninth century. These events must certainly have led to progressive social erosion and to a decrease in population and settlements. Between the ninth and tenth centuries, in fact, the settlement network was left with enormous

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holes. The Islamic period thus shows a less dense settlement network with small sites that never exceed 2–3 ha, a marked contrast to the Byzantine era.

Fortifications and Defensive Patterns: castra and Rupestrian Settlements [GC] The central economic role of Sicily in the Late Antique and early medi­eval Mediterranean area certainly produced, over the centuries, interventions aimed at defending and controlling its resources. In fact, the island was subjected to three main conflicts during the Late Antique and early medi­eval periods, that were very different from each other and had different effects on the countryside and the settlements. The sources agree on the destruction caused by the Vandal war that had three phases (440–442, 455–465, 468–475/476) and alternating fortunes (Giunta 1958; Wilson 1990, 330–35; Caliri 2012). In the face of this menace, between 440 and 475/476, armies and fleets were certainly stationed on the island and the fortifications of the main cities were probably restored. During the Greek-­Gothic war, by contrast, Sicily was a region behind the front lines, mainly used as a base for launching and supplying the military and naval forces. The short duration of this menace (just two or three years: 535 and 550/551) probably did not lead to large-­scale state investments for the construction of fortifications in the territory. Finally, the Arab-­Byzantine war that involved Sicily from the mid-­seventh to the tenth centuries led to a different role for the island (Nef and Prigent 2010; Fois 2014; Nef 2014). Even when considering the sources devoid of their ideo­logical charge, they are clear about the heavy impact on the population and settlements, and provide interesting data on the investment made in armies and fleets as the progressive militarization of the territory proceeded. At the same time, from the mid-­seventh century, historical sources recount that the Byzantine Empire reorganized its defences through the progressive militarization of society, administration, and territory in the face of the Islamic threat which began to look with interest at the regions of the northern Mediterranean after its conquest of Africa and Carthage (698). This process culminated in the reign of Justinian II (685–695) when the thema Sikelias was probably established. These different actions, however, were expressed mainly through investments which are not always visible in the archaeo­logical record (fleet equipment, small military garrisons scattered throughout the territory, reuse of previous defensive structures, etc.).

As previously stated, it does not seem that the events and warfare (Vandal and Greek-­Gothic wars) of the fifth and sixth centuries had a lasting impact on the Late Antique defensive systems, nor was Sicily endowed with a stable army. In fact, the only military structures were the fortifications that defended the main cities (Syracuse, Palermo, Messina, etc.) (Maurici 1992, 14). Byzantine Fortifications

The occupation of fortified hilltop sites, easily defensible in panoramic locations, constitutes a landscape marker of Mediterranean and European post-­classical habitats. Their growth would be linked to conditions of general insecurity and territorial reorganization following socio-­economic transformations and warfare (Francovich and Hodges 2003). These aspects, however, are difficult for archaeo­logy in Sicily to recognize (Molinari 2016; Arcifa 2021, 481–83). Examples of the occupation of hilltop positions starting from the late fifth century include the occupation of Monte Barbaro in Segesta (Facella and Zambito 2018) and the sites of Contrada Mangone, Contrada Colla, and Cozzo Casale (Bonanno and Canzonieri 2018), identified on the tops of hills around the Villa del Casale in Piazza Armerina. In 1990, Roger Wilson (1990, 335) pointed out that there are few elements to allow the postulation of the abandonment of rural settlements towards higher and defensible positions between the fifth and sixth centuries. More recently, for western Sicily, Alessandra Molinari (2016, 330) has found that the reoccupation of hilltop sites occurred only after the second half of the tenth century, while Lucia Arcifa has highlighted a similar tendency for the territory of Noto (Arcifa and others 2012, 268). The archaeo­ logical evidence from the Megarian area (the northern area of Syracuse) shows that such sites did not arise suddenly in the territory and that their presence did not change the settlement network. The presence of some hilltop sites could also be explained by the emergence of marginal settlements between the second half of the fifth and the sixth century. In fact, they arose and developed by occupying the territory and ‘colonizing’ new lands in previously poorly populated areas with low agricultural yields. The exploitation of new areas with low agricultural yields and for livestock was certainly determined by the need to meet the strong demand for grain of the main Byzantine cities and the army. In this framework, few Byzantine fortifications in the Sicilian countryside have been identified, and the few excavations that have been conducted

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Figure 10.4. Map of Byzantine fortifications in Sicily. Fortifications from written sources: 1. Palermo; 2. Corleone; 3. Caltabellotta; 4. Monte Castello (S. Angelo Muxaro); 5. Agrigento; 6. Sutera; 7. Caltavuturo; 8. Cefalù; 9. Demenna (S. Marco D’Alunzio); 10. Rometta; 11. Castelmola; 12. Taormina; 13. Aci; 14. Catania; 15. Lentini; 16. Noto; 17. Scicli; 18. Modica; 19. Butera. Fortifications from archaeo­logical remains: 20. Castrogiovanni (Enna); 21. Selinus; 22. Monte Kassar; 23. Platano (Monte della Giudecca); 24. Mineo; 25. Ragusa; 26. Pantalica; 27. Syracuse; 28. Centuripe; 29. Messina; 30. Tindari; 31. Euryalus Castle; 32. Monte Conca (Milena); 33. Pizzo Castelluzzo (S. Stefano Quisquina) (drawing by Giuseppe Cacciaguerra).

do not clarify all the chrono­logical and contextual problems (Maurici 1992) (Fig. 10.4). In fact, the archaeo­logy of early medi­eval Sicily is known for being rich in rural settlements and poor in fortifications, despite its complex and troubled political and socio-­economic history. Indeed, up to the second quarter of the ninth century, historical sources provide little information on the fortified centres of Sicily. A large number of fortified sites emerges from the list of settlements conquered by the Muslim army between the second quarter of the ninth and the early tenth centuries. At present, however, with few exceptions, archaeo­ logical research lacks evidence capable of clearly dating the traces of Byzantine castra. Nevertheless, a small group of fortified centres has recently been investigated through excavations or archaeo­logical surveys. A  rather well-­known and truly emblematic case is Monte Kassar along the ancient road between Palermo and Agrigento (Maurici 1992; Castrorao Barba 2015; Vassallo and others 2015; Carver and Molinari 2016; 2018). The site could be identified with the qasr al gadid (‘the

new castle’), conquered by the Arabs between 857 and 858. It consists of an extensive limestone massif naturally defended by sheer cliffs on three sides and defended on the fourth by a strong fortification wall about 1.8 km long (Fig. 10.5). This fortification was equipped with eleven towers, distributed at irregular distances. The large inner area (c. 80 ha) was not intensively occupied, and a house along the wall and a rectangular building — probably a military barracks or a warehouse — with a small tower, has been identified. In this impressive defensive structure, the intervention of State power was undoubtedly present in a planned strategy to control the Platani valley and the important road axis that connected the two coasts of the island. In south-­eastern Sicily, the site of Pantalica (Sortino) is located on a large limestone terrace surrounded by deep, steep valleys (Fig. 10.6). The archaeo­logical site is known mainly for the vast protohistoric necropolis carved into the rock, dotting the steep sides of the massif, and for the anaktoron, a late Bronze-­Age building believed to have been the centre of power of the settlement. Pantalica, how-

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Figure 10.5. The hilltop plateau of Monte Kassar (Castronovo di Sicilia, Palermo) and the Lidar-­based DTM (provided by the Region of Sicily, http://map. sitr.regione.sicilia.it/ArcGIS/services/ DTM_2m/MapServer/WCSServer) with the line of the fortification wall (in white) of the Byzantine castrum (photo and GIS elaboration by Angelo Castrorao Barba).

Figure 10.6. Pantalica. Early medi­eval settle­ ment. Rupestrian settlements (grey areas) and fortifications (GIS elaboration by Giuseppe Cacciaguerra).

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Figure 10.7. Syracuse. 1. Euryalus Castle, Byzantine phase: 2. eastern wall; 3. rooms on the southern wall (photos by Giuseppe Cacciaguerra).

ever, also had an early medi­eval phase which was the last period of the site. In fact, though the fortifications identified by L. Bernabò Brea to the south of the anaktoron are undated, they were certainly reused by the Byzantines for defending the plateau (Fig. 10.8). The anaktoron also shows a phase of reuse and, perhaps, of expansion (a large southern room) during the Byzantine period and a large hoard (late seventh‒eighth centuries) with a collection of jew-

els and a thousand Byzantine solidi (Constans II and Constantine IV, c. 661–668; Constantine IV, 674–681) was found nearby in 1903 (Orsi 1910; Guzzetta 1995, 12–13). Finally, there were four rupestrian settlements (Filiporto, 49 rooms; South Pantalica, 87 rooms; South Cavetta, 105 rooms; North Pantalica, 74 rooms) with three small churches (St Micidiario, St Nicolicchio and Holy Crucifix) with frescoes dating from the early Norman period to the thirteenth century (Orsi 1898; Messina 1979; Leighton, Albanese Procelli 2019, 23). Groups of extra-­urban fortifications that reuse classical structures have been identified in both the eastern and western parts of Sicily. On the Acropolis of Selinus, two Greek temples were reused and spoiliated to build a massive squared quadrangular castle with four corner towers. The chrono­logy of this structure is rather uncertain, even though recent investigations have revealed some walls to have been erected before the tenth century and it has been generically dated to the Byzantine period. Another interesting site is the Euryalus Castle (Fig. 10.7), one of the most complex defensive structures of the classical world and part of the Greek defensive system of Syracuse, which also had a Byzantine phase (and perhaps even late medi­eval). The eastern wall that borders the main courtyard, a series of rooms on the southern wall, and the buttresses against the western towers were built during the late reuse of the fortress. The dating of this post-­classical phase, however, has never been clarified, and we can generically attribute Byzantine reuse from the typo­logy of its construction technique (Agnello 2001, 57). As mentioned, our knowledge of the Byzantine fortifications of Sicily is still underdeveloped, even though some sites can be related to evidence dating back to the eighth and early ninth centuries. For example, there have been recent excavations at the Janniscuru gate, in Contrada Santa Ninfa in Enna, (Giannitrapani and others 2020) and at other sites where new investigations may be better able to specify a possible Byzantine origin, such as for Pizzo Castelluzzo in Santo Stefano di Quisquina or Monte della Giudecca, which was perhaps the Castrum Patano mentioned in written sources (Rizzo 2004). Rupestrian Settlements in Southeastern Sicily

Rupestrian settlements are one of the most important phenomena for defining the transformations that took place in the Byzantine territorial organization. Recent research (LAMIS Project) has allowed us to define three different types of rupestrian set-

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Figure 10.8. The type-­A rupestrian settlement of Cava Belluzza (Melilli): A. general overview of the rupestrian settlement; B. horizontal passage; C. trapdoor; D. ovoidal room; E. Late-­Byzantine (1), Islamic (2–6) and Late Medi­eval (7) pottery (photos and drawings by Giuseppe Cacciaguerra).

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tlements that had different uses and chrono­logical developments. The type-­A (inaccessible), type-­B (partially inaccessible), and type-­C (accessible) rupestrian settlements arose during the late Byzantine period (late eighth-­ninth centuries?) (Fig. 10.8). In fact, they are quite clearly documented in Islamic sources in relation to the conquest of Sicily during the ninth century. The presence of a few key material indicators (regional globular/ovoidal amphorae and ‘Rocchicella’-­t ype cooking ware) identified on the surface confirms these data. Spatial organization and defensive features emphasize that they were used as temporary refuges for the rural population and army during the Arab-­Byzantine conflicts, coexisting with rural settlement networks. Islamic pottery found in the type-­A and type-­C settlements attests to their use during the tenth and first half of the eleventh centuries as well, which may have been due to the Byzantine military campaigns in eastern Sicily (Romanos I: 938–941; Nicephorus Phocas II: 964–965; Maniakes: 1038–1040), and during the Norman conquest of south-­eastern Sicily between 1070 and 1091. Further interesting data come from the distribution of the type-­A complexes. The territory shows a network of rupestrian settlements distributed at regular distances in order to provide a very efficient defence strategy for the rural population and army during the Arab-­Byzantine wars. On the other hand, the southern territory did not have any rupestrian settlements; here the strategy was instead aimed at seeking refuge within the walls of Syracuse. The new data acquired, therefore, call into question the previous cultural attribution and chrono­ logical reference of rupestrian settlements (Messina 2010, 17–20). Furthermore, the type-­A s did not reveal the presence of either Christian or Islamic religious places. The temporary use of type-­A rupestrian settlements, in fact, probably did not lead to the creation of places of worship, or they are not recognisable due to low archaeo­logical and architectural characterization (Cacciaguerra 2014, 383–86; Cacciaguerra 2018b). Conversely, there is no archaeo­logical documentation of type-­B settlements before the Islamic period, though they were a typo­logy with greater continuity from the tenth to the twelfth–thirteenth centuries and onwards. The type-­B rupestrian settlements often shared their settlement space with stone buildings and sometimes fortified structures. Furthermore, the larger type-­B and -­C complexes often have rupestrian churches with frescoes which were realized between the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

A Byzantine Defence Strategy for Sicily?

The acquisition of new archaeo­logical data allows us to have some reference points regarding the Byzantine defence strategy in Sicily (see Arcifa 2021 for a general overview). At the present stage, a generalized and sudden rise in hilltop settlements and fortified sites is to be excluded throughout the period considered here. The data available underline the long continuity of open settlements until the ninth century, and the very low distribution of defended and fortified sites. It is also necessary to underline the phenomenon of reuse of defensive structures and the reoccupation of older settlements that characterize the two fortified centres closest to Syracuse (Euryalus Castle and, maybe, Pantalica). If we look at Monte Kassar (Castronovo di Sicilia) and Pantalica, we can find numerous features in common. They can be summarized as follows: 1) Large fortified enclosures (Monte Kassar: approximately 80 ha; Pantalica: 20+ ha); 2) Low density of structures and settlement areas within; 3) Presence of settlements outside the fortification; 4) Isolated position and oro­graphic structure used for defence; 5) Archaeo­logical materials attesting to the presence Byzantine elites. These characteristics show that these two sites were not population centres but, more likely, centres for military coordination and refuge for people and goods (see Molinari 2016, 322–23, 326 about the interpretation on Monte Kassar). The presence of settlement areas developed outside the fortified enclosure confirms that the inner area was reserved for public and/or military structures and occupied by the population only in times of danger. Monte Kassar and Pantalica, therefore, would be two defensive structures, more or less contemporary, belonging to a specific defensive site typo­logy developed in Sicily after the first Islamic raids between the second half of the seventh and the beginning of the eighth centuries. It was clearly a targeted and direct choice by the Byzantine state in order to create power centres for territorial defence with wide refuge areas for the rural population and primary goods (agricultural products, livestock, etc.). This defensive system should also include the type-­A and type-­C rupestrian villages which have been documented in the Megarian area and south-­eastern Sicily. Their position and distribution in the territory seems to confirm this interpretation and could be a complementary network to that of the fortified centres. We can also include another two fortified site typo­logies of which, unfortunately, we know very little. The first is made up of defended population centres, well-­known in the ninth century sources,

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like Ragusa and Mineo where defensive structures have been identified (Orsi 1899; Pace 1936–1939, 159, 166–67). The second typo­logy, on the other hand, is hypothetical: small castles or defensive structures with a smaller surface area, whose existence can only be assumed because they have not yet been identified. There are, however, some clues as to the small fortification of Monte Conca (Milena, Caltanissetta) (Tomasello 2009), and other structures in the Hyblaean area (contrada Cassaro near Modica) and in the Nebrodi Mountains. The re-­ occupation of hill-­top sites, often with pre-­R oman phases, is also another factor that may be related to the thematic period as for example in the recent excavation in Contrada Castro (Corleone, Palermo) where a late archaic/classical hill-­top plateau was resettled from the late seventh century but with a more considerable occupation in the late eighth‒ ninth centuries (Castrorao Barba and others 2020). These three or four typo­logies seem to be the keystones of the late Byzantine defensive system of south-­eastern Sicily. During the second half of the seventh century, the Byzantine Empire developed a similar system in central and eastern Anatolia. It was based on the kataphygia, large enclosures located in inaccessible and isolated positions, intended as a refuge for the population, such as Pantalica and Monte Kassar (Kennedy and Haldon 2006, 84–97; Haldon and Brubaker 2011, 556–57; McMahon 2016). They were joined by a few fortified population centres, undefended villages and, where possible, rupestrian settlements. They would fit into a strategy reported in Byzantine military treatises such as the De Velitatione Bellica, composed in the tenth century, but which collects war practices from the previous two to three centuries, probably largely derived from experiences with defence in Anatolia. This strategy involved scattering military forces throughout the territory to provide an early warning system, prevent or contain attacks, and rescue people and goods in fortified centres that were rarely conquered or besieged for long periods. A similar defence system could therefore have been implemented also in late Byzantine Sicily, although the seventh and eighth century Islamic raids were few and the real limes was at sea, duly patrolled by the dromonorum stolus Siciliae (Prigent 2008; Cosentino 2004; 2018, 326). The structures of Byzantine defence systems, therefore, were placed in a rearwards position with respect to the military contact area and so could have been even less dense than they were in the Anatolian system. The continuity of coastal and inland settlements in the Megarian area and other Sicilian territories

is not in contrast with this model. As pointed out by Natalia Poulou (2019, 250) for the Aegean area, between the seventh and eighth centuries there was an increase in coastal settlements as a means of control on behalf of the State over the sea and sea trade. This defence system was integrated within the organization of the seventh‒ninth century Byzantine army. Although the Byzantine State continued to maintain a large army, some of the soldiers were distributed in the countryside of the thema and probably assigned lands for their livelihood. Therefore, the army was profoundly regionalized and ruralized, and also contributed fiscally (Haldon 1997, 244–51; Brandes and Haldon 2000, 150–51). In this organization, therefore, it was not necessary to maintain a widespread presence of centralized military structures to combat Islamic raids. Instead, there were enhanced military coordination centres for refuge and emergency management, according to a waiting strategy, holding on until reinforcements came from the main Byzantine centres or other regions.

Conclusive Remarks towards a Future Research Agenda [GC, ACB] We have tried to show how the construction of a critical mass of archaeo­logical evidence is still in progress, with several gaps remaining in the detailed definition of the specificities of the material and settlement dynamics of the Byzantine countryside. Despite this, we have tried to outline some important points that may represent the basis for a future research agenda on the archaeo­logy of Byzantine Sicily. The long continuity of occupation of many sites until the seventh‒eighth centuries, and onwards in some cases, is an evident characteristic of the Sicilian Byzantine landscape, but the research does not yet permit a qualitative characterization of the different settlement forms. In fact, Sicilian Byzantine archaeo­logy still lacks archaeo­logical excavation programmes capable of reconstructing the evolution of the villages over the long term and across the transformations that occurred between the early and late Byzantine periods. The data on the end of the villas, however, show profound changes, albeit in ‘topo­graphical’ continuity with the structures and functions of the late Roman aristocratic residences which, in the Byzantine period, became ‘something else’, probably centres with an agricultural function but in which the models of self-­representation of the typical elites of the fourth and fifth centuries are more evident. These changes could also have occurred in other types of rural sites that, unfortunately, we are less familiar

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with today, with the exception, for example, of certain secondary agglomerations, mansiones/stationes, such as Sofiana/Philosophiana in which settlement and also economic viability is documented even during the eighth‒ninth centuries (Vaccaro 2013b). Then, if the settlements remained in the same places, they could have undergone major organizational transformations. This is a clear research deficit on which it will be necessary to work in the coming years with in-­depth, intra-­site investigations. This research, of course, must have the ability to respond to or establish a bridge of dialogue with historical research. The recent in-­depth study on aspects relating to land ownership and management during the Byzantine age obliges archaeo­logical research to address and confront a common research field with historians. The transformations that occurred in the Sicilian countryside between the sixth and ninth centuries, in fact, are so profound that only broad and integrated research programmes will be able to yield comprehensive results in the coming decades. On the other hand, a slight trend of occupying hilltops had already been underway since the sixth century, but does not seem to have been linked to an organizational intervention by the State as much as to a redefinition of the estates and settlement patterns. From the institution of the theme of Sicily at the end of the seventh century, and with the advent of the first Muslim raids on the Sicilian coasts, it seems that a new order emerged in the Sicilian countryside. The integration of historical and archaeo­ logical data shows that the territory was defended by some fortifications. This phenomenon, how-

ever, is still far from being concretely borne out by archaeo­logical evidence; in fact, the material evidence of many Byzantine fortifications is still practically unknown (with some exceptions). In this context, the recent redefinition of the role of rupestrian settlements for the defence of Sicily in the ninth century has made it possible to provide a new reconstruction of the strategies implemented by the Byzantine State, whose role will still have to be investigated in relation to the other open and fortified settlements in the territory. A future research agenda will have to focus precisely on evaluating the archaeo­logical consistency of certain sites mentioned as Byzantine fortified settlements by the written sources concerning the Islamic conquest, as well as on exploring the many other sites that probably do not appear in written sources but which could be hiding interesting evidence of hilltop fortifications. Acknowledgements Angelo Castrorao Barba thanks the Spanish MINECO for support in this work within the research fellowship Juan de la Cierva-­Incorporación (IJCI-­2017–31494) at the CSIC, Escuela de Estudios Árabes (EEA) of Granada (Spain). During the last revision of this book, Angelo Castrorao Barba was supported by the PASIFIC fellowship (Project #260766 “IS_LANDAS Islamicate landscapes in Southern Andalusia and Western Sicily: patterns of change in settlements and rural communities between Late Antiquity and the Islamic age”) funded by Marie Skłodowska-­Curie Actions (H2020-­MSCA-­COFUND-­2018), hosted by Institute of Archaeo­logy and Ethno­logy/Centre for Late Antique and Early Medi­eval Studies (Warsaw/Wrocław, Poland) of the Polish Academy of Sciences.

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Gabriele Castiglia and Philippe Pergola

11. Shaping a Christian Empire Early Christianity in the Horn of Africa from Alexandria to Byzantium ABSTRACT This article focuses on the spread

and rise of Early Christianity in the Kingdom of Aksum, which developed mainly in the territories of present-­day Eritrea, Ethiopia, and Yemen, between the first and seventh centuries ad. At its earlier stages, Early Christianity had a direct link with the siege of Alexandria in Egypt: the patriarch Athanasius appointed the first bishop of Aksum, Frumentius, who — in the mid-­fourth century — converted the royal court, ruled by King Ezana. Nevertheless, the monumental impact of Christianity only became evident later on, with its heyday in the sixth century, in the background of the Byzantine-­Persian wars, when Justinian tried to extend his control on the Red Sea shores by signing an alliance with Aksum and the kingdom of Himyar, on the Arabian Peninsula.

KEYWORDS Early Christianity; Aksumite King­ dom; Himyar; Byzantium; Justinian

Introduction [PP] Excavations carried out since 2017 by the Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana (PIAC) in Adulis (present-­day Eritrea) have generated new and significant data and insights into the development of Early Christianity in the Aksumite kingdom. The main goal of this chapter, however, is not to present a detailed field report of the last archaeo­logical seasons — these can be found presented in other studies (Castiglia 2019; 2020; Castiglia and others 2020; 2021). Rather, the aim is to propose a general overview of how Early Christianity actually developed from the fourth to the sixth century, framing it in the context of Late Antiquity and comparing it with the most influential interpretations proposed so far by many scholars.

The history of the Aksumite kingdom is quite well known and has already been discussed in many studies and publications, so here it is just worth mentioning the most important geo­graphical and historical details. The kingdom, named after the capital city Aksum, developed in a vast area of the Horn of Africa, comprising most of modern-­day Ethiopia and Eritrea. Its history can be divided into different periods, recently updated by the new data highlighted in the excavations at Beta Samati in Ethiopia: Pre-­Aksumite (800–360  bc), Proto-­Aksumite (360–380 bc), Early Aksumite (380 bc–160 ad), Classic Aksumite (160–380 ad), Middle Aksumite (380–580 ad), Late Aksumite (580–825 ad) and Post Aksumite (825–900 ad) (Harrower and others 2019; for such a chrono­logy, see also Bard and others 2014) (Fig. 11.1). This paper is divided in two main chrono­logical blocks, the fourth–fifth centuries and the sixth century, and analyses both written and material sources. Nevertheless, we will start with an overview of the archaeo­logical data relevant to Early Christian churches within the kingdom — a fundamental starting point to framing key wider historical questions — in a strict and mutual dialogue with written sources. In the early stages (i.e. fourth–fifth centuries) was Christianity already widely rooted in the kingdom, or was it only from the sixth century onwards that it became particularly strong? Or did it manifest and spread in different ways and at different times in different areas of the kingdom? Are the written sources always reliable? Did Byzantium — particularly during the reign of Justinian — play a key role in the definitive foundation of Christianity in the Horn of Africa? What was the role of Himyar and of the Arabian Peninsula? Can we trace some affinities with contemporary Nubia?

Gabriele Castiglia ([email protected], [email protected]) Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana (Rome) Philippe Pergola ([email protected]) Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana (Rome); Université de Nice Sophia Antipolis Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 165–181 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130679

FHG

1 66 g a br i e l e ca s ti g l i a an d p h i l i p p e p e rg o l a

Figure 11.1. The main sites mentioned in the text (map by Gabriele Castiglia).

The Spread of Christian Architecture in the Kingdom and in Adulis: A Proto-­Byzantine Model? [GC] With limited exceptions, it is only from the sixth century onwards that we can testify to a significant increase in the number of Christian churches in the Aksumite kingdom, predominantly in major towns. The most important and well-­known examples come from key sites, most notably the capital city, Aksum. The interpretation of the earliest phases of the cathedral of Maryam Tsion in Aksum is not very clear, since it has seen a long and probably uninterrupted continuity of use; it is still today the most important place of worship in the whole of Ethiopia. Nevertheless, it has been hypothesized that the church’s origins may be rooted in the Middle Aksumite period (Phillipson 1997, 169–78). More significant archaeo­logical and architectural data come from the church of Arbaetu Enseisa, again in Aksum. It is located south of the hill of Beta Giyorgis, in a place known as Gangua Edaga. Already partially iden-

tified at the beginning of the twelfth century, it has been recently investigated by Tekle Hagos (2011). It features a 26 × 13 m building, which clearly follows the canonical Aksumite architectural model, built on the top of a massive podium, bearing a rectangular profile with alternated recesses. In its inner part, the entrance to the west is forerun by a narthex leading to the main hall, divided into three naves by two rows of pillars. In the eastern part, the presbytery area is characterized by a semi-­circular apse, sided by two παστοφόρια (square rooms). The strati­graphic sequence, along with the findings, has led Hagos to attribute a late sixth–early seventh century chrono­ logy to the church (Hagos 2011, 93). Recently, another very interesting context is that of Mifsas Baḥri (present day Ethiopia), which in all likelihood was another centre of a strong Late Aksumite Christian community (Gaudiello and Yule 2017). Another great church excavated by Francis Anfray in Matara, one of the most important towns of the kingdom, displays the same architecture and chrono­ logy. Located in the north-­eastern bounds of the city,

11. shapi ng a chri st i an empire 167

Figure 11.2. The great Christian Basilica in Matara (after Anfray 2012).

the church follows the typical Aksumite architectural configuration (Fig. 11.2). It stands in a densely settled quarter and it is characterized by the presence of a baptistery in an external room to the east of the apse (which suggests that it may had been the ecclesia episcopalis) (Anfray 2012, 27–29). Findings from one of the layers of another church, also in Matara, include crosses and rings for attaching candles (polycandela), undoubtedly within the proto-­Byzantine tradition (Anfray 2012, 26). Another important element relevant to the material impact of Christianity in urban spaces is the well-­known case of Yeha, where a former temple was converted into a church in the sixth century, with the addition of a baptistery in one of the corners of the inner cell and the further modification of some of the structures (Anfray 1997; Robin and de Maigret 1998). The case of Yeha stands so far as a unicum in the kingdom, bearing the only clear evidence of a conversion of a pre-­Christian building into a church. Unfortunately, the strati­graphic

sequence is not clear enough to understand whether the transformation occurred through purposeful destruction of the temple, or whether it occurred through the practical exploitation of an already-­ abandoned edifice. Again, we have the case of Argula, close to Makalle, in the Ethiopian Tigrè area, with a basilica standing on a high platform that David Walter Phillipson (2009, 49) attributed to a Late Aksumite chrono­logy, either to the late sixth century or perhaps even later. Without a doubt, the most important data relevant to the monumental impact of Christianity in the sixth century come from the recent excavations in Adulis, where three churches have been (re)unearthed (Fig. 11.3). A fourth century chrono­ logy has been suggested for the so-­called northern church (Massa 2017) but, so far, the markers supporting such a chrono­logy seem to be very weak and fuzzy. More reliable strati­graphic data come instead from two other churches, both excavated by PIAC

1 68 g a br i e l e ca s ti g l i a an d p h i l i p p e p e rg o l a

Figure 11.3. The location of the three churches of Adulis in the topo­graphy of the town (figure by Stefano Bertoldi and Gabriele Castiglia).

Figure 11.4. A. The eastern church of Adulis (after Castiglia 2019): white circles mark the sampling spots; B. the eastern church of Adulis (photogrammetry by S. Bertoldi): in red the sampling spots for Radiocarbon analyses C. radiocarbon table for the eastern church (analyses by Francesco Maspero, Centro Universitario di Datazioni e Archeometria Milano, Bicocca).

11. shapi ng a chri st i an empire 169

Figure 11.5. Photogrammetry of the ‘British’ church (figure by Stefano Bertoldi).

since 2017. The first is the so-­called ‘Eastern church’ (sector 4), from the most easterly part of the town. The lack, so far, of urban walls prevents us from understanding whether it can still be considered an urban church or, alternatively, a suburban structure (although its position suggests the former hypothesis is more likely). Again, this structure stands on a massive pedestal and follows the usual planimetric framework with one significant exception: the main hall is not articulated in three different naves, but is characterized by the presence of eight pillars, defining a circular central structure, clear evidence of the presence of a massive dome. A very important element for the chrono­logy of the church comes from a very well-­preserved, burned wooden board, used as a threshold in the main entrance, whose radiocarbon analysis has revealed a sixth–early seventh century date (calibration sigma 530–625 ad)1 (see Giostra 2017; Castiglia 2019; 2020) (Fig. 11.4). Extraordinary results have come from the central-­ eastern church, again in Adulis, also known as ‘The British Museum Church’. It was partially unearthed by a British mission in 1868 and surveyed in 2005 by David Peacock and Lucy Blue (2007); since 2018 it has been under investigation by PIAC. Located in the



1 The analyses have been realized by Centro Universitario Datazioni Milano Bicocca, under the supervision of Francesco Maspero.

central-­eastern part of the town, it is the largest church in Adulis, 30 metres long and almost 20 metres wide. It follows the typical Aksumite structure, standing on a massive pedestal of schist and basalt. The apse faces eastwards and it is flanked by two παστοφόρια (square rooms) — the purpose of one of them being to house the fons baptismalis; the main hall is divided into three naves by two rows of massive pillars and it has a wide narthex to the west (Fig. 11.5). In a second phase the general structure of the church was modified by the addition of a solea, which separates the presbytery from the hall, and a chapel in the south-­ western corner of the narthex. This room, due to the presence of a central square structure that was likely the base for an altar, can be interpreted as a chapel where the Christian community would leave offerings before entering the ‘proper’ church. In a third and later phase the church was deeply reconfigured, with the addition of two specular rooms in the lateral naves, and of a new structure made up of walls leaning on the external eastern side of the church. Considering the fact that these late additions were partially built by clearing massive collapses, and that the building technique used was less sophisticated and made up mainly of spolia when compared to the earlier structures, it is possible to hypothesize that in this phase the church was in a very bad condition. We should also not ignore the fact that by this point the building was likely no longer a church, particu-

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Figure 11.6. On top left, general plan of the ‘British’ church; top right and bottom: the main building phases of the ‘British’ church (figure by Gabriele Castiglia).

larly considering the fact that at least two Islamic burials are apparently contemporary to these new structures, both realized in abandonment layers in the central nave of the church (Fig. 11.6).2 So, what can be said about the chrono­logy and the function of this church? The British excavations during 1868 severely damaged most of the strati­ graphy, so there are very few layers of primary deposition remaining. However, there are still some important benchmarks. First of all, our excavations highlighted more than five hundred fragments of marble and alabaster, many of which were finely carved. The style and typo­logy of the decorations can be closely compared with analogous materials found in Yemen and across the Arabian Peninsula. This links to a wider artistic tradition that also has significant parallels with the Siro-­Byzantine tradition, all of which can be dated to the sixth–seventh centuries (see the study of M. Pola in Castiglia and others 2020; Castiglia and others 2021). The close link with present day Yemen is also confirmed by the finding of an alabaster slab with a carved pro

2 By considering the strati­graphic sequence, the burials may arguably be contemporary to the restorations, even though we are still waiting for the radiocarbon analysis in order to better frame their chrono­logy.

Figure 11.7. On top, alabaster slab with a Q in Late Sabaic, used as a production mark (photo by Gabriele Castiglia); bottom: evolution of the Q in Himyar (after Yule 2007).

duction seal, i.e. a Q in late Sabaic, typical of Himyar between the fourth and the sixth centuries ad (for a strict comparison, see Yule 2007, 36) (Fig. 11.7). Moreover, one of the few layers preserved in primary deposition (directly covering the pavement of the baptistery) bears a significant amount of pot-

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Figure 11.8. Selection of small finds and pottery from the layer topping the fons baptismalis of the ‘British’ church (photos by Gabriele Castiglia).

tery and small finds (such as many bronze rings, part of a chain to support a polycandelon, analogous to the case of Matara — see above) which can be well dated to the earliest stages of the Late Aksumite period, i.e. late sixth–seventh centuries (Fig. 11.8). Also, the plan of the basilica can be easily related to the Justinianic model, which is also typical of many churches in Jordan dating back to the sixth century (see Michel 2001). What about the function and the role of this church? From what we know so far, this is the biggest church in Adulis, and also stands out as the most

‘refined’ and ‘rich’ in terms of the architecture and the decorative apparatus. If we consider all of these aspects and the presence of the fons baptismalis, we can assume that this may have been the ecclesia episcopalis of the town. This is a church that underwent important reconfigurations over several centuries, especially during the second phase, where the introduction of a solea (to divide the presbytery from the main nave) and a chapel with an altar for offerings may be hints of changes and strengthening in the liturgical assets (Fig. 11.9).

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Figure 11.9. ‘British’ church (Adulis): A) Location of the chapel added in the second phase of the church; B) the chapel during the excavation; C) the chapel at the end of the excavation (figure by Gabriele Castiglia).

The Fourth and the Fifth Centuries: A Shadowy Panorama [GC] If we turn now our attention to the written and epi­graphic sources, they testify to a conversion to Christianity in the Horn of Africa and to the subsequent conversion of the royal court of Aksum in the fourth century. Rufinus of Aquileia, in fact, in his Historia Ecclesiastica recounted the tale of two brothers, Frumentius and Aedesius, who were heading back from the Indian Peninsula in the boat of their mentor, Meropius. Along the Red Sea route, the boat was attacked by pirates, who sent the two brothers to the court of Aksum as gifts. There, they were warmly welcomed, with Frumentius appointed as tutor of the young heir to the throne, Ezana. Once Ezana became king, Frumentius was set free and travelled to Alexandria in Egypt, where he met the

patriarch Athanasius, and told him that Christianity needed to expand in Αἰθιοπία (Ethiopia).3 In response, Athanasius designated Frumentius as first bishop of Aksum, and he then headed back in this new role. It is very likely that the return of Frumentius encouraged Ezana to embrace Christianity, as reflected in his inscriptions and coinage. It is in fact well known that Aksum was the only kingdom of Sub-­Saharan Africa which minted coins and that, before its conversion to Christianity, all the monetary issues depicted the effigies of the rulers topped by a disc and crescent (obviously a non-­Christian

3 Before the advent of Christianity, Αἰθιοπία was often used to indicate the Nubian areas, with no precise reference to the Aksumites (Voigt 2003; Marassini 2014, 19–21; 38–40). The very first attestation of such a meaning comes from the Greek text of a bilingual inscription by King Ezana (DAE, inscription 4). Outside the borders of Aksum, the first historian to use Αἰθιοπία to indicate the kingdom based in the Horn of Africa was Philostorgius in his Church History at the beginning of the fifth century (Rufinus, 3, 6, 43).

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Figure 11.10. The transition from ‘paganism’ to Christianity in the Aksumite coins: in the two last examples, it is possible to see how Ezana switched from the disc and the crescent to the cross, on the top of his effigy (re-­elaboration by Gabriele Castiglia, from Munro-­Hay 1984).

symbol), including the first coins of Ezana himself. After the return of Frumentius, Ezana started to mint coins which replaced the disc and crescent with crosses, a tradition that continued with subsequent kings (Hahn 1983, 113–80; Munro-­Hay 1984) (Fig. 11.10). The fact that Ezana had been the first king to convert to Christianity is also well attested by epi­graphy: in his earliest inscriptions, which recount the military campaigns against the Agwezat and Afat peoples, Ezana claims to be son of Mahrem (a God later assimilated into the Greek Ares), and also makes vows to other pre-­Christian deities (DAE, inscriptions 8–10, 18–28). In a later inscription in the Ge’ez language that celebrates his victory against the people of Noba, Ezana replaces all former allusions to pagan gods with references to the ‘Lord of Heaven’ (DAE, inscription 11). It has been argued that this expression may have nothing to do with a conversion to Christianity, but in 1969 the discovery by l’Institute Éthiopien d’Archéo­logie of a new inscription, this one in Greek, removed all doubt (Anfray and others 1970). In this new epi­graph, Ezana speaks in the

Figure 11.11. The Christian inscription of Ezana (re-­elaboration by Gabriele Castiglia, from Anfray, Caquot, and Nautin 1970).

first person about his great military victories and, at the very beginning claims: ‘ Ἐν τῆ πίστι τοῦ θ[εοῦ καὶ] τῆ δυνάμι τοῦ [πα]τρὸς καὶ υἰοῦ καὶ [ἀ]γί[ο]υ [π] νεύματος’ (In the faith of God and in the power of the father the son and the holy spirit) (Anfray and others 1970, 265) (Fig. 11.11). The reference to the Holy Trinity is irrefutable here and, moreover, in line 10 Ezana calls himself ‘δοῦλος χριστοῦ’ (servant of Christ) indicating that his conversion was fully realized. In 1971 Pierre Petrides (1971, 81–99) framed this passage in a very precise moment in history; he believed that Frumentius was nominated as bishop in 329–330 and that the royal court of Aksum would therefore have officially converted to Christianity no later than 333. About a century later, probably in the first decades of the fifth century, the Pseudo-­Palladius, in his Περὶ τῶν τῆς Ινδίας ἐνθῶν καὶ τῶν Βραγμάνων, recounts a ‘τοῦ μακαρίου Μωυσέως τοῦ ἐπισκόπου των Ἀδουλημνῶν’(The blessed Moses, bishop of the Adultans) (Palladius, De Gentibus Indiae, i.4). This is so far the first and only known mention of a bishop in Adulis. One of the most salient aspects of these events is that the conversion to Christianity marked a very strong tie with the church of Alexandria and with

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Egypt. One of the apocryphal Nicene pseudo-­canons stressed this link as a form of direct and authoritarian control by Alexandria.4 Despite this canon’s apocryphal status, as Munro-­Hay observed, it ‘was accepted in Ethiopia as the legal statement of the position of their church, and passed into Ge’ez Synodos, and into the Fetha Nagast, the Ethiopian legal code. Only in 1959 did Alexandria, at the Cairo Council for reform of the church, relinquish its direct jurisdiction over the Ethiopians, this being reduced to an honorary attachment’ (Munro-­Hay 1997). Therefore, what matters here is not so much that this canon may or may not have been historically reliable for the fifth century, but that the appointment of Frumentius by Athanasius may well have influenced the entire history of the Ethiopian Church. Moreover, most of the literature about the Late Antique Horn of Africa notes a process of a ‘second Christianization’ in the late fifth century, marked by the arrival of the so-­called Nine Saints (Gadla Pantalewon; Budge 1976; Ullendorff 1968; Sellassie 1972, 115–21; Munro-­Hay 1991, 207–08; Phillipson 1998, 148; Colin 2017, xxi, xlix–lvi). These would have been nine holy men who came to Aksum from different parts of the empire and inspired the definitive rise of Christianity in the area through the translation of the Bible into Ge’ez, and by the spread of monasticism (for the birth and development of monasticism in the area see Lusini 2020). Those who give full credit to the arrival of the Nine Saints stress the fact that, following the Council of Chalcedon, they would have escaped to Aksum where as Miaphysites they would have found a safe place to live and preach, protected by the Alexandrian Church (Munro-­Hay 2005). Nevertheless, the crucial point about these saints is not so much their provenance as their chrono­logy. The first reliable evidence for them dates back only to the thirteenth‒fourteenth centuries, from the gadlat, the Ethiopian lives of saints (for a summary see Bausi 2012). Scholars have nonetheless proposed different dates for these documents. In 2005, in a seminal paper, Stuart Munro-­Hay (2005, 141) claimed that ‘the sparse notes in the Ethiopian Synaxarium, a compilation of readings for each day of the liturgical year, were added to “Ethiopianize” the work at some time after the original Ge’ez translation. This was apparently prepared by a certain Abba Sem’on in the fourteenth century […] One must not forget, too, that these gadlat were “perpetually renewed” texts’. Important and analytical enquiries into the Nine Saints affair also come from the recent works of Antonella Brita (2007; 2010), who has finally 4 Sacrorum Conciliorum, col. 964.

shone a critical light on the historical reliability of these figures. The problem of reliability has also been underlined by Pierluigi Piovanelli in a review of Brita’s work (2014), where he stresses that ‘si l’on nous posait la question de la contribution positive apportée par les textes du cycle hagio­graphique des Neuf Saints à l’histoire de la christianisation du royaume d’Aksoum, nous serions forcés de répondre qu’ils n’apportent quasiment aucun élément concret susceptible d’être mis à contribution dans le but de reconstruire une telle histoire’. It seems quite evident, then, that the episode of the Nine Saints as far as it is known derives from writings dated many centuries after the actual events (if these events ever even took place). We believe, then, that the accounts about their arrival in Ethiopia should be linked to the desire of the Ethiopian Church to emphasize its independence and autonomy from the Church of Rome (and Alexandria?) in the fifteenth century by strengthening its own myths of origin. Whether or not this interpretation is reliable, we must acknowledge that the arrival of Nine Saints should no longer be used with a ‘regressive’ approach, which would be more damaging than beneficial to a correct process of historical reconstruction. Despite the sources that indicate that the process of Christianization was already underway from the first decades of the fourth century, the archaeo­logical record for this period — until the end of the fifth century, which was also almost barren of archaeo­logical data supporting a monumental Christianization — is unpromising, with few significant exceptions. David Walter Phillipson (2009) has argued that we have essentially no traces of church building in these phases, and we have already seen how the proposed fourth century chrono­logy for the northern church of Adulis is, so far, unreliable (Massa 2017). Very recently, again, the discovery of a church in Beta Samati, in present day Ethiopia, has been dated to the fourth century (Harrower and others 2019), a very important issue that we will discuss more in our final remarks. By going back for a moment to the written sources, Rufinus of Aquileia is, again, a valuable reference. In his Historia Ecclesiastica, when describing the first activities led by Frumentius as bishop, Rufinus depicts a scenario of widespread Christianity: ‘Quique cum episcopus perrexisset ad Indiam, tanta ei data esse a deo virtutum gratia dicitur, ut signa per eum apostolica fierent et infinitus numerous barbarorum converteretur ad fidem. Ex quo in Indiae partibus et populi Christianorum et ecclesiae factae sunt, et sacerdotium coepit’ (And when the bishop came to India, God gave him so much grace of virtue that the brought signs of the Apostles and an infinite amount of Barbarians was

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converted to faith. Since then, in the Indias, there were Christian people and Christian communities were established and he took the office of priesthood) (Rufino, Storia, i.10; Rufinus, 396). It may be that the expression ‘ecclesiae factae sunt’ refers to church construction, but it is important to exercise caution. Rufinus, in fact, uses the verb ‘construere’, not ‘facere’, when he speaks about the building of churches elsewhere in his work. If he had made a distinction between the two verbs, then we may hypothesize that this was intentional. In this case the word ‘facere’ could have meant ‘to create’ or ‘to establish’, while the word ‘ecclesiae’ could have been used to mean ‘communities’, as was very common (Cantino Wataghin 2014). Rufinus, then, was probably referring to the activity of Frumentius as an evangelizer and not as a ‘εὐεργέτης’. This hypothesis may be further reinforced by the very low number of churches known in these chrono­logies (so far, just one, i.e., Beta Samati), and it may well fit with the hypothesis advanced a few years ago by Sergew Hable Selassie (1972, 105), who suggested that in Aksum the processes of Christianization would have probably followed a completely different evolution from that which occurred in the Mediterranean, where Christianity began to spread among the lower classes, and only later was accepted among aristocrats and emperors. In Aksum, Christianity would initially have been a matter for the king and his court exclusively, and only subsequently would it have taken root among the majority of the population (Kaplan 1982; Phillipson 2009, 30). Additionally, if we look at the changes in funerary customs, the transition to Christianity still seems to be quite unclear. It is well known that the most important funerary markers for élite burials were the famous stelae (probably the most iconic symbols of the Aksumite civilization) and that their use essentially halted with the arrival of Christianity (Fattovich 1987; Phillipson 1994; 2010; Poissonier 2012). In fact, the top of the stelae often bore the same disc and crescent symbol found on the coinage. It is highly significant that, as far as we know, the very last king who built a stele was Ezana, although Munro-­Hay (1990) does point out that some of the stelae in Aksum may be dated to the late fourth century. Traces of funerary areas or structures within the Aksumite Empire are mostly concentrated in the capital city and are mostly of a monumental type. This means that we know very little about the funerary customs of most of the population (Bernand and others 1991). Moreover, most of these tombs are dated to pre-­Christian times and, with few exceptions, lack evident religious markers. One of these could be the monumental sepulchre known as the

Tomb of Gabra Masqal in Aksum, which has interior chambers decorated with many carved crosses (Bernand and others 1991). We may then assume that, so far, funerary archaeo­logy has given us little material evidence to help us understand the transition to Christianity, with the only exception of the stelae, whose discontinuance seems to be the only major difference with pre-­Christian times. It is likely that one of the missing links in this transition is the total lack of knowledge about structured and community funerary areas, without which it is still virtually impossible to perceive how the adoption of Christianity was received by the general population, rather than by the kings.

The Sixth Century: The Silk War and the Rise of Monumental Christianity [GC] Many consider the first decades of the sixth century as representing a turning point in Aksumite history, which began to be framed in a wider geo-­political picture. Against the backdrop of the Persian Wars, Aksum extended its control over the other side of the Red Sea, in the southern part of the Arabian Peninsula. In this context, it is worth first discussing the key figure of Cosmas Indicopleustes, a Syrian merchant, theo­logian, and geo­grapher, who lived in the sixth century and authored the well-­known Χριστιανικὴ τοπογραϕία (Christian Topo­graphy). Cosmas is important to modern scholars because he personally visited Aksum and Adulis, thus providing precious information relevant to the assets of the Aksumite kingdom in this period. In one of the images in his book, Cosmas offers a sketch of the area of Adulis in the sixth century, by documenting the location of the port of the town Gabazan and the funerary area of Samidi (Fig. 11.12) (on the reliability of Cosmas see Darley 2013, especially 109–25; on the images in the Χριστιανικὴ τοπογραϕία see Kominko 2013). He describes the area as ‘Πανταχοῦ ἐκκλησίαι χριστιανῶν εἰσι καὶ ἐπίσκοποι, μάρτυρες, μονάζοντες ἠσυχασταὶ διαπαντὸς ὄπη ἐστὶ κηρυττόμενον τὸ Εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ Χριστοῦ’ (Everywhere there are Christian churches, including bishops, martyrs, monastics; quietly everywhere the Gospel of Christ is being preached) (Cosm. Ind., topo­graphia christiana, 3, 66), portraying a region that was already fully Christianized. He was sent to Adulis by the king Ἐλλατζβάας (known also as Kaleb), who wanted him to copy an inscription known as Monumentum Adulitanum, carved in the so-­called ‘Throne of Adulis’ (Beeston 1980; Bowersock 2013), which recounted the conquests of an anonymous Aksumite king in the Arabian Peninsula. The intent of Ἐλλατζβάας was probably to take inspiration from

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Figure 11.12. A. The area of Adulis, from Cosma Insdicopleustes Χριστιανικὴ τοπογραϕία (after Wolska-­Conus 1968–1973); B. general view of Adulis (Gabriele Castiglia); C. the site of Gabazan (Gabriele Castiglia); D. the site of Samidi (Gabriele Castiglia).

this inscription to legitimize his forthcoming military campaigns against the south Arabian kingdom of Himyar, mostly located in present-­day Yemen and Saudi Arabia. One of the key moments in the history of Himyar was the choice to abandon polytheism in favour of Judaism (and the adoption of Sabaic as official language), a reform that can be seen in the epi­graphic evidence from the very first decades of the fourth century onwards (Gajda 2009, esp. 223–52; 2017; Robin 2012; 2015). Nevertheless, small Christian communities continued to exist; even though Himyar was continuing its expansion, by the beginning of the sixth century it came under the control of Aksum, with the Ethiopians putting a Christian king on its throne (Robin 2012, 282; Gajda 2009, esp. 111–52). A few years later the Massacre of Najran occurred, which was a turning point in the history of this area. The new Himyarite king, Yusuf As’ar Yath’ar (better known as Joseph), revolted against the Aksumite Protectorate, persecuting the small Christian enclaves in the southern part of the Arabic peninsula, mostly in the oasis of Najran, where many Christians were slaughtered. A key source for this event is the Μαρτύριον τοῦ αγίου Ἀρέθα καὶ τῶν σὺν αὐτῶ (Martyrdom of Saint Aretha and those with him), recently published by Marina

Detoraki and Joëlle Beaucamp (2007). According to the Μαρτύριον, the emperor Justin I, having heard of the massacre in Najran, pressed the Aksumite king, Ἐλλατζβάας (Kaleb), to intervene against the Himyarite rebel Yusuf (who in the Μαρτύριον is called Δουναάς). Nevertheless, according to Christian Julien Robin (2012, 283), this request by Justin is apocryphal, since ‘it does not agree with another source (i.e. Malalas) that insists on the absence of direct relations between Byzantium and Ethiopia’. It is indeed important to stress that, as Joëlle Beaucamp points out (2010), Ἐλλατζβάας would probably not have needed the incitement from Byzantium to intervene in Himyar affairs, since at that time it was a part of Aksum’s own territory. Nevertheless, these events need to be framed as part of the wider political and economic context. Again, this is not the place to specifically describe well-­known historical events, but it is nevertheless important to give a brief account of them, in order to better understand some of the final key points discussed in the conclusions of this paper. It is well known that in the sixth century the war between Byzantium and Persia was at one of its many peaks, with control of the silk trade as one of the crucial elements of the conflict (Greatrex 1998; Edwell and oth-

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ers 2015). In this context, the interest of Justinian in the control of the Red Sea route grew progressively; this interest can be traced by the embassies he sent both to Aksum and to Himyar. Until then the Persians had monopolized the silk trade, so the emperor wanted to convince the Aksumites and the Himyarites to help Byzantium in the Persian wars. This would have offered advantages to all parties, as recounted by Procopius (Procopius, Wars, i-­20): the Aksumites and the Himyarites would have gained direct control of the silk commerce, and Justinian would no longer have needed to buy silk from his Persian enemies. Indeed, we have three different sources regarding these discussions, each of which differs on some points: Procopius’s Wars, Malalas’s Chronicle, and Photios’s Bibliotheca. Yet by meticulously analysing the three of them, Irfan Shahîd (1960, 57‒73) has concluded that these three sources are actually accounts of the very same embassy. Recent reviews of this interpretation by Geoffrey Greatrex (1998) and Joëlle Beaucamp (2010) have concluded that, despite all Justinian’s efforts, in the end Byzantium did not actually manage to be fully involved in the Red Sea commercial and political affairs.

Final Remarks: Aksum, Byzantium and a New κοινὴ? [GC, PP] The historical and archaeo­logical data presented here allow us to frame the birth and development of Early Christianity in the Aksumite kingdom in the longue durée and in the wider context of Late Antiquity. Many scholars, in benchmark studies, have proposed a ‘top-­down’ model for the diffusion of Christianization in the area, by proposing a process that would have seen an initial adoption of the ‘new’ religion only by the royal court, with subsequent acceptance only later by the rest of the population (Sellassie 1972, 104; Kaplan 1982; Phillipson 2009, 30). This model was based mostly on the fact that the coins of Ezana — evidently minted under the consent of the king himself — were engraved with crosses (replacing the former disc and crescent), and also on the fact that there are essentially no churches known to date to the fourth and fifth centuries, as most of the Christian buildings of the kingdom are dated to the sixth century (for an overview, see Phillipson 2009, 29–50; Castiglia 2019). If this model seems to fit well with the general dataset known in the kingdom, the brand-­new discoveries carried out in Beta Samati, in present day Ethiopia, seem to partially overthrow this paradigm (Harrower and others 2019). The excavations in this town, in fact, have brought to light a new church, dated to the

fourth century by radiocarbon analyses (Harrower and others 2019). Another very interesting and important element comes from the material culture present in the strati­graphy of the church, where it is possible to document a mixture of heterogeneous elements, some of them fully pagan and some others fully Christian (Harrower and others 2019, 1543–1549). Archaeo­logists have therefore suggested that this aspect may be the reflection of a ‘complex blurring of secular trade and administration […], pagan rituals […] and early Christian traditions […]’ (Harrower and others 2019, 1549). Indeed, Beta Samati thus far represents an extraordinary exception in the wider frame of the Aksumite Kingdom where, as we have seen, the heyday of church construction was indeed reached in the sixth century, as is well demonstrated by archaeo­logy and by the recounts of Cosmas Indicopleustes. How, then, can these differences be explained? The geo­graphical position of Beta Samati may have played an important role. It is located in close proximity to Aksum (and therefore to the newly converted court and to the bishopric), something that may have resulted in an earlier need for gathering places like churches for the new Christian communities that were developing throughout the territory. In the Historia Ecclesiastica, Rufinus of Aquileia recounted that Frumentius, the very first bishop of Aksum, established such communities in the mid-­ fourth century (Rufinus, 396) and that a bishopric was established in Adulis from at least the fifth century onwards (Palladius, De Gentibus Indiae, 1–49). The geo­graphical location of Adulis may also have played an important role. It was the most important maritime outpost of the kingdom, taking advantage of a favourable position that linked it directly into a range of influences from the Mediterranean, the Indian Ocean, and the Arabic Peninsula. Could one hypothesize, then, that the massive kaleidoscope of contacts and connections that affected Adulis may have somehow delayed the definitive rise and construction of a material and monumental representation of the Christianization of the city? This may be a hypothesis, but we believe that, with regard to Adulis (and also other towns of the kingdom) a more plausible explanation may be traced to the political events that occurred in the sixth century, as briefly discussed above. The growing interest of Justinian’s Byzantium in the Red Sea, in relation to the control of the silk trade against the Persian enemies, resulted in direct and indirect contacts in the Arabian Peninsula with Himyar and with the Aksumites. It seems not to be coincidental that in Himyar and most of the towns of Αἰθιοπία, we can see a real boom in church con-

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struction during the sixth century, with an architecture that, although peculiar, directly derives from proto-­Byzantine models, recognizable in the coeval churches of Jordan which were also promoted under Justinian (see Michel 2001). Moreover, the origin of the material culture coming from the Aksumite churches is perfectly traceable to the sixth–seventh century κοινὴ typical of Byzantium, particularly regarding the typo­logy of marble decorations of the churches. With regard to this, however, the influence of Byzantium may not be considered as unilateral, since some of the alabaster and marble friezes found in Adulis are the reflection of cultural and stylistic filters of Himyarite art, typical of sixth–seventh century Yemen, with important influences also from Palestine (see M. Pola in Castiglia and others 2020; 2021). The rise of ‘a hybrid of Himyarite-­Aksumite origin inspired by distant Byzantine vestments’ has been also recently suggested by Paul Yule (2013) in his analysis of the ‘king relief ’ coming from Zafar, further confirming the strong cultural and artistic connections between both sides of the Red Sea. In addition to stylistic comparisons, the direct link with Yemen seems to be further confirmed by the presence of the alabaster slab bearing the Q in Late Sabaic as a production seal (see above). However, if the Aksumite church model — both in architecture and in decoration — was indeed filtered by Himyar, we must also consider that Himyar itself had a direct link with the court of Byzantium under Justinian. This is because the Arabian historian al-­A zraki (who was writing in the ninth century), recalled that Abraha, ruler of Yemen in the sixth century, had summoned Byzantine artisans to build a church in San’a, with particular attention paid to marble and mosaic specialists (Robin 2012, 295; Finster and Schmidt 1994). Moreover, the recent investigations on the Abba Gärima gospels (preserved in the monastery of Ǝnda Abba Gärima, near Adwa, in Tigray), which have been radiocarbon-­dated to the sixth–seventh centuries, also seem to confirm that this period was the heyday of the spread of Early Christianity in the area (for an overview on the Abba Gärima gospels see Bausi 2011 with biblio­graphy; McKenzie and Watson 2013).

When comparing this with nearby Nubia/Sudan, here too the first appearances of Christianization can be traced to the sixth and seventh centuries, although the archaeo­logical data and written sources here are relatively scarce (see Vantini 1970; 1984; Kirwan 1984; Edwards 2001). In both Aksum and Nubia, the affiliation with Egypt is undeniable. However, while in the Aksumite kingdom we may start to consider an earlier material inception of Christianity due to the data from Beta Samati, we cannot document such a phenomenon in Nubia so far. We have already noted the significance and longevity of the link between Αἰθιοπία and Egypt in the longue durée (again Munro-­ Hay 1997). Indeed, this link was fundamental for the early stages of the spread of Christianity into the Horn of Africa, with Frumentius as a direct ‘filiation’ of the patriarch of Alexandria. However, in the sixth century, Byzantium was the most influential player in the spread of Christianity, despite the doctrinal differences between the Miaphysite Aksumites and the Chalcedonian Byzantines. Although Byzantium never achieved full control over the Red Sea, it influenced a series of fundamental factors that contributed to the strengthening of a Christian empire in the Horn of Africa, the result of initially different cultures that then became a distinct and unique entity.

Acknowledgements We are very grateful to L’Œuvre d’Orient, the Congregazione per le Chiese Orientali and the ALIPH Foundation for their fundamental support for our project. We thank all the friends and colleagues of the Eritrean-­Italian mission in Adulis: Angelo Castiglioni, Serena Massa, Stefano Bertoldi, Marco Ciliberti, Božana Maletić, Matteo Pola, Susanna Bortolotto, Nelly Cattaneo, Matteo Delle Donne, Paolo Fusetti, Gabriella Giovannone, Paolo Lampugnani, Omar Larentis, Chiara Mandelli, Laura Masina, Paolo Visca and Gabriele Zanazzo. A special thanks goes out to the Commission for Culture and Sports of the Eritrean Government (in the person of Tsegai Medin), to the Northern Red Sea Regional Museum of Massaua (in the person of Yohannes Gebreyesus) and to their équipes. A great debt of gratitude goes to the Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana, mostly to Mons. Carlo Dell’Osso. This paper is dedicated to the beautiful Eritrean people of the villages of Afta, Foro, and Zula, in the surroundings of Adulis.

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Storia e leggenda dell’Etiopia tardoantica (Brescia: Paideia) Massa, Serena. 2017. ‘La prima chiesa di Adulis. Le origini della cristianità nel Corno d’Africa alla luce delle testimonianze archeo­logiche’, Rivista di Archeo­logia Cristiana, 93: 411–55 McKenzie, Judith S., and Francis Watson. 2016. The Garima Gospels: Early Illuminated Gospel Books from Ethiopia (Oxford: Manar al-­Athar) Michel, Anne. 2001. Les églises d’époque byzantine et Umayyade de la Jordanie (ve–viiie siècle), typo­logie architecturale et aménage­ ments liturgiques (Turnhout: Brepols) Munro-­Hay, Stuart. 1984. The Coinage of Aksum (New Delhi: Manohar) —— . 1990. ‘The Rise and Fall of Aksum: Chrono­logical Considerations’, Journal of Ethiopian Studies, 23: 47–53 —— . 1991. Aksum: an African Civilization of Late Antiquity (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press) —— . 1997. Ethiopia and Alexandria. 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181

Material Culture

Flavia Marani

12. The Circulation of Coinage in Two Byzantine Cities Rome and Naples in Comparison other entities that came into play in the Italian Early Middle Ages — the Lombards, Arabs, Franks, and the Papacy — remains the obligatory starting point for any numismatic investigation. Grierson illustrated several problematic aspects that awaited resolution, such as the attribution of the precious metal series to different mints and the volume of the issues, as well as identifying many other lines of research still relevant today. Over the decades, additional studies have contributed many important elements to our knowledge of the monetary history and circulation of coins in Byzantine territory, including through the publication of old discoveries and the incremental progress of excavations informing on coinage contexts of the sixth to ninth centuries.1 Recently, progress has been made in some geo­ graphic sectors that had remained completely lacking in reports of coin recoveries, such as the south-­central Italian territory roughly divided between Latium and Campania (Arslan 2006, 366, 376). Investigations conducted in this region have now brought out interesting aspects concerning the production and use of currency in the Byzantine period (Rovelli 2010; Marani 2020), which will be reviewed in more detail below.

ABSTRACT In recent years, archaeo­logical and

historical investigations have provided substantial insights into some of the darker corners of Byzantine economic history. One area of significant new knowledge concerns the production and circulation of coinage, where scholars have laid the basis for still further advances. The aim of this contribution is to develop an overview of the evolution of monetary circulation for the central-­southern Tyrrhenian regions in the period from the sixth to eighth centuries. To do this, the author reviews and reconsiders the monetary finds known from strati­ graphic contexts in Rome, Naples, and their surrounding territories, also adding the mass of data currently available from analyses of excavations at the port of Naples. The review pays particular attention to the diffuse presence of the smallest values of currency. Examined in relation with each other, the finds from the Roman and Neapolitan duchies provide an image of a substantial persistence of a monetary economy in urban contexts until the eighth century, even in spite of the disruptions caused by the Lombard occupation.

KEYWORDS Rome, Naples, coin finds, monetary

circulation, currency in south-­central Italy



Introduction The Study Framework

Exactly sixty years ago, in a lecture at the Centro italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo in Spoleto, Philip Grierson (1961, 37) confessed that it was ‘impossible to think of developing a good monetary history of Byzantine Italy’. Nevertheless, his accurate analysis of the monetization and economy of the Italian Byzantine territories, and of the relations with the

1 See Grierson 1961; 1982; Hendy 1985; Morrisson 2015; Prigent 2021. The fundamental works for attribution of the Byzantine series: Bellinger 1966; Grierson 1968; 1973 (in what follows, these three are cited respectively as DOC i, ii and iii) and 1982; Morrisson 1970; Hahn 1973; 1975; 1981 (cited as MIB I – iii), Hahn and Metlich 2000; 2009 (cited as MIBE i and ii). Important summaries on the production and circulation of coinage in Italy in: Bertino 1983; Arslan 2006; 2009; Arslan and Morrisson 2002; Callegher 2001; Prigent 2013; Rovelli 2001a; 2012a, and among recent publications: Baldi 2015 (Basilica of San Severo, harbour area of Classe), and Muresu 2018 (Sardinia). See also the more recent list of studies in Survey of Numismatic Research, 2008–2013, Papadopoulou 2015. Overviews of research in Morrisson and Prigent 2012, and Callegher 2019, with biblio­graphy.

Flavia Marani ([email protected]) Università degli Studi di Salerno Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 185–207 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130680

FHG

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The scope of the current contribution is, first of all, to provide an updated overview of the coin finds in Latium and Campania. In doing so, for the moment, we treat only superficially the questions of settlement forms, trade, and taxation that would have been a determinant in contributing to the presence or absence of these finds.2 The particular focus is the territories between Rome (and its hinterland) and Naples. The two cities are analysed individually from the point of view of finds of Byzantine coinage, and then compared. Looking at the finds, we are then able to discuss several aspects of particular interest emerging from the panorama. The first is the apparent widespread use of coinage, and consequently its signifi­ cance in the economy of the centres administered by the Byzantine authority. The context appears to be one where, for everyday monetary use, it was still possible to rely — among other possibilities — on a significant quantity of small-­denomination coinage, both newly minted and ‘old’. This appears to be true, as we shall see, in the cities and, for a certain time, also in the smaller centres. Observing this, the paper then compares the two larger cities in terms of the circulation of coinage, while not neglecting a substantial difference: Rome had a continuous tradition of coinage and an active mint, while Naples regained this prerogative only in the second half of the seventh century. On the basis of the new data available, the study therefore proposes a reconsideration of previous hypotheses propounding the contraction of the lowest levels of exchange. This new research perspective concerns, in fact, the continuation in use of small denominations in bronze, but also investigates the relationships between urban and rural contexts.3 The considerations that follow are mainly based on coin finds, both single and in association. The single finds are accidentally lost coins, usually of small denomination and of limited purchasing power. For the period under consideration, these finds are particularly abundant. Hoards, on the other hand, tell of the deliberate accumulation and concealment of coins, whether in base or precious metal. Under certain circumstances — including inflationary phenomena, war or other catastrophes — hoards could be hidden in large numbers and never recovered. The two types of finds are thus the result of physically

2 For an updated biblio­graphy: Cosentino 2015, 238–39, n. 1. 3 Morrisson 2012 and Rovelli 2015a. Concerning the phenomenon of low denominations in bronze and its geo­graphic extension, also beyond the Byzantine world, see, for example: Moorhead 2013 (Albania); Rovelli 2016 (Italy); Pliego 2020 (Iberian Peninsula and Balearic Islands).

and conceptually distinct actions. Both contribute, in different ways, to the reconstruction of the use and circulation of money.4 In order to understand the higher levels of exchange, however, the contribution of hoards is of course crucial. As a preliminary it must be noted that although the availability of data is still improving as more recoveries are made from strati­graphic contexts, the panorama of monetary aspects of the times of Byzantine domination still becomes more difficult to make out subsequent to the seventh century. Historical Background

Urban centres played a particularly important role in the administration and management of Byzantine Italy, in particular after the occupation of large sectors of the Peninsula by the Lombards, beginning in 568 (Zanini 1998; 2010; Consentino and Zanini 2021). In the south-­central Tyrrhenian area, the two most important administrative districts were headed by Rome and Naples, both of which were the seats of mints. Despite the crises of urban, political, and economic structures, Rome remained the object of constant attention on the part of the imperial hierarchies and ultimately the Church (Krautheimer 1981, 77–141; Augenti 1999; Delogu 2001; Marazzi 2001, 41–49). Some sectors of the central portion of the city experienced sharp reduction in population density — collapses, abandonments, dumps, and fills are documented from the sixth century onwards — or changes in the purpose of the use of the spaces. For others, the strong symbolic value of living in certain sectors of Rome favoured and preserved occupation, including in monumental forms (Augenti 1996). The Palatine Hill continued as the imperial ‘domicile’ even after Rome had lost the status of capital. The spaces of the Domus Augustana may have been discontinuously occupied, but the frequentation by members of the Byzantine administration up to the eighth century is confirmed by the recovery of a seal of the exarch Paul (723–726) (Augenti 1996, 48, 130). Similarly, the complex of the House of the Vestals seems to have been transformed into a residence for functionaries of the imperial court at a very early date. In the Roman Forum, the seventh century began with the dedication of an honorary column to the Emperor Phocas on the part of the



4 Casey and Reece 1974; Casey 1986; Clarke and Schia 1989. Concerning hoarding, see for example Blanchet 1936; Delmaire 1995; Rovelli 2004.

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The archaeo­logical record of Neapolis shows all the signs of the demo­graphic and other regressive processes common to centres surviving the fall of the Roman Empire, such as the plundering of classical buildings, raising of floor levels, and the ruralization of the urban habitat. Yet the record also provides indicators of vitality: the use of economic resources to erect churches, restore walls, and strengthen the defences of the city, and the coastal castra of Cuma and Miseno. In addition, the arrival of long-­distance goods continued without major interruption at least until the ninth century (Arthur and Patterson 1994; Arthur 1995; 2002; Zanini 1998, 275–76; Savino 2005, 222–30; De Rossi 2011; Marazzi 2021). For the period under examination, the information available on the two cities in terms of economic indicators, specifically monetary finds and ceramics, is unequal. Over the past thirty years Rome has enjoyed more attention. In contrast, although research in progress has improved the situation, for Naples there are still relatively few published archaeo­logical contexts. Allowing for the imbalance in quantity and quality, the comparative examination of the data for the two centres can still contribute useful elements towards the portrayal of monetary circulation in the duchies of the two cities. Even in the post-­R oman era, the two cities and their respective territories maintained relations. The connective fabric would have included the network of former Roman roads, still efficient in its main parts. The validity of these routes is demonstrated by the expedition of Constans II, who probably travelled with a substantial army along the via Domiziana and via Appia, from Naples to Rome, in the year 663. In addition to the road network there were also marine routes, focused on the harbours of Portus, Terracina, Gaeta, Miseno, and Naples.7

exarch Smaragdus (608), but at the same time the piazza and imperial fora were transformed. Antique public buildings were often occupied by workshops and shops, or converted to other uses: the Templum Pacis, for example, had been Christianized as the church of Saints Cosmas and Damianus; the atrium of the Domitian palace had been consecrated as the church of Santa Maria Antiqua and the Curia Iulia was transformed into the church of Saint Hadrian.5 Rome and its territories can therefore serve as a privileged point of observation,6 due also to the sheer number of investigations of archaeo­logical strata pertinent to these phases. These have yielded a significant monetary sample that can provide solid comparison with other contexts. In Naples, recent archaeo­logical campaigns spurred on by the construction of the underground metro have revealed a substantial occupation phase dating to Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, thus providing an interesting comparison with the the case of Rome. The city of Naples, although in Roman times not a particularly important centre, gained administrative and economic importance in the fifth century, following the decline of Puteoli (Pozzuoli) and especially after the Byzantine reconquest. Equipped with walls — restored by Valentinian III and extended by Narses to include the port — the city was a strategic centrepiece in the Gothic-­Byzantine conflict, and also withstood the siege of the Lombards (581). Its importance lay in part in the presence of the port, offering an essential commercial and military connection for a territory otherwise surrounded by the Lombards, and bestowing upon the city a directional role more important than that of Rome itself (Zanini 1998, 141–45, 272–76; Arthur 2002, 10–16; Marazzi 2021, 405–10). In terms of the subject of the current study, the ‘particularism’ of the small Neapolitan dukedom (Arthur 1995) is expressed in the ex-­novo opening of the mint in the second half of the seventh century, almost ten centuries after the closure of the mint of the ancient city of Neapolis (Naples) (Taliercio Mensitieri 1986). Monetary production began in three metals, and continued beyond the time of the Byzantine dukedom, although with extended interruptions.





5 For in-­depth studies and biblio­graphy: Krautheimer 1981; Bavant 1989; Arena and others 2001; Vendittelli and Paroli 2004; Meneghini and Santangeli Valenzani 2004; Serlorenzi 2016; Spera 2016. 6 Molinari 2021. ‘Roman duchy’ is used to indicate the territory around the city of Rome, although such termino­logy only appears in sources beginning in the later seventh century (Cosentino 2008, 22–24).

The Monetary System

We can begin with a brief review of the monetary situation encountered by Justinian I at the time of the Byzantine reconquest. The sophisticated monetary system created by Theodoric and his successors was the natural continuation of the late-­Roman trimetallic regime instituted by Diocletian and Constantine, and remained in force in the pars Orientis after the collapse of the Western Empire,8 with the important exception of the presence of silver currency.



7 Zanini 1998, 160–63. See Del Ferro 2020, for references to road networks, harbours and defensive installations in the southern part of the Duchy of Rome, especially 85–93. 8 In brief, on the monetary system of late Antiquity, with biblio­ graphies: Hendy 1985, 371–98; Grierson and Blackburn 1986, 6–12

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The diffusion of small fractions of silver was in fact a peculiarity in the monetary system of the Ostrogothic kingdom (and an unequivocal indication of their frequent use in trade),9 whereas in the prior two centuries the minting of silver issues is rarely documented and seems sporadic and limited to celebratory circumstances.10 The Ostrogothic rulers therefore carried on minting in gold, on the delegation and in the name of the Eastern Emperor, but flanked this with extensive issues of silver coins, bearing the monogram or full name of the sovereign on the reverse. On the bronze, the Ostrogoths mani­fested their autonomy, striking currency in their own name and in different values, from the recently introduced follis of 40 nummi, to pieces of 20, 10, 5, and 1 nummus. The essential lines of this system, in force under the Ostrogothic kingdom, then continued in the new system established in Byzantine Italy. During the transitional decades of the Gothic-­ Byzantine war (535–553)11 control of cities and territories alternated between the belligerents, both of whom continued minting all values in the three metals. This activity would have functioned in part for the purposes of supplying the armies. The mints active in the fifth century, both the palatine of Ravenna and publica of Rome, worked without interruption under Ostrogothic and Byzantine administration, minting in all three metals. Contrarily, at Milan, minting stopped in 537, while at Ticinum (Pavia) the production of coins had been halted, but resumed when the city assumed the role of defensive bulwark as the situation of the Ostrogoths worsened, and then passed almost immediately to the Lombards (Grierson and Mays 1992, 63–66; RIC x, 30–34; Arslan 2011, 367–86). The simultaneous activity of the various issuing centres, in addition to the possible use of comi­ tatensian mints in the years of the Greek-­Gothic

(hereinafter MEC I); Grierson and Mays 1992, 3–90; Kent 1994, 3–41 (hereinafter RIC x), with introductions to the coinages of the emperors of the years 395–491, at 63–235; Harl 1996, 158–80. 9 Ostrogothic fractions of silver are found mainly in Tuscia and north-­eastern Italy; for an overview see the summary in Asolati 2013, 275–79, 281–82; Rovelli 2015a, 149–51. 10 Silver was instead widely used for missoria and donativa (Delmaire 1989, 471–94; Baratte 2003) and could also be exchanged with monetary function, by weight (MEC I, 9, 96–97; Grierson and Mays 1992, 30, 35–39). The only substantial attestations of silver coins are from Brittania, where these were rapidly secreted at the beginning of the fifth century, and northern Europe (a review in Arslan and Morrisson 2002, 1284–87). 11 On the structure of coinage of the Goths: MEC I, 24–28; Arslan 2004; 2011, 367–86; Metlich 2004.

conflict,12 and the absence (or ambiguity) of the distinctive marks of each mint, make the chrono­logy and attribution of many series difficult. The Goth-­Byzantine conflict also brought in coinage issued beyond Italy. For example, the small bronze coins minted by the Vandals in North Africa, well documented in Sicily, Sardinia, Latium, and Campania, can be considered a legacy of the movement of armies (Morrisson 2003). The Byzantine army stationed in Italy carried and/or was provisioned with Constantinopolitan coin. Of this influx of gold, partly dispersed and partly destined to be melted for the minting of new coinage, very little archaeo­logical evidence remains. Probably to be interpreted from this point of view is the hoard found in Punta Scifo (Crotone), consisting of a total of 103 solidi and tremisses minted at Constantinople from the reign of Theodosius II to Justinian I, convincingly traceable to the first Byzantine conquest of Bruttium (536–540) (Arslan 2000; Ruga 2010), and the similar one — but only twelve solidi — from Castellana Sicula in Sicily (RIC x, xciii). The last months of the conflict would also be reflected in the concealment of hoards consisting essentially of Ostrogothic money associated with a still significant share of late Roman coin, a small percentage of Vandal exemplars, and a discrete presence of Byzantine coinage, including the first series of Justinian I with a cross between the alfa and omega, coined in the reconquered mint of Rome (552). The majority of these hoards, sometimes consisting of thousands of pieces, are concentrated in the territory between Latium and Campania.13 This describes the monetary substratum, onto which was grafted the production and circulation of Byzantine coinage in Italy. The fundamental aspects are: the minting of gold coinage (essentially the solidus and tremissis), which remains remarkably stable until the beginning of the eighth century; the production of silver fractions (not minted in the East), whose role in the economy seems to have become more significant towards the early Middle Ages; the continuation of a complex system of bronze nominals, which tends to be simplified to the 20 nummi piece at the end of the seventh century.14 As to the sources of these materials, minting continued in the Byzantine era first at Ravenna and Rome, and soon thereafter with the addition of a Sicilian mint. With the progressive fragmentation that followed the arrival of the Lombards and the Arabs, the need

12 Grierson 1961, with further comment by Arslan 2011. 13 Among the most recent reports: Marani 2017a and Asolati 2019. 14 See studies cited in n. 1.

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emerged for an expansion in the network of imperial mints, capable of supplying strategically important territories. This led to the addition of Naples and then the translocation of the mint of Carthage to Sardinia (Prigent 2021).

Coin Circulation in the Duchy of Rome: An Update The City (Sixth–Seventh Centuries)

The vitality of Byzantine Rome as a producing and consuming city was argued with all due data as early as 20 years ago, in two lectures given at Spoleto by Alessia Rovelli (2001a) and Ermanno Arslan and Cécile Morrisson (2002), disproving the image of an urban centre closed in on itself and economically static. This perception, which among other things seemed strengthened by the data on imported pottery, had been revealed as erroneous in the light of the research conducted in the important context of the exedra of the Crypta Balbi. A great mass of material, discarded without selection at the end of the seventh century, perhaps following a flood of the Tiber, had shown the variegated origins of the goods reaching an important Roman monastery, that of San Lorenzo in Pallacinis, including North Africa, the Aegean, Syria-­Palestine, Sicily, and south Italy. Simultaneously, the materials evidenced the vitality of urban and regional ceramic production, as well as offering a surprising insight into the workshops producing sumptuary objects destined for both urban and more distant markets. This discovery provided a new point of observation for the studies of subsequent years, concerning not only the transport containers, merchandise and production, but also regarding diplomatic relations (the deposit yielded eleven seals), and the coinage used in transactions of different levels.15 As is known, among the 410 monetary finds, forty per cent of those documented consist of bronze coins minted between the second half of the fourth and the fifth‒sixth centuries. On the basis of these numbers, it became possible to recognize the prolonged life of late Roman bronze.16 The deposits also included all the bronze productions of the Byzantine mint of Rome, from the most widespread issues of the sixth 15 Rovelli 1989; Arena and others 2001; Saguì 2002 discusses the entire context in full. 16 Saguì and Rovelli 1998. A history examined in various perspectives at the international congress Actes du colloque “Les trouvailles de monnaies romaines en contexte médiéval” (Bompaire and others 2016), also with biblio­graphy.

century to those of Phocas, Heraclius (more than fifty specimens), Constans II, and Constantine IV. The examples minted under Heraclius and Constans II also include diverse small specimens in silver. A more surprising discovery was the presence of three solidi of Constans II, Constantine IV, and the first reign of Justinian II, all of these probably explained by the dynamics of deposit formation. The picture was further enriched by the presence of specimens from ‘foreign’ mints: Carthage, Syracuse, and Constantinople (Saguì and Rovelli 1998, 190–93; Rovelli 2001a, 827–28; Rovelli 2001b). The upper level, deposited a few decades later, at the beginning of the eighth century, revealed a different context: on the one hand a contraction in the distance of importations of foodstuffs and pottery reaching the site, and a general impoverishment (luxury products are absent); on the other hand, a still dynamic monetary circulation, represented by 270 coin finds, many datable to between the seventh and the eighth centuries. In particular, the recovery of more than 130 anonymous specimens of quadrangular form,17 strongly documents the continuity of minting in bronze, at Rome, up to the 720s ‒ 740s, and therefore the overall vitality of ordinary commerce (Rovelli 2001a, 834–36; Rovelli 2001c). In light of these data, re-­examining the sporadic findings of Byzantine coin from the Confession of St Peter (Serafini 1951, p. 232) and from the Roman Forum and the surrounding areas (now in the Palatine Antiquarium), or deriving from excavations of the nearby complex of the Schola Praeconum (Bricchi Dondero 1950; Reece 1982, 126–27, 132; Whitehouse and others 1985, 174–75), can no longer be considered representative of monetary circulation in Byzantine Rome (Rovelli 2001a, 824–25; Arslan and Morrisson 2002, 1266–68), particularly if we consider the broad gaps in the strati­graphy of the Forum caused by the excavations carried out during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Without doubt, the ‘patchwork’ form of occupation, with inhabited spaces and their contiguous ruralized areas and cemeteries, as well as investigations that were not always aimed at systematically documenting the centuries in question, requires the cautious evaluation of the findings (Fig. 12.1). Although substantial parts of the sixth century and the subsequent topo­graphy of the Forum are documented, many gaps remain. The monetary discoveries of this urban sector follow in similar pattern and reflect the discontinuous occupation of the spaces in the Antique era. The investigations con 17 Rovelli 1989, 77–85 for the interpretation of these coins.

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Figure 12.1. Rome. Localities of coin finds from strati­graphic contexts: (1) Crypta Balbi; (2) Roman Forum; (3) Schola Praeconum; (4) Palatine Hill, eastern and north-­eastern slopes; (5) valley of the Coliseum; (6) Church of Santa Maria Antiqua; (7) Temple of Saturn and Basilica Julia; (8) Basilica Emilia; (9) Farnesian Bastion; (10) Vigna Barberini; (11) Temple of the Magna Mater; (12) Domus Tiberiana; (13) Porticus of Livia; (14) San Lorenzo in Damaso; (15) via Marmorata; (16) Aventine Hill; (17) Caput Africae and Basilica Hilariana; (18) domus between the Quirinale and Pincio; (19) traffic route, south side of the porticus Minucia; (20) Athenaeum; (21) Lateran area (Original map by Grande and Scagnetti 2005; revised by author).

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ducted along the eastern and north-­eastern slopes the higher values, folles, half folles and decanummi,20 of the Palatine Hill, revealing an extremely long but above all by pentanummi, a coin of small size but and uninterrupted occupation, then show a general much more visible than the minimi to the eyes of abandonment of the area over the course of the sixth excavators, and more readable for the numismatist. century. Here, among the several hundred coins perParticularly with regard to the pentanummi (MIBE tinent to the post-­Classical phases, with abundant i, 246–47; MIBE ii, 84), the density of recoveries in material from the fourth and fifth centuries, the excaRome and the surrounding territories21 — but, as vations have returned only one follis and four pentwe will see, also extending to northern Campania anummi of Justinian I and Justinian II,18 but also an and in the city of Naples — leaves no further doubt exceptional tremissis of the first reign of Justinian II concerning the attribution to the mint of Rome.22 (Buttrey 2014). A few hundred metres distant, in the It is possible that the nummus with legend CN or valley of the Coliseum, two folles (Anastasius and NϽ (MIBE ii, 212) was also coined at Rome, but the Justinian I) and two pentanummi ( Justinian I and data are still weak, currently without knowledge of Justinian II) were recovered (Molinari 1995). The exemplars from the urban area itself (Marani 2020, documentation of Giacomo Boni on the excava71–74). The recent recovery of a hoard deposited tions of the nearby church of Santa Maria Antiqua towards the end of the Greek-­Gothic war would perregisters three coins of Justinian I — the metal is mit assignment to Justinian I (Asolati 2019). not noted, but this too could have been bronze — With few exceptions, essentially referring to the found under a column of the peristyle (Paribeni coin arriving in Italy during the course of the Gothic-­ 2011). Excavations directed by Gabriella Maetzke Greek conflict, the vast majority of these findings behind the Temple of Saturn documented a context pertain to the issues of the Rome mint, which had begun to work for the Byzantines in 539, and after dateable to the era of Justin II,19 and some other isolated discoveries pertinent to a later occupation of the short-­lived occupation of the Urbe under the the Basilica Emilia, among which were twenty-­t wo Ostrogoths of Baduila, resumed in 552. Byzantine specimens from the sixth‒seventh centuThis list, certainly not complete but without a ries and a silver coin of Pope Gregory III (Maetzke doubt representative of the complex reality of the 1991, 85 n. 39). From the Basilica Julia, four more half Urbe, permits the delineation of a dense mesh of folles from the end of the sixth century are noted documentary attestations that until a few years ago (Molinari 2015, 243). were not even suspected. In fact, from each localSome recently investigated sectors of the Palatine ity, we have limited ourselves to enumerating the Hill return a pattern in line with what has already Byzantine emissions necessary for framing the culbeen described. An exemplar of Justin I had been tural and monetary-­economic contexts within which sealed under the collapse of a space of the Farnesian the material was used and then lost. In doing so, we Bastion (Augenti 1996, 134, card 27). On the Vigna have hardly mentioned the substantial presence Barberini, a sixth century archaeo­logical context of late-­R oman coinage found in association with yielded two examples of Justinian I, specifically a the Byzantine coin, and clearly circulating in tanminimus of the Carthage mint and a decanummus dem with it. minted in Rome (Rizzo and others 2004, 89–90). From an area of the Temple of the Magna Mater come three half folles of Mauritius Tiberius (Coletti 2018). A fill of material formed at the beginning of 20 For example, a follis of Justinian I, from the necropolis of the Porticus of Livia (Panella 2001, 615), a decanummus from the seventh century in a space in the north-­western San Lorenzo in Damaso (Munzi 2009), and one from the sector of the Domus Tiberiana yielded another investigations in via Marmorata (Pardi 2011); a half follis of Justinian minimus from Carthage and a half follis Justin II found at the Basilica Hilariana (Rovelli 2013a) and one of Heraclius and Heraclius Constantine (Rizzo and on the Aventine, together with a decanummus of Tiberius II (Fontana and others 2004, 562–65). others 2004, 119–25). Broadening the view to the finds from the rest 21 Other than the recoveries from Crypta Balbi and the sites just noted: pentanummi with Latin and Greek numeral of Justinian I of the city, the sixth century is well represented by and Justin II, the latter attested preponderant, are documented in 18 The exemplar comes from a seventeenth century ‘quarrying’ pit (Acknowledgement to Giacomo Pardini for this report). 19 Maetzke 1991, 86, n. 42; Molinari 2004: this may have been the contents of a lost purse, from which the most recent pieces were of Justinian I, coined at Carthage and Rome, and five pentanummi and a half follis of Justin II, all from the Rome mint.

diverse exemplars from vicus Caput Africae (Munzi 1997) and the Basilica Hilariana (Rovelli 2013a), but also from a domus to the east of the via Lata, between the Quirinale and Pincio (Marani 2017b), from the early medi­eval renovation of the Church of San Lorenzo in Damaso (Munzi 2009), from the balneum of the Arvales (Brenot 1987), and from the Catacomb of San Callisto (Molinari 2015, 243). 22 A review in Marani 2020, 31–32, in particular n. 73.

191

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Figure 12.2. Map of the findings of minimi of the fifth–sixth centuries and Byzantine bronze coins between the sixth–early seventh centuries in the interior of southern Latium (map by author, after Marani 2020).

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Assessment of the dimensions of the bronze monetary stock from the second half of the sixth century and the beginning of the seventh requires inclusion of the substantial availability of coinage of very small form (so-­called minimi), minted between end of the fifth and middle of the sixth century by both the Ostrogoths and by the Byzantine authority in reconquered Rome, and diffused at the lowest levels of exchange. This concerns exemplars that in most cases are illegible or with only faint die traces, and have thus been overlooked by studies until recent years, but which are now emerging as a significant indicator of the persistence of a monetary economy with functionality including very small transactions. For example, the levels of a shop facing an alley behind the exedra of the theatrum Balbi, with activity dated to between the end of the sixth and the first years of the seventh century, have yielded several hundred minimi lost in the course of daily sales transactions, and associated with some multiples of 5, 10 and 20 nummi. A similar panorama of recoveries has also emerged from the basilica Hilariana (Rovelli 2013a; 2013b; 2016, 61–63). The Territory (Sixth-­Seventh Centuries)

The contribution of the Rome mint is also substantial beyond the walls, at the current moment revealing a distributional context of finds integrating with the urban one, and indicating frequent and widespread use of the monetary instrument at all levels of exchange. This can be seen in the immediate suburbs,23 as well as in nerve centres such as Ostia and Portus.24 Extending further from the city, the persistence of settlement forms seems to be indicated by the presence of imported pottery, and precisely by the attestation of Byzantine bronze coinage,25 at least until the third quarter of the sixth century, as recently also evidenced for the territory south of Rome traversed by the via Latina and via Labicana, where the coins recovered in ancient villas, rural settlements, churches and cemeteries are above all

23 This is the case of the find from the Catacomb of San Callisto, on the via Appia, from which sixty-­seven Byzantine exemplars are documented (Molinari 2015). 24 Spagnoli 2013 with biblio­graphy. 25 For the areas north and east of Rome the recoveries are still scattered: a pentanummus from the Mura di Santo Stefano at Anguillara (Rovelli 2009), one from Farfa (Rovelli 2000, 411), and one from the Osteria dell’Osa (Molinari 1992); from the site of the Mola di Monte Gelato there are a nummus and two multiples (20 and 40 nummi) struck at Carthage in the name of Justinian I (Hobbs 1997).

minimi, pentanummi and decanummi (Marani 2020, pp. 298–01) (Fig. 12.2). Given its diffusion, the discussion to this point has been monopolized by bronze coinage. But southern Latium has also returned an interesting panorama concerning findings of gold coin, attested in hoards but also in isolated finds, and predominantly pertaining to the issues of Justinian I (Marani 2020, 302–03). Two tremisses of Justin II come from a hoard generically noted as ‘from lower Latium, which contained sixty fractions of silver in the names of Justinian I and Justin II, as well as numerous pentanummi (Picozzi 1972). A hoard consisting of thirteen gold exemplars is known from the northeast, in the Reatine, with the latest issues bearing the name of Justinian I (Arslan 2005, no. 2950). The situation seems to change radically over the seventh century, which offers much less frequent finds. At greater distance from the city, the inflow of coins from the Rome mint very clearly drops off, a fact possibly partly explained by the progressive gain of Byzantine territories by the Lombards. Previous scholars have justly stressed the connection between the placement of religious or economic administrative centres in the territory and the findings of coinage (Patterson and Rovelli 2004, 280). Concerning the most precious metals, a gold piece of Heraclius is reported from the Catacomb of Santa Cristina at Bolsena (Arslan 2005, no. 2864), while from Bassano Romano a solidus of Constantine IV, and a silver fraction of Tiberius II from Sutri are attested (Arslan 2005, cards 2855, 3280). From Centumcellae, on the coast, comes a half follis of Heraclius and Constantine Heraclius, minted at Rome (Arslan 2005, no 2883). Again in proximity to the city, along the via Cornelia, two finds are recorded from the site of Santa Rufina, residence of the bishops of Silva Candida: a half follis of Heraclius and Constantine Heraclius, and one of Constantine IV, both struck in Rome (Ward-­Perkins 1991, 255). Finally, in the territory of Ciampino, there are recoveries of a silver fraction of Emperor Phocas and a half follis of Heraclius (Lanchi 2014). Overall, the interior of southern Latium, distant from the Byzantine garrisons of Gaeta and Terracina, is poor in finds: the sole reports are a half follis of Phocas from the settlement of Piano della Civita di Artena, one of Heraclius from the cemetery of Casa Ripi (Colleferro), and another half follis datable to the seventh century from Tusculum (Marani 2020, 304). Notably, from nearby Artena there is also a hoard of four solidi of Constans II, dated 659 (Brouillard and others 2012).

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From the Seventh to the Mid-­Eighth Centuries

The recoveries from urban contexts that can be traced to the seventh century remain few, but notable from a qualitative point of view. On the Aventine, for example, from two occupation levels of a domus, come a half follis of Justin II, a decanummus of Tiberius II and six other half folles of the Heraclian period (Fontana and others 2004, 562–65). Most of the finds known are from the environs of the Campus Martius, attributable in part to the recent decades of important archaeo­logical investigations in this sector of the city (including the research at Crypta Balbi with its monetary evidence). In this phase, small silver coin must have continued to play its important role in the economy of retail exchanges, given the diffusion among the recoveries. Apart from the numerous attestations from the seventh and eighth century strata of the exedra of Crypta Balbi, a hoard of about fifty fractions of silver, mostly dated to Constans II, were in fact hidden in the wall of the exedra (Rovelli 2001a, 830–31). In this panorama, the contribution of ‘foreign’ coinage is quite small (Arslan and Morrisson 2002, 1272–73). For this period too, the interpretation of the data begins from the excavations of the relevant strata of Crypta Balbi. These have produced more than 130 anonymous exemplars of the last bronze issues produced in Rome (690–720/740), associated with a discrete quantity of coins minted in the seventh century, some also in silver. The excavations in Via delle Botteghe Oscure have revealed a similar panorama,26 and other exemplars of these series derive from the Late Antique and early medi­eval phases of the nearby Athenaeum, recently brought to light. It is worth dwelling on the analyses of the levels of burial and reuse of the great metallurgical works that in the sixth century occupied this complex of the Hadrianic period. It has been proposed that the activity of this centre would have been under the control of the Byzantine authority, and that its productions could have included the fabrication of the flans destined for striking (Serlorenzi and others 2018). The heavy interment that marks the dismissal of the works has yielded only a few coins, among which are two anonymous half folles and two fractions of silver of Pope Gregory III (731–741). In the next phase of occupation, the spaces were converted to a stable, and from this level come another twenty-­t wo anonymous bronzes and two silvers of Pope Gregory II (715–731). These findings provide diverse elements of interest, both numismatically 26 As indicated in Rovelli 2001a, 835.

and historically. The chrono­logy provided by the pottery and coins together demonstrates that the cessation of metallurgical operations could not have occurred prior to the 730s. This is a moment coinciding with the interruption of minting in bronze at Rome and with the general crisis of Byzantine power, with impacts on the coinage also including debasement of the amalgams in silver and gold.27 Whether the great metallurgical works could have hosted the mint or fabricated small sumptuary objects for the Byzantine authority, the synchronicity of the decline of Byzantine power and the closure of the atelier seem more than coincidental. A second aspect concerns the coin discoveries in the strict sense, which are themselves very few (as are also the early medi­eval contexts identified at Rome, overall). It does not seem incidental that these contexts pertain to those city sectors that were still vital and featured a strong ecclesiastical presence, such as the monastery of San Lorenzo in Pallacinis, and the traffic axis formed by the south side of the porticus Minucia, where churches and charities were installed. The stable of the Athenaeum was just a few hundred metres distant, on the same road that connected this quarter with the Lateran and the Basilica of St Peter (Rovelli 2001a, 835–36). The four papal silver fractions thus add to the context of finds in white metal from the Roman area, at the moment consisting of a small number of attestations (in any case surprising, given the risk of disintegration of these buried pieces of extremely low silver content). Apart from those already noted, the known specimens include an exemplar found at the Forum (Maetzke 1991, 85, n. 39), two from near the Lateran (Travaini 1992, 166–67), and the thirty-­one specimens gathered in the so-­called ‘Ripostiglio dal Tevere’. In this latter group there appear some monograms, in which Cécile Morrisson proposes the recognition of the names of several popes — starting with Sergius I (687–701) — a material indicator of the early transition of power from emperor to pontiff (Morrisson and Barrandon 1988; Rovelli 2001a, 829–30). In the light of these data, the monetary sample of the Crypta Balbi does not constitute an exception, apart from the volumetric/quantitative view, and is instead representative of the persistence of urban monetary circulation up to the first half of the eighth century.

27 Space not permitting a full biblio­graphy on these issues, citation is limited to several studies taking a numismatic approach and the references contained: Morrisson and Barradon 1988; Rovelli 1989, 81–85; 2001a, 836–42; Arslan and Morrisson 2002, 1256–57.

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Figure 12.3. Naples in late Roman to early Medi­eval times; harbour area in the south (courtesy of Naples Superintendence for Archaeo­logy, Fine arts and Landscape, published in Giampaola and Carsana 2016).

Beyond this aspect, the findings of silver and bronze coins reflect the intensity of minting, probably sufficient to respond to the needs of the market in a context of continuous demo­graphic decline. A specific hypothesis is that the recipients of these coins were the militia and functionaries of the Byzantine administration, still stationed at Rome at the beginning of the eighth century (Rovelli 2001a, 837–38). Outside the urban area, the only current reports of coins are from sites at borders between the Roman duchy and the duchies of the Lombards: from the monastery of San Vincenzo al Volturno comes a tremissis of Justinian II struck in Rome (Rovelli 2001d) and an anonymous half follis (690–720/40) (Rovelli 2001e); from the abbey of Farfa comes another anonymous half follis (Rovelli 2000, 411). Even accepting

the non-­randomness of these findings, in general the coinage seems confined to a strictly local circuit. In the space of a few years, this process of debasement of the amalgam, reduction of the types minted, and the consequent contraction of coinage operation in retail transactions would come to maturity with the introduction by Pope Hadrian I (772–795) of the first declared pontifical issues, the so-­called denari antiquiores. The new monetary regime, monometallic, single-­value, and aligned with the Carolingian system introduced in the Kingdom of Italy pursuant to the Capitulary of Mantua (781), would no longer be able to co-­exist with that of Byzantium, thus marking the definitive break between the two worlds.

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The Currency of the Neapolitan Duchy: Including New Acquisitions Excavations for the Naples Metro

of Rome. The observation of the finds then led to the hypothesis of an interruption in the influx of Roman coins, probably related to the opening of the mint in Naples by Constans II, perhaps in 663. An anepi­graph silver specimen, showing on both sides a frontal bust dressed in loros and flanked by a star, from a level pertaining to the eighth–ninth centuries, also allowed renewed consideration of Philip Grierson’s hypothesis concerning an attribution to the Neapolitan atelier during the reign of Constantine V.28 The study of this material was also an occasion for the scholar to retrace the little-­known events concerning the activity of the Neapolitan mint, for which she provides a substantial biblio­graphic excursus. This review highlighted the problem of the assignment of the issues of Italian origin, especially in gold, to the individual Byzantine mints. The mint of Naples appears initially to have operated in bronze production, with doubt over the possibility of coinage in gold; the noble metal is known to have been added under Constantine IV, followed finally by silver (Rovelli 2010; Prigent 2021, 329–30). The results emerging from the completion of excavations at Piazza Municipio confirm the importance of these lines of research. The monetary finds are still in their restoration and study phases, and the data presented here are entirely preliminary, subject in particular to future contributions on the contextual analysis. The more than 4000 coins, datable between Greek and contemporary times, are roughly distributed as follows: about 14 per cent of the coins are traced to the Greek and Roman period, up to the third century ad (including a hoard of 140 silver denari), therefore to a moment prior to our current interest when part of the study area was still submerged by the sea; almost 43 per cent of the material is datable to the fourth and fifth centuries (including a hoard of 204 fourth-­century bronze pieces), but is partly referable to layers formed over the subsequent two centuries, when late Roman coins continued in circulation; about 23 per cent of the coins are minimi of the fifth–sixth centuries and Ostrogothic and Byzantine issues, up to the last series of the eighth century, represented by few pieces; 14 per cent of the monetary finds seem to document the important Angevin and Aragonese phase, with some specimens from the contemporary era. Dating has not yet been possible for 6 per cent of the pieces, given their poor state of conservation (Fig. 12.4).

In the 1980s, archaeo­logical investigations in various parts of the city exposed close to ten important contexts of Late Antiquity and the early medi­eval period, including those of Carminiello ai Mannesi, the convent of Santa Patrizia, and the complex of San Marcellino (Arthur 1994; 2002, 153–58). With the exception of Carminiello ai Mannesi, however, these investigations produced only modest quantities of monetary finds. More recently, excavations supporting the construction of the subway stations have unearthed the spaces of the current Piazza Municipio and Piazza Giovanni Bovio, an area corresponding in antiquity to a broad natural harbour between the promontory of Pizzofalcone, where the epineion of Parthenope was erected, and the city of Neapolis, founded a few centuries later. By the early fifth century ad, the progressive silting in and advancement of the coast had led to the displacement of port operations. At the same time, in the area of Piazza Municipio, some spaces of a thermae were converted for warehousing of goods. From the second half of the sixth century, on the former beach, a roadway was developed connecting the ‘new’ Late Antique and Byzantine port with the via per cryptam. The latter axis, built by Augustus, connected in turn with the Campi Flegrei. The surrounding area was used for some burials, and an artisanal quarter was installed at what is now Piazza Bovio. Following this, between the seventh and ninth centuries, a complex of buildings served here as warehouses, hypothesized to have been developed under public commission (Giampaola and others 2005; Giampaola and Carsana 2016) (Fig. 12.3). The following considerations arise from the more than 4000 coins recovered by investigations at Piazza Municipio between 1999 and 2016. Part of the numismatic material was examined by Alessia Rovelli prior to completion of the excavations and the related research. Her preliminary study (2010) reported significant findings both in bronze and silver. Of the roughly 100 bronze coins analysed, most were fifth and sixth century minimi, accompanied by pentanummi and decanummi (the latter issued up to the middle of the seventh century). These were recovered from the overlapping road surfaces of the route noted above, in use from the second half of the sixth through the seventh century. The analyses led Rovelli to a reflection on the prolonged circulation of minimi and the origin of the coins, essentially attributable to the mint 28 DOC iii, 296, tab. X, no. 23.

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What is interesting here is the substantial presence (over 65 per cent) of coinage relating to Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. Although the image of a strongly monetized fourth century has been confirmed for some time (Camilli and Sorda 1993), this understanding did not extend to the fifth and sixth centuries. For the latter period, it is only recently that prominence has been afforded to the hundreds of small-­denomination coins attested in archaeo­logical strati­graphies (Marani 2020, 47–50). The findings from the excavations available to Paul Arthur, even in very small numbers, had already allowed him to illustrate some similar aspects of Figure 12.4. Naples harbour area: chrono­ monetization for Naples in the fourth and fifth cenlogical distribution of coins (figure by author). turies (Arthur 2002, 136–37). Excluding the exceptionally plentiful but illegible nummi and minimi from Piazza Municipio, the picture drawn from the fifth and sixth century presences would be remarkably unrepresentative, benethe seventh century. As these finds become scarcer, fitting only from one or two follis, a few decanummi, they are replaced by higher denominations (specifincluding in the name of Baduela, and a fair numically pentanummi and decanummi) although these ber of pentanummi in the name of Justinian I, but simultaneously diminish in weight and dimensions. especially also of Justin II — all from the sixth cenOn the whole, the Piazza Municipio contexts of tury. At the time of the reconquest, events in Naples the Byzantine era show a substantially homogenewould have been different to those in Rome. In the ous monetary panorama, in line with the preliminary latter city, the Byzantine authority in all probabildescriptions: a preponderant presence of minimi up ity withdrew the issues with the name of the last to the beginning of the seventh century; a particuOstrogothic sovereign from circulation (Arslan 1994, larly consistent presence of pentanummi (totalling 500–01; Rovelli 2001a, 833), whereas in Naples there about seventy from the excavated localities), but remain numerous examples with the insignia of the also diverse decanummi, mostly in poor condition. King, both minimi and decanummi (respectively The dating of these latter specimens awaits better Metlich 2004, 94 and 98b). The discrete attestation identification following restoration, however, on the of coins of Baduela in numerous sites of Latium in basis of their weight and dimensions, they seem due contexts of the second half of the sixth century, even to emissions of the emperors of the end of the sixth at a short distance from Rome (Marani 2020, 297, century through the entire seventh, from Mauritius 299), had been read with a view to a lower level of Tiberius to Constans II.29 control on the part of the Byzantine state over the The Roman origin of the pentanummi has been coinage circulating in rural areas (and this could also verified, however more caution is required for the justify the occasional discovery of counterfeit specdecanummi, where Rome seems to be only one of imens, apparently absent in Rome). The difference the mints represented among the pieces examined. between Rome and Naples thus lies in the possibilIn any case the numbers would not be particularly ity of the former to melt down the coinage left by consistent, and thus would not overturn the genthe Ostrogoths, and specifically by Totila (thus eraseral picture. ing the propagandistic message), for the minting of While awaiting the final details, what emerges new coins, while in the latter the Byzantine authoris a lively scenario for this city sector near the harity could not apply the same control, having need of bour basin (similar to Classe: Baldi 2015), largely coinage and being dependant on Rome for supply. represented by issues of the Rome mint. Rather than the date of minting, our current interest is more in estimating the duration of use of the issues, closing with their moment of loss. For example, the first analysis of the findings from another sector of the road leading to the port, excavated sub 29 The exemplars in question seem attributable to type DOC sequent to Rovelli’s study, returns a picture similar to i, 294–95; MIBE ii, 141, 156 (Mauritius Tiberius); DOC ii.1, that already illustrated, with the circulation of min122–23; MIBE ii, 108–09 (Phocas); DOC ii.1, 269; MIB iii, 247 imi seeming to continue until at least the first half of (Heraclius); DOC ii.2., 199; MIB iii, 221 (Constans II).

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Recoveries from the City and Territory

The Capitoline mint is also prevalent among other Neapolitan finds known from different urban contexts,30 as well as from a substantial nucleus of materials collected in the catacomb of San Gennaro. Among these, once again, are significant numbers of lower denomination coins, both pentanummi (over sixty specimens) and decanummi, until the beginning of the seventh century.31 Overall, the data seem to support the assumption of Rovelli (2010, 707–08) that the interruption in the arrival of coinage from the Rome mint occurred immediately after the middle of the seventh century, although some aspects remain problematic. From the data in preceding sections, it seems that even a few decades earlier, the bronze coinage minted in Rome no longer penetrated the territories of southern interior Latium or Campania, where the last significant attestations concern the pentanummi of Justin II (Marani 2020, 299–301, 315–17). With regard to this, it has been hypothesized that the travel of men and goods to Campania (and vice versa) would have at least been hindered by the Lombard conquests beginning at the end of the sixth century. The same dynamic is also found further south: the region of Bruttium, for example, received Roman coinage only until the second half of the sixth century. With the commencement of issue from the new mints of Catania and Syracuse, the region entered into the range of Sicilian circulation (Arslan and Morrisson 2002, 1293–94), joined in a non-­marginal manner by coins deriving from eastern mints and Carthage (Arslan 2000, 19–21). The geopolitical fragmentation of south-­central Italy, however, was probably only one among several causes that contributed to the halt in the arrival of Roman coinage. The episode of Constans II’s journey in Italy, noted above, refers indirectly to transport along the lands near the coast, between Naples and Rome, and from Naples to Reggio Calabria. The possibility of this movement suggests weak Lombard control over the coastal areas (Zanini 1998, p. 89), however the insecurity of such routes could still have caused a preference for sea travel — in any case cheaper and faster for transport of goods

(Morrisson 2008, 633–34) — bypassing the obstacle represented by the Lombard duchy. For the sixth–seventh centuries, Naples returns a very rich panorama of monetary finds from Rome (unlike, for example, southern Latium), therefore the hypothesis of continuous relations by sea is currently to be preferred (Rovelli 2010, 707–08). At least until this time, Naples seems to remain in the orbit of Rome, and the coinage of Constans II from the Roman mint is also widespread in the city’s hinterlands: a tremissis and six fractions of silver, for example, come from a burial at Cuma (Rovelli 2012b). Commercial exchanges also continue with other ports: from Carminiello ai Mannesi, for example, there is documentation of a hoard consisting of decanummi struck in the name of Heraclius in Carthage, and in the name of Constans II in Rome (Sgherzi 1994). The harbour at Ischia also played an important commercial role, as evidenced by coin finds covering the entire period under review. In addition to some Byzantine bronzes from the Rome mint, a hoard of 129 gold coins hidden at the end of the seventh century has been uncovered, as well as a fraction of a silver siliqua from Constantine V (741–775), also minted in Rome (Pedroni 1999; Arthur 2002, 134, 137). Subsequent to the reign of Constans II, the progressive rarefaction of products from the Capitoline mint appears to align with the first signs of simplification of the monetary economy and the contraction in range of circulation, in particular for bronze coinage, seen above as limited to a few kilometres from the city of Rome. This, however, was also the moment when Constans II, while passing through Naples (663), installed a mint that would issue in the three metals, probably in strategic response to the contextual fragmentation of Byzantine Italy (Morrisson and Prigent 2011). The only recovery of the Neapolitan issues of Constans II, however, is a half follis from Largo Sant’Aniello (Cantilena 1987, 35). At present, the exemplars attributable to the Naples atelier are in many cases difficult to attribute and still appear numerically less significant, especially when compared to the output from the mint in Rome which is documented without interruption until the eight century.32 The monetary and demo­graphic contexts in which the two mints are located are also different. The commencement of minting and its continuance even after the transformation of Naples into an autonomous duchy seem

30 For example, investigations at Santa Patrizia have yielded: two Baduela minimi from the mint of Ticinum; three pentanummi of Justin II; a decanummus of Maurice Tiberius from a tomb in Via San Paolo (Arthur 2002, 134, 137); and other decanummi of Constant II in burials near theRoman theatre (Longobardo 2010, 32 Quantitative studies of the Byzantine issues from the Rome mint 80). are still lacking. These could provide further elements useful in 31 Further specimens illustrated in Ebanista and Santoro 2019, assessing the effective volume of coinages. See discussion in De 58–96, could also be assigned to the Roman mint. Callataÿ 2017.

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to signal an independence and vitality that cannot be ignored, further exemplified in the fair range of diffusion of Neapolitan gold issues known also from archival records.33 Some specimens identified among the materials of Piazza Municipio add detail to the picture as currently understood. As is common in archaeo­ logical deposits, these are exemplars of the lower denominations. Concerning these, we recall that the Naples mint was active in bronze only from 663 to the first reign of Justinian II (685–695), while minting in silver seems to begin almost a century later. From an early medi­eval context, in association with a decanummus and a very worn pentanummus, comes a half follis whose flan tends towards quadrangular (as also seen in those of the first reign of Justinian II), attributed in the registers to the coinage of Constantine IV from the Naples mint, with the detected mint mark of NЄ (Fig. 12.5.1–2).34 For the silver, the current research yields the recognition of another two specimens of the type assigned to Constantine V, of which one is incomplete and one intact, the latter with a wide and thin flan and a weight greater than the average of those preserved (0.64 g; 18.20 mm; thickness 0.6 mm) (Fig. 12.5.2).35 The three silver coins known to date from this area of the excavation (one previously reported in Rovelli 2010 and two unpublished) seem to have been struck with different dies and would conform well to the long reign of Constantine V (741–775). In a first analysis, the preceding data appear quite relevant, even if, on the whole, the profile of the monetary circulation drawn between the seventh and eighth centuries still remains obscure in many places. Beginning in the ninth century, with the folles of Stefano III, the attestations become more frequent.36 The Ceramics

Relative to the coins, the study of ceramic contexts is more advanced and already offers useful comparisons with the numismatic data. Proceeding in chrono­logical summary, the contexts formed near the port from the end of the fourth to the end of the 33 For an overview of findings in precious metal beyond the confines of the Duchy: Rovelli 2010, 710–11. 34 DOC ii, 79 bis; MIB iii, 162, tab. 37, no. 113. 35 On silver weights in the eighth century, with comparison between the coeval emissions of Rome and Naples: see Rovelli 2010, 701. 36 Adding to the previously published findings (Rovelli 2010, 709), another example has been found from Piazza Municipio.

Figure 12.5. Half follis of Constantine IV (668–685) and silver coin of Constantine V (741–775) (courtesy of Naples Superintendence for Archaeo­logy Fine arts and Landscape).

fifth century are composed mainly of transport containers of African origin (as well as fine tableware), but also from Iberian and Italian localities. At this time Neapolis consumed oil and garum, essentially from Proconsular Africa, while the wine is largely of Italic origin, from Bruttium (Carsana and Del Vecchio 2017). Between the sixth and seventh centuries, the first signs of transformation in the production and commercial networks appeared. Links with North Africa and the Orient continued: in the second half of the sixth century, African oil amphorae were still very present, but this would decline from the beginning of the seventh century (fine wares and oil lamps continued as the accompanying goods) (Arthur 2002, 113). Concerning wine amphorae, the presence from the East (Aegean and Levant) increased over the sixth century, and among these are productions considered indicators of direct Constantinopolitan control over provisioning, such as the amphorae of Samos, found also in Cuma and Pozzuoli (Arthur and Patterson 1994, 414; Arthur 2002, 130–31; Saguì 2002, 31–32). Calabria and Sicily, then in the possession of the Church, are also represented in significantly increasing shares of amphorae, those from Sicily accompanied by the characteristic oil lamp (Arthur and Patterson 1994, 417–19; Carsana and others 2007, 424–25; Carsana and D’Amico 2010, 69–74). The number of amphorae from Campania itself also increased, and it is precisely the ceramics from Campania, whose kilns are located both around the Gulf of Naples and in the city itself, that stand out for their intensity of production between the sixth and seventh centuries: coarse wares, red-­ painted wares, and cooking wares are attested, as well as the manufacture of amphorae, in kilns located in Cuma, Ischia and Miseno. These amphorae productions are estimated as continuing to the ninth century, in a progressive shift towards self-­supply (Arthur and Patterson 1994, 420; Arthur 2002, 112, 122–23; De Rossi 2005; Carsana and others 2007, 425; Carsana 2009; Carsana and D’Amico 2010, 74).

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basin does not seem to show analogous income in coin, this being represented mainly by local issues (here, meaning the mint of Rome). This trend seems in some respects recognisable at Rome itself, while the Puglia and Calabria coasts received a fair percentage of coins from eastern mints (Morrisson 2008, 652–53). For the seventh–eighth centuries the monetary findings still appear unrepresentative. The current sample is insufficient, and consideration is also due as to how this may derive from the contexts investigated. Concerning this period, however, it is worth pointing out that in strictly quantitative terms, the number of monetary finds (and so the volume of the emissions) tends also to decrease at Rome and Ravenna (Rovelli 2012a, 278–80). Figure 12.6. Chrono­logical distribution of recoveries (single and multiple finds) of Byzantine bronze and silver coins, inclusive of all nominals, in the Duchy of Rome (figure by author).

Conclusions Some 200 years passed between the Byzantine reconquest of Italy in 554 and the loss of the city of Rome — with the progressively incremental role of the Church37 — and the gradual transformation of Naples into an autonomous duchy.38 Over this time, Rome and Naples seem to show similar patterns in the diffusion of monetary instruments. The numismatic documentation available for one centre supplements the other, and vice versa, contributing to the development of a coherent framework for the Byzantine period, although with different outcomes for each city. The focus of these pages has been on the monetary findings of two cities of exceptional character, illustrating the panorama of attestations. These are numerically and qualitatively significant, in densely frequented places with strong commercial functions (e.g. various sectors of the block of the Crypta Balbi in Rome, and the area of the early medi­eval port of Naples) or cult function (the catacombs of San Callisto in Rome and San Gennaro in Naples) where coins could easily be lost or deposited as an aspect of ritual. For the Duchy of Rome, a general picture of monetary circulation in the early medi­eval era can be developed on the basis of surveys of relevant urban contexts. The panorama developed seems to show that coinage was available at all levels of exchange until the beginning of the seventh century, in both urban and rural areas, and that usage then retracted almost exclusively to the larger centres. If we look at the availability of money for everyday exchanges

The overall panorama of imports evidenced by excavations in the port area confirms what has already been found from surveys in other urban areas (Arthur 2002, 122–33) and seems characteristic of the nerve centres of the Byzantine state. It has been hypothesized that the determination to maintain a commercial network, extending into the seventh and then eighth centuries, descended from a central authority desirous of continuing protection over important cities such as Naples, which held the domiciles of imperial officials, militias, and ecclesiastical hierarchies (Arthur and Patterson 1994, 414; Carsana and D’Amico 2010, 74). Between the eighth and ninth centuries, however, the volume of imports declined significantly, although the presence in port contexts of globular amphorae of Aegean and Oriental origin may not be casual, confirming instead a continued hold on some routes (Carsana 2018, 198–99, 201). At the same time, the radius of goods departing Campania extended to the main centres of south-­ central Italy, including Lombard territory (Arthur and Patterson 1994, 415–17). Rome became an important beneficiary of the Campania wine surplus; globular amphorae produced in Campania are also attested in Sicily and Cagliari, mostly in ecclesiastical contexts (Arthur 2002, 112; De Rossi 2005, 542, 547; Carsana 2009, 144–45; Carsana and D’Amico 2010, 75–78; Carsana 2018, 198). Alongside a certain productive and commercial vitality, there is also the still embryonic numismatic data. At this preliminary stage, the relationship between ceramics and coins does not allow specific considerations to be made. For the sixth–sev- 37 Bavant 1979; Brown 1984; Noble 1984. enth centuries, the extent of the Neapolitan supply 38 Arthur 2002, 16–20; Marazzi 2021, 410–13.

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(bronze and small fractions of silver), there seems to have been an effort to sustain supply until the first half of the eighth century (Fig. 12.6). The numismatic data emerging from Neapolitan contexts, presented in a preliminary way, allow the outlining of a scenario previously not imagined, in particular with regard to the prolonged use of bronze coins, whose minting began in the second half of the seventh century, and for the issuance of silver coins, both symptoms of the administrative attention paid to small and medium level commerce. Concerning the supply of coinage, and accordingly the supply of goods (Zanini 2021), the two cities appear to reveal a similar trend. Although in both centres the number of finds seems to have decreased from the end of the seventh century, we could read the opening of the mint in Naples as a further impulse. To interpret this data, two aspects must be taken into account. The first concerns the reduced convenience of minting bronze. The simple fact that this continued in Rome until a very advanced stage and that it began ex novo in Naples indicates that the focus of the economic commitment was reserved for the nerve centres of the peninsula, where members of the administrative and military apparatus resided (Brown 1984, 85–93; Martin 2005). The second aspect is population decline: the true availability of money should be read in the context of the demo­graphic decline estimated for the centuries in question. This aspect should also be considered. It has been calculated that in the fourth century there were still around 600,000 to 800,000 people living in Rome, but by the time the Gothic wars ended the population would already have dropped to between 45,000 and 60,000, with this further halved in the following two centuries, to around 25,000 or 30,000 in the eighth–ninth centuries. It is not certain, however, that a similar demo­graphic crisis affected either Naples or the smaller agglomerations. For Naples, Paul Arthur estimates a population of around 10,000 to 20,000 residents between

the sixth and eighth–ninth centuries (Arthur 2002, 21–25). Given these estimates of what was overall a very limited population, the coinage in circulation could therefore have been sufficient to supply the urban markets (Delogu 2010, 134–36). These data, however, should be read in the wider Tyrrhenian context, not so much with regard to Sicily, autonomous with respect to the Exarchate of Italy and directly dependent on Constantinople for the issue of coinage (Morrisson and Prigent 2011; Prigent 2013), but rather for Sardinia, which has its own specific characteristics. In Cagliari, at the end of the seventh century there was a mint operating in gold, bronze (Morrisson 2011), and fractions of silver (Morrisson 2016). But Sardinia, in addition to being supplied with Byzantine coinage of heterogeneous origin (Muresu 2018), also received Lombard coins: evidence of this island receiving attention from several fronts (Delogu 2010, 111–12; Rovelli 2015b, 486–87). The potential meanings of the prolongation of a sophisticated monetary circulation in the still crucial territories of Byzantine Italy, should therefore be sought in a broader perspective. Acknowledgements After inviting the submission of an overview of monetary circulation at Rome, Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia graciously accepted that I could also provide a summary of data on the recoveries from excavations of the Naples subway system. These investigations have been carried out by the Naples Superintendence for Archaeo­logy, Fine arts and Landscape, under the scientific direction of Daniela Giampaola, to whom I offer sincere thanks. The study of the coins, still under way, is being conducted under agreement between the Superintendence and the Chair of Greek and Roman Numismatics of the Department of Cultural Heritage Sciences of the University of Salerno. In this regard, I thank Renata Cantilena for her continued, willing support, and the entire group dedicated to the study of the coin finds. Finally, my sincere appreciation goes to Alessia Rovelli for her precious advice and review of the text. All responsibility for what is written remains my own.

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The Roman Imperial Coinage, x: The Divided Empire and the Fall of the Western Parts (a.d. 395–491) (London: Spink) Rizzo, Giorgio, Margherita Capone, Caterina Costantini, Rafaella Gafà, Massimo Pentricci, and Massimiliano Munzi. 2004. ‘Vigna Barberini, settore D, Periodo IV: 540/550–580/590 d.C.’, in Roma dall’antichità al medioevo ii: Contesti tardoantichi ed altomedi­evali, ed. by Lidia Paroli and Laura Vendittelli (Milan: Electa), pp. 72–90 Rovelli, Alessia 1989. ‘La Crypta Balbi, i reperti numismatici. Appunti sulla circolazione a Roma nel medioevo’, in La moneta nei contesti archeo­logici. Esempi dagli scavi di Roma, Atti dell’incontro di studio (Roma, 1986), ed. by Luciano Camilli (Rome: Istituto Italiano di Numismatica), pp. 49–95 —— . 2000. ‘La circolazione monetaria in Sabina e nel Lazio settentrionale nel medio evo’, in Une région frontalière au Moyen Âge. Les vallées du Turano et du Salto entre Sabine et Abruzzes, ed. by Étienne Hubert (Rome: L’Ecole Française de Rome), pp. 407–22 —— . 2001a. ‘Emissione e uso della moneta: le testimonianze scritte e archeo­logiche’, in Roma nell’Alto Medioevo. XLVIII Settimana di Studio (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’alto Medioevo), pp. 821–56 —— . 2001b. ‘Monete’, in Roma dall’antichità al medioevo, i: Archeo­logia e storia, ed. by Maria Stella Arena, Paolo Delogu, Lidia Paroli, Lucia Sagui, and Laura Vendittelli (Milan: Electa), pp. 323–28 —— . 2001c. ‘Monete dal deposito di VIII secolo nell’esedra della Crypta Balbi’, in Roma dall’antichità al medioevo, i: Archeo­ logia e storia, ed. by Maria Stella Arena, Paolo Delogu, Lidia Paroli, Lucia Sagui, and Laura Vendittelli (Milan: Electa), pp. 530–35 —— . 2001d. ‘Un tremisse di Giustiniano  II da San Vincenzo al Volturno. Osservazioni sulle emissioni auree dell’Italia bizantina’, in Scritti in onore di Girolamo Arnaldi. offerti dalla Scuola nazionale di studi medi­evali (Rome: Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo), pp. 497–511 —— . 2001e. ‘Le monete’, in San Vincenzo al Volturno 3: the Finds from the 1980–1986 Excavations, ed. by John Mitchell and Inge L. Hansen (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo), pp. 385–90 —— . 2004. ‘I tesori monetali’, in Tesori. Forme di accumulazione della ricchezza nell’alto medioevo (secoli V–XI), ed. by Sauro Gelichi and Cristina La Rocca (Rome: Viella), pp. 241–56 —— . 2009. ‘The coins’, in Excavations at Le Mura di Santo Stefano, Anguillara Sabazia, ed. by Robert van de Noort and David Whitehouse, Papers of the British School at Rome, 77: 159–223 —— . 2010. ‘Naples, ville et atelier monétaire de l’Empire byzantin: l’apport des fouilles récentes’, in Mélanges Cécile Morrisson (Paris: Amis du Centre d’Histoire et Civilisation de Byzance), pp. 693–711 —— . 2012a. ‘Gold, Silver, and Bronze: an Analysis of Monetary Circulation along the Italian Coasts’, in From One Sea to Another. Trading places in the European and Mediterranean Early Middle Ages, ed. by Sauro Gelichi and Richard Hodges (Turnhout: Brepols), pp. 267–96

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—— . 2012b. ‘Le monete dalla sepoltura SP19324’ in Cuma. Le fortificazioni, iii: Lo scavo 2004–2006, ed. by Bruno d’Agostino and Marco Giglio (Naples: Università degli studi di Napoli), pp. 327–29 —— . 2013a. ‘Le monete. Aspetti della circolazione monetaria alla luce dei contesti della Basilica Hilariana’, in Gli dèi propizi. La Basilica Hilariana nel contesto dello scavo dell’Ospedale Militare Celio (1987–2000), ed. by Carlo Pavolini and Paola Palazzo (Rome: Quasar), pp. 189–232 —— . 2013b. ‘Ostrogoti e Bizantini a Roma. Brevi note sulla circolazione del bronzo minuto nei contesti urbani dell’Italia centro-­meridionale’, in Atti del 4° Congresso Nazionale di Numismatica (Bari, 16–17 novembre 2012) (Taranto: Scorpione Editrice), pp. 305–19 —— . 2015a. ‘Contextes urbains vs. ruraux: l’Italie centrale et septentrionale durant le Haut Moyen Âge’, in Urban versus Rural Contexts: Differences of Monetization from Ancient Greece to the Early Middle Ages (Coin Finds, Taxes and Trade). Conférence (Brussels, 2014), ed. by François de Callataÿ and others, Revue Belge de Numismatique, 161: 145–76 —— . 2015b. ‘La moneta al tempo di Desiderio’, in Desiderio. Il progetto politico dell’ultimi re longobardo, ed. by Gabriele Archetti (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’alto Medioevo), pp. 479–92 —— . 2016. ‘The Circulation of Late Roman Bronze Coinage in Early Medi­eval Italy: An Update’, in Les trouvailles de monnaies romaines en contexte médiéval, Actes du colloque (Paris, 2015), ed. by Marc Bompaire, Thibault Cardon, Vincent Geneviève, and Flavia Marani, The Journal of Archaeo­logical Numismatics, 5.6: 55–72 Ruga, Alfredo. 2010. ‘Il ripostiglio di Crotone Località Punta Scifo (1916)’, in Orsi, Halbherr, Gerola. L’archeo­logia italiana nel Mediterraneo, ed. by Barbara Maurina and Elena Sorge (Rovereto: Osiride), pp. 145–51 Saguì Lucia and Alessia Rovelli. 1998. ‘Residualità, non residualità, continuità di circolazione. Alcuni esempi dalla Crypta Balbi’, in I materiali residui nello scavo archeo­logico. Testi preliminari e Atti della tavola rotonda (Roma, 16 marzo 1996), ed. by Federico Guidobaldi. Carlo Pavolini, Philippe Pergola, and Palmira Maria Barbini (Rome: École Française de Rome), pp. 173–95 Saguì, Lucia. 2002. ‘Roma, i centri privilegiati e la lunga durata della tarda antichità. Dati archeo­logici dal deposito di VII secolo nell’esedra della Crypta Balbi’, Archeo­logia Medi­evale, 29: 7–42 Savino, Eliodoro. 2005. Campania Tardoantica 284–604 (Bari: Edipuglia) Serafini, Camillo. 1951. ‘Appendice Numismatica’, in Esplorazioni sotto la Confessione di San Pietro in Vaticano: eseguite negli anni 1940–1949, ed. by Bruno M. Apollonj Ghetti, Antonio Ferrua, and Camillo Serafini (Vatican City: Tipografia Poliglotta Vaticana), pp. 224–44 Serlorenzi, Mirella, Giovanni Ricci, Ilaria De Luca, Lorna Anguilano, Vasco La Salvia, and Flavia Marani. 2018. ‘Il contesto archeo­logico dell’Athenaeum di Adriano fra tardoantico e altomedioevo: una possibile zecca di VI-­fine VII/ prima metà VIII secolo?’, in Numismatica e archeo­logia. Monete, stratigrafie e contesti. Dati a confronto. Workshop Internazionale di Numismatica (Roma, 2011), ed. by Giacomo Pardini, Nicola Parise, and Flavia Marani (Rome: Quasar), pp. 369–403 Serlorenzi, Mirella. 2016. ‘All’origine del Medioevo. Passeggiando nel Foro romano’, in Santa Maria Antiqua tra Roma e Bisanzio, ed. by Maria Andaloro, Giuseppe Morganti, and Giulia Bordi (Milan: Electa), pp. 110–29 Sgherzi, Bianca. 1994. ‘Monete’, in Il complesso archeo­logico di Carminiello ai Mannesi, Napoli (scavi 1983–1984), ed. by Paul Arthur (Galatina: Congedo), pp. 343–49 Spagnoli, Emanuela. 2013. ‘I contesti della basilica portuense: il quadro economico-­monetario’, in La Basilica Portuense. Scavi 1991–2007, ed. by Mauro Maiorano and Lidia Paroli (Florence: Insegna del Giglio), pp. 521–58 Spera, Lucrezia. 2016. ‘La cristianizzazione del Foro romano e del Palatino. Prima e dopo Giovanni VII’, in Santa Maria Antiqua tra Roma e Bisanzio, ed. by Maria Andaloro, Giuseppe Morganti, and Giulia Bordi (Milan: Electa), pp. 96–109 Taliercio Mensitieri, Marina. 1986. ‘Il bronzo di Neapolis’, in La monetazione di Neapolis nella Campania antica. Atti del VII Convegno del Centro Internazionale di Studi Numismatici (Napoli 1980) (Naples: Centro Italiano di Studi Numismatici), pp. 219–373 Travaini, Lucia. 1992. ‘Monete medi­evali in area romana: nuovi e vecchi materiali’, Rivista Italiana di Numismatica, 94: 166–67 Vendittelli, Laura, and Lidia Paroli (eds). 2004. Roma dall’antichità al medioevo, ii: Contesti tardoantichi ed altomedi­evali (Milan: Electa) Ward-­Perkins, Brian. 1991. ‘Coins’, in Three South Etrurian Churches: Santa Cornelia, Santa Rufina and San Liberato, ed. by Neil Christie (London: The British School at Rome), p. 255 Whitehouse, David, Lorenzo Costantini, Federico Guidobaldi, Siro Passi, Patrizio Pensabene, Simon Pratt, Richard Reece, and David Reese. 1985. ‘The Later Deposit. The Coins’, in The Schola Praeconum, ii, ed. by David Whitehouse and others, Papers of the British School at Rome, 53: 163–210 Zanini, Enrico. 1998. Le Italie bizantine. Territorio, insediamenti ed economia nella provincia bizantina d’Italia (VI–VIII secolo) (Bari: Edipuglia) —— . 2010. ‘Le città dell’Italia bizantina. Qualche appunto per un’agenda della ricerca’, Reti Medi­evali Rivista, 11.2: 45–66 —— . 2021. ‘Non-­Agricultural Items: Local Production, Importation and Redistribution’, in A Companion to Byzantine Italy, ed. by Salvatore Cosentino (Leiden: Brill), pp. 300–27

María de los Ángeles Utrero Agudo

13. Movable Churches, or How Byzantium Influenced Hispania An Archaeo­logical Reflection on a Current Debate ABSTRACT Byzantine influences on Late Antique

and early medi­eval Hispanic ecclesiastical architecture (fifth–tenth centuries) have been a constant debate within the historio­g raphy and research of this material culture. In order to show this, an approach has been used based firstly on the present knowledge of evidence related to the Byzantine period, namely in its ecclesiastical constructions. Secondly, we reflect on how Byzantine and Visigothic churches have been traditionally connected by means of influences and how present archaeo­logy has introduced new methodo­logical concepts that affect the comprehension of those bonds, and the chrono­logy, techno­logy, and understanding of the Late Antique and early medi­eval architecture in general. Some final general remarks aim to provide a common current vision of the issue and to underscore some aspects for the future. KEYWORDS Spania, Visigothic, sixth-­seventh centuries, influences, artisans

It is not new to say that the historio­graphy of Late Antique and early medi­eval European architecture since the mid-­ninth century has fluctuated between Orient and Occident.1 Hispanic research has not been any exception to this process (Utrero Agudo 2009a). Within a general frame, the definition of Byzantine architecture has pushed against political, religious and stylistic limits and has thereby been approached using different methodo­logies (Mango 1991). With regard to Hispanic examples, the formal approach to isolated architectural and ornamental elements, supported by a short but effective list of parallel styles and features from elsewhere, has pre

1 López Pérez (2012) for a European and Hispanic general view.

vailed, helping to defend the continuous presence of Byzantine influences and features on Iberian ecclesiastical constructions from the late sixth until the tenth century (Utrero Agudo 2015, 391–92). The earliest work, written by José Amador de los Ríos on the seventh-­century golden crowns found at the village of Guarrazar (Toledo), already labelled the coeval Visigothic architecture as ‘Latin-­Byzantine’, this being understood as the result of a merging of local Roman tradition and foreign Byzantine influence (Ríos 1861). This fundamental concept of combination of arts can be traced throughout the twentieth century in most of the works devoted not only to Visigothic (sixth‒seventh centuries) religious architectural and decorative examples, but also to Asturian (eigth‒ninth centuries), and Mozarabic (tenth century) ones, as has been already extensively shown (Utrero Agudo 2015). Local traditions, also known as Latin or Roman, would be reflected in elements such as the timber roofs and the basilical plans. By contrast, Byzantine influence would be shown by vaulted structures, sculptural reliefs, and cruciform plans. The German archaeo­l ogist Helmut Schlunk (1945) was the first to incorporate into this discussion both a comparative methodo­logy by using specific parallels for those objects placed in the Iberian Peninsula and the periodization of the arrival of Byzantine influences. It is important to underscore that Schlunk denies the presence of a Byzantine art in Hispania, since this was a peripheral area of the Empire, but he defends and argues its influence (Schlunk 1945, 182). According to him, during the fifth century, mainly sarcophagi and capitals would have been imported from the Byzantine East (Schlunk 1945, 193). In the course of the second half of the sixth century, when the south-­east was occupied by the Byzantine milites, the basilicas of Algezares (Murcia: Mergelina 1940) and San Pedro de Alcántara (Malaga: Pérez de Barradas 1932) were

María de los Ángeles Utrero Agudo ([email protected]) Escuela de Estudios Árabes / Escuela Española de Historia y Arqueo­logía en Roma (EEA / EEHAR-­CSIC) Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 209–220 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130681

FHG

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founded. Although dating to the Byzantine period, according to Schlunk these examples did not show any feature of being Byzantine, and their closest parallels would be in North Africa. Some sculptures from the ‘hinterland’, such as the examples from Saamasas (Lugo) and Mérida (Badajoz), would also show that influence (a fact also highlighted by Ulbert 1971). In the second half of the seventh century, once the Byzantines had abandoned the Peninsula, the Byzantine influence would have been even more remarkable, this being reflected in the architecture, the ornamentation, and the jewellery (Schlunk 1945, 196). In contrast to the previous phase, this last one would not depend on models from North Africa, but on those others from the ‘nuclear regions’ of Byzantium, namely South Italy and Sicily. Schlunk’s explanation regarding the artistic productions of the second half of the seventh century, known as Visigothic, has prevailed until recently. New parallels and findings have helped either to improve it or to modify it slightly, but its general basis is still valid, especially for a number of researchers engaged with the study of Visigothic architectural and decorative aspects of ecclesiastical buildings. It is the aim of this paper to show how Byzantine evidence and Byzantine influences in the Iberian Peninsula are currently understood, and how both aspects need to be connected in order to better understand the present debate on Late Antique and early medi­eval Hispanic architecture (fifth‒tenth centuries). In order to do so, an approach to the current knowledge of the material culture related to the Byzantine period, namely focused on churches, is introduced. This part then leads to a reflection on how Byzantine and Visigothic churches have been traditionally connected by means of influences, how present archaeo­logy has introduced new methodo­ logical concepts that affect the comprehension of those bonds, and also of the chrono­logy, techno­logy, and understanding of Late Antique and early medi­ eval architecture in general. To conclude, some final remarks intend to set out a common current vision of the issue and to stress some aspects for consideration by future research.

Byzantine Material Culture in Spania and the Problem of Byzantine Churches

of the written sources (Vallejo Girves 2012) and material culture of Byzantine Spania (Vizcaíno Sánchez 2009), it can be currently affirmed that the presence of the Byzantines was limited to the second half of the sixth century (c. 552–624; see Ramallo Asensio and Vizcaíno Sánchez 2002, 315–16; Vizcaíno Sánchez 2013, 281). Geo­graphically, the Byzantine presence was confined to the southeast Iberian coastal strip, the Balearic Islands, and the shores of the Strait (Fig. 13.1).2 The Byzantine enclaves in Spania were dependent on the Prefecture of Africa and were thus part of the province of Mauritania Secunda (Schlunk 1945, 183; Ripoll 2001, 99), a possibility that is still debated for the Balearic Islands (Mas Florit and others 2020, 274, with relevant biblio­graphic references on this issue). Almost 80 years ago, Schlunk (1945, 183) regretted that the Byzantine remains were then poor, scarce, and difficult to date. Fortunately, archaeo­ logical works undertaken in the last decades at the main cities of the southeast area of the Peninsula, such as Carthago Spartaria (Cartagena: Ramallo Asensio 2000), Malaca (Malaga: Bernal Casasola 2003, 44–47; Vizcaíno Sánchez 2009, 159–68)3 and Septem (Ceuta: Villada and Bernal Casasola 2019), along with those developed on the urban enclaves located in the Balearic Islands (Cardell Perelló and Cau Ontiveros 2005, 159–63; Cau Ontiveros and Mas Florit 2013, 33–35), have revealed the structure and materiality of Byzantine urban settlements. These always occupied previously existing towns, reused pre-­existing fortresses, and employed humble structures and materials (Ramallo Asensio and Vizcaíno Sánchez 2002, 321; Wood 2010, 298). These military and commercial enclaves do not seem to have constituted a coherent and unified territory (Ripoll 2001, 115).4 All this material evidence should rather be linked to North African models and contexts than to oriental ones (Vizcaíno Sánchez 2013, 282). Religious architecture has been updated within this new research frame, and associated with the general renewal of Late Antique and early medi­eval Hispanic architecture studies (Utrero Agudo 2010).

It is known that the study of Byzantine constructions in Spain has been traditionally subordinated to that of its influence on Visigothic ones (Bernal Casasola 2004, p. 64). However, thanks to the development of a modern archaeo­logy committed to the knowledge

2 As regards the definition and materialization of a Byzantine frontier, see Ripoll 2001 and Wood 2010. 3 An inscription with the name of Severus, reused in the walls of the Islamic fortification, was ascribed to the homonymous bishop of Malaga and thought to be the proof of the consecration of a church inside of the previous Byzantine fortification (Vallejo Girves 2012, 246–48). However, no traces of any building have hitherto been uncovered. 4 The commercial function is clearly demonstrated by the large quantity of ceramics recorded at the peninsula coming from North Africa and East (Ripoll 2001, 111; Vizcaíno Sánchez 2009, 599–665, fig. 88).

13. movab le chu rche s, o r how byzant i u m i nf lu e nce d h is pania

Figure 13.1. Map with the main sites mentioned in the text; broken line, limit of the Byzantine occupation in the mid-­sixth century; continuous line, limit at the end of the sixth century (based on Vizcaíno Sánchez 2009).

New discoveries have offered innovative data and have made it possible to reconsider ancient constructions and sites, to review their chrono­logies and functions, and assess their Byzantine adscription and influence. Recent interpretations have modified the chrono­ logies of some buildings previously thought to have been built during the Byzantine period in the peninsula. The mausoleum of La Alberca (Murcia) has been redated to the fourth century (Utrero Agudo 2008, 197–98). The subterranean construction in Gabia la Grande (Granada) is now considered to have been the crypto-­portico of a Late Roman villa, dating to the second half of the fourth century (Marín Díaz and Orfila Pons 2016, 290–300).5 The double-­apse basilica of Vega del Mar (San Pedro de Alcántara, Málaga) must now be ascribed to c. 500 AD, with later refurbishments dated to the mid-­sixth century (Posac Mon and Puertas Tricas 1989, 76). Emergency archaeo­logical works have revealed that its necropolis was in use from the third up to the sixth cen tury (Fernández López and others 2004), but no new data has been obtained to relate it to the basilica. At Ceuta, the former Byzantine city of Septem,

5 Schlunk (1945, 183–86) had already proposed a fourth-­century date for Gabia la Grande, although he was not sure about the function of the building.



a funerary basilical construction was built in the early fifth century (Del Hoyo Calleja and Bernal Casasola 1996; Villada and Bernal Casasola 2019), before the Byzantine arrival in the year 534. Traces of its use during the Byzantine period are perceptible, but few in number (Bernal Casasola 2018, 113).6 Along with these examples redated to earlier times, it is relevant to mention two other basilicas recently re-­examined: Algezares (Murcia) and La Alcudia (Alicante). Discovered 80 years ago by Mergelina (1940) and dated then to the second half of the sixth century, the church of Algezares has seen recent excavations that have demonstrated that it might in fact be dated to the early seventh century. Its decorative elements are related to the local south-­ eastern Iberian sculptural workshops active in the same area at that time (Ramallo Asensio and others 2007; García Blánquez and Vizcaíno Sánchez 2008, 51–52).7 Algezares should be then understood within 6 According to the written sources, a new basilica was com­ missioned by Justinian, probably on the site currently occupied by the cathedral of Ceuta, but this hypothesis needs to be further explored since no material evidence has been hitherto revealed (Bernal Casasola 2018, 113–14; Martínez and others 2018, 181). 7 The sculptural elements are connected with others coming from the same area (La Alcudia, Segóbriga, Valeria, Cerro de la Almagra, Begastri, and Jaén). Excavations in the seventh-­century basilica of Tolmo de Minateda (Hellín, Albacete) are key to

2 11

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the coeval regional architectural context (Vizcaíno Sánchez 2013, 287–88). Archaeo­logical investigations on this site have also found an atrium, a monumental rectangular building (56 m in length, 18 m in width) located 130 m north-­west of the basilica and dated to the fifth century (García Blánquez 2006; García Blánquez and Vizcaíno Sánchez 2008, 48–50). The basilica and atrium are thus not coeval, the latter possibly having been abandoned when the basilica was built in the early seventh century. Finally, emirate pottery revealed inside the basilica (already mentioned by Mergelina 1940, 8) points to the late survival of the site. Also in the south-­east of the mainland, relatively close to the previous site of Algezares, a building with a mosaic pavement showing Greek inscriptions was found in the early twentieth century at the site of La Alcudia (Elche), formerly the Late Antique episcopal see of Ilici. Since then, its layout, function (synagogue or basilica), chrono­logy, and later evolution have been repeatedly discussed (Utrero Agudo 2008, 194–97; Vizcaíno Sánchez 2009, 462–63). Fortunately, a recent review of old excavations and records along with new archaeo­logical work has recognized a Roman rectangular hall, converted into a basilica by the addition both of an eastern apse and of the mentioned mosaic pavement in the second half of the fourth century (Lorenzo and Morcillo 2014, 521–29; Lorenzo 2019). A sigmatic table of uncertain topo­graphical and archaeo­logical context has been related to the church as an acquisition of the late sixth century (Lorenzo and Morcillo 2014, 526, 538, and 550) this has been extensively analysed by Isaac Sastre de Diego (2013, 409–12), along with others fragments coming from this site. This building would have been in use until the early eighth century. Some others structures have recently been considered to be Byzantine churches. The remains uncovered in the former mosque of Santa Clara (Cordoba) and in the village of Lucena (Cordoba) are called into question since their layout makes it difficult to define them as churches, and their evolution and date are not clear enough (Utrero Agudo 2015, 382–84).8 A third example, recently proclaimed as ‘the first Byzantine monastery’ of the Iberian Peninsula,9





offering updated archaeo­logical data (Gutiérrez Lloret and Sarabia Bautista 2007, 331–37). 8 The town of Cordoba was not occupied by the Byzantines (Ripoll 2001, 101; Ramallo Asensio and Vizcaíno Sánchez 2002, 330), which obviously constitutes an additional reason to refute that Santa Clara is a Byzantine church. 9 As it has been published in the national and regional press by the archaeo­logists of the site, for instance: (last access 28 July 2022).

must also be mentioned: the site of El Monastil (Elda, Alicante), part of the supposed castrum of the city of Elo, is known from written mentions (Poveda Navarro 2019). A sigmatic table of white marble possibly from Paros was reused in the walls of later Islamic structures and was interpreted as an altar coming from a nearby building. The building was dated to the sixth‒seventh centuries and thought to have been a church, according to the table and to the formal parallels of its horseshoe-­arched apse, though this was added in a second phase (Poveda Navarro 2000).10 Other non-­contextualized findings (a column, fragments of sarcophagi and screens) would complete the reconstruction and interpretation of the place as a monastic church. However, the relationship between the table and the building is unknown, neither is the former necessarily an altar nor the latter a church (Sastre de Diego 2013, 127 and 418–19). The site was surely occupied in the Late Antique period, but no solid reasons can be shown to confirm the presence of a Byzantine monastery. Moving to the Balearic Islands, a territory under Byzantine occupation between the years 537 and 903 (Amengual i Batle and Orfila Pons 2007, 213), eight major rural basilica churches are known (plans in Mas Florit and others 2020, 277 fig. 2). This is a remarkable number in comparison with those just mentioned for the whole of the mainland. Their forms, dates of foundation, later evolution, and moments of abandonment have been discussed since their discoveries in the late nineteenth century and yet are still problematic (Duval 1994; Cardell Perelló and Cau Ontiveros 2005, 168; Mas Florit and others 2020). Most of them are paved with mosaics, which are absent in the coeval churches on the peninsula just reviewed. Mosaics and baptisteries have been key to dating these basilicas by means of icono­graphic and formal parallels, although most of them seem to have been later additions. On the one hand, Late Antique written documents record bishoprics and bishop-­effected foundations of churches from the early fifth century on the islands (Amengual i Batle and Orfila Pons 2007, 227–36; Vallejo Girves 2012, 454–60). On the other hand, recent archaeo­logical works have revealed new Christian churches and have updated our knowledge of the ancient ones (Sales Carbonell and others 2019, for Sanitja; Riera Rullan 2017, for Cabrera; Cau Ontiveros and Mas Florit 2013, 37–39, for a general 10 Later on, nave and apse were considered coeval and the buttress and the south wall of a lateral space were ascribed to a second phase of construction (Poveda Navarro and others 2013, 1154–55). According to this proposal, the original church is then dated to between the mid-­sixth century and the early seventh century.

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view). These works manifest that the Balearic basilicas were built either before the Byzantine presence, such as Son Peretó (fifth century: Riera Rullan and others 2012), or during it, such as Son Fadrinet (second half of the sixth century: Ulbert and Orfila Pons 2002; Ulbert 2003), and Illa del Rei (mid-­sixth century: Cau Ontiveros and others 2012). The archaeo­ logical works at Cabrera demonstrate that a monastic community had settled there already in the fifth century (Riera Rullan 2017, 571–73), two centuries earlier than recorded by the written records (letter of Pope George I, 603; see Amengual i Batle and Orfila Pons 2007, 228; Vallejo Girves 2012, 461–66). Some basilicas were also in use in later centuries and icono­graphic models of their mosaic pavements should be linked to North African examples (Palol 1967 for a general view; Orfila and Tuset 2003 for Son Fradinet; Riera Rullan and others 2012, for Son Peretó). Some researchers actually defend that these North African influenced mosaics actually correspond to refurbishments undertaken during the Byzantine period (Cardell Perelló and Cau Ontiveros 2005, 168, Amengual i Batle and Orfila 2007, 242, Cau Ontiveros and Mas Florit 2013, 38). Although Byzantine occupation of the islands lasted until the early tenth century, there is no church documented or archaeo­logically recorded as dating from the seventh century onwards (Cardell Perelló and Cau Ontiveros 2005, 170–71). The eighth and ninth centuries are still an archaeo­logical and historical challenge. The islands of Ibiza and Formentera still lack any example of Late Antique ecclesiastical constructions.11 These Balearic churches reflect the islanders’ participation in the long-­distance trade networks of the sixth century as well as the territorial organization. These facts are demonstrated because some of them are close to the sea (and ports) and they are also connected by land between them (Cau Ontiveros and Mas Florit 2013, 38). They have yielded large quantities of amphorae coming from North Africa, the East, and the Iberian Peninsula itself (Marimon 2004, for a general view; Gurt i Esparraguera 2007, for Cap des Port; Riera Rullan and others 2012, 37, for Son Peretó). Enlargements and refurbishments were carried out in most of them during the seventh century and even later, which demonstrates their prevailing economic role and resources. Most of them had a baptistery added later, making it clear that at some point they offered liturgical and bap-

11 Cardell Perelló and Cau Ontiveros (2005, 167) and Cau Ontiveros and Mas Florit (2013, 37) mention two doubtful basilicas located on Ibiza.

tismal services to the surrounding population and contributed to the Christianization of the territory. Overall, current archaeo­logical investigations make it thereby possible to go beyond their religious significance and Byzantine label, and approach their economic and territorial meaning within the Late Antique period (Mas Florit and Cau Ontiveros 2013, 224–27; Mas Florit and others 2020). Related to the religious architecture of the Balearic Islands and the peninsula, a large group of single sculptural elements has also been extensively discussed with regard to its actual origin, chrono­logy, and date of arrival, as has already been shown by the above-­mentioned sigmatic tables from Elda and La Alcudia. Recent works have concluded that liturgical elements revealed in those constructions dating to sixth and seventh centuries were either imported from the East or locally produced after eastern models, but not a single element can be interpreted as the production of a Byzantine workshop (Sastre de Diego 2013, 231–35). Similar conclusions might be put forth for other singular elements, such as capitals, decorated shafts, and bases, most of which are either of uncertain date, or were late arrivals to both the mainland and the islands (Duval 1994, 208–09; Vizcaíno Sánchez 2009, 480–06; Vizcaíno Sánchez 2013, 287–88). Within this group of decorative elements, a noteworthy series of capitals leads us to the early Middle Ages, that is, four centuries later than the period of the Byzantine presence. One century ago, Gómez-­Moreno (1919) attributed these to Byzantine workshops and therefore considered them as ‘Leonese-­Byzantine’.12 This idea was largely maintained in later investigations, although with some important nuances (extensively compiled in Utrero Agudo 2015, 387–89). However, recent archaeo­logical analyses undertaken in these monastic churches show that they are neither examples of sixth-­century Byzantine capitals reused in the tenth-­century, nor imitations of Byzantine ones. By contrast, the Islamic formal and techno­logical features of these capitals, along with the probable use of new marble, make it possible to date them to the early tenth century and to consider that masons who had arrived from al-­Andalus were responsible for their production (Utrero Agudo 2017; Villa del Castillo 2017). Considering all the above, it might be concluded that no sixth-­century Byzantine ecclesiastical architecture has been hitherto recognized (Vizcaíno Sánchez 12 These churches mainly correspond to San Miguel de Escalada (León), San Cebrián de Mazote (Valladolid), Santiago de Peñalba (León), Santa María de Wamba (Valladolid), and Santa María de Lebeña (Cantabria).

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2009, 433; Martínez and others 2018, 183). Churches of that period, and also those examples dating to between the fifth and seventh centuries overall, show common features to the coeval Mediterranean Late Antique ecclesiastical architecture (timber roofed basilical plans, vaulted apses, rough stone masonries, reused single elements), but they do not reveal specific characteristics corresponding to the presence of Byzantine workshops.

Current Archaeological Methodology: Reconsidering Influences on Churches

similarity concepts are grounded on the premise that activities of reusing, observing, and restoring ancient (and usually ruined) monuments, elements, and materials, make it possible for workers to acquire the necessary knowledge, and this therefore explains the similarity between elements dating to different historical contexts and periods (Noack-­Haley 1986; Arbeiter 1996; Domingo Magaña 2020, among others). Traditional explanations have been focused on ornamentation rather than on architecture, since the latter was more difficult to parallelize. Some previous and isolated architectural examples have been employed to justify the Visigothic churches of the second half of the seventh-­century (Utrero Agudo 2009b). The mausoleum of Galla Placidia (Ravenna, mid-­fifth century) and the Sicilian buildings of Bagno di Mare (Sta. Croce Camerina)13 are the main references used to date and explain the cruciform vaulted churches of San Pedro de la Mata (Toledo), Santa Comba de Bande (Orense), and São Frutuoso de Montélios (Braga), among others. A large number of non-­contextualized decorative elements, lacking secure chrono­logies and even origins, have been connected with icono­graphic representations on ivory, textile, metal, or stone, some of them also lacking a secure context. Almost every non-­contextualized decorative element was systematically qualified as Visigothic (Cruz Villalón 2018, 552) and thereby thought to show Byzantine influence. Specific typo­logies of elements, such as those of pilasters, chancel screens, and niche-­plaques were thought to be the main agents of Byzantinism (Schlunk 1964). Mérida, the former Roman capital of the Lusitanian province, would have been the origin of this phenomenon, stronger in the second half of the sixth century when its bishops were engaged in large-­scale building activity, and wider in the seventh century when its workshops would have worked out of the city and had a strong impact on the Visigothic capital of Toledo. This hypothesis was later reinforced by parallels from Italy and Turkey, among other places (Ulbert 1971). Lately, in response to the above mentioned proposal of Luius Caballero Zoreda (1994‒95), the list of Byzantine parallels has been enlarged (Arbeiter 2000; Schlimbach 2011; Theocharis 2003–2004, for a late chrono­logy). Current archaeo­logical methodo­logy intends to highlight, on the contrary, the relevance of the techno­logical context to understand the actual relationships between early medi­eval products (Utrero

If Byzantine ecclesiastical constructions are not attested in Byzantine Spania, how is it possible to trace their influence on the architecture and ornamentation of later periods? As mentioned above, Byzantine elements have become fundamental to explaining the outstanding features of the traditional group of Visigothic churches dating to the second half of the seventh century. These are well known for their cruciform plans, vaulted roofs, sculptural ornamentation, and regular ashlar stone masonry walls. These exceptional attributes made it necessary to look for a reason, hence the search for external influences either from the Byzantine east or from Western Europe (Schlunk 1964; 1974; Barroso Cabrera and Morín de Pablos 2000; Arbeiter 2000; Schlimbach 2011). The contact with oriental Byzantine elements provided an external reason for an internal change, which could not be otherwise easily explained, since this architecture was not the result of a simple evolution, but of an authentic revolution, when all the mentioned innovations are taken together. Within this research context, the proposal of a new historical explanation, based on the archaeo­ logical examination of traditional second half of the seventh century Visigothic churches considered that those outstanding attributes could actually be the result of the advent of skilled workers and techno­ logies with the Umayyad arrival in 711 (Caballero Zoreda 1994‒95). This change in the political and economic context would therefore be responsible for the cultural revolution, and those churches traditionally considered Visigothic should thus be redated to mid-­eighth century onwards. Nevertheless, how far are these explanations from each other in terms of methodo­logy, in addition to chrono­logy? Actually, the relationship between the Visigothic and the Byzantine art of the second half of the seventh century has been defended by means of the different connecting formulae of influence, revival, 13 Caballero Zoreda (2000) and Licitra (2012) interpret this building as an Umayyad bath, while Distefano and Modica copy, or imitation, expressed in the search for paral(2016) defend the construction of a sixth-­century mausoleum, lels coming from different periods and regions. These transformed into a bath in the eleventh century.

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Agudo 2017; 2017–2018). The artisans who were responsible for making the product, and the patrons who knew and commissioned a specific architectural and/or sculptural model according to their means and resources, are both part of that context when generating and transferring techno­logy, and therefore both are necessary to understand similarities and differences. Manufactured products, such as buildings or sculptures, are not on their own capable of exerting an influence on other products. That role corresponds to the artisans and patrons, the former always being fundamental, both in responding to the commissioner’s wishes and in transforming then into reality through their application of the necessary skills, knowledge, and experience. This proposal thereby diverts attention to the artisans, and leaves the objects and their similarities in the background. Similarity of objects only occurs when the activity of common working hands can be demonstrated. For the same reason, belonging to a common Byzantine Mediterranean economic frame would not be enough to provide any influence. Furthermore, while movable objects could travel with or without artisans, architecture cannot move, as it always requires the artisans to produce it. This scheme brings us back to the supposed Byzantine influence on Visigothic architectural and decorative examples, traditionally ascribed to the second half of the seventh century. Bearing in mind that no Byzantine churches have been revealed either on the Iberian Peninsula or on the Balearic Islands, it is difficult to defend that the Byzantine characteristics were especially remarkable once the Byzantine people had abandoned the peninsula in the course of the first half of the seventh century. This is even more extraordinary if we have a look at the coeval architecture of that time on both the peninsula and the islands. Firstly, second half sixth and seventh-­century refurbishments of Balearic basilicas and new constructions (Son Fradinet, for instance) correspond to Late Antique forms, that is to say, they have rough masonry walls, reused elements, and timber roofs among others. They do not incorporate any remarkable techno­logical innovation, with conservative continuity being their main feature, and thus the main problem when trying to date them. Secondly, sixth and seventh-­century urban and rural ecclesiastical constructions, either newly uncovered (Santa Eulalia, Mérida; Tolmo de Minateda, Albacete; Silla del Papa, Cádiz), reviewed (El Gatillo, Cáceres; Segóbriga, Cuenca), or further excavated (Algezares, Murcia; Casa Herrera, Badajoz) in the last decades in the territory of the mainland and the islands also display those same characteris- 14

tics.14 No traces of the changes ascribed to the second half of the seventh century can be found in the immediately previous age (Utrero Agudo 2017–2018). Thirdly, Byzantine architecture registered at the mentioned cities of Cartagena, Málaga or Ceuta, corresponds to humble structures and reuses materials (industrial and domestic spaces, fortresses), but it does not seem to introduce any innovation. That suggests why the traditional explanation has mainly used ornamentation as the direct point of comparison, as explained above. Cruz Villalón (1985, 428) already doubted the chrono­logies defended by Schlunk, and proposed an Umayyad date for some pieces from Mérida, extending thus the production beyond the early eighth century. Today, thanks to the numerous excavations that have uncovered important groups of sculptures, it is possible to add further details which augment Cruz Villalón’s proposal (1985). On the one hand, those recent reviews on ornamentation grant a leading role to local workshops in the course of the sixth and seventh centuries, as has already been shown by the case of the south-­east basilicas (Ramallo Asensio and others 2007). On the other hand, strati­graphic and typo­ logical analyses have made it possible to underline the relevance of contextualized sculptures (usually in situ in standing constructions; a synthesis in Utrero Agudo 2010); these being fragments with non-­contextualized references and not the other way around. The accurate archaeo­logical examination of most of the relevant traditional Visigothic churches reveals the phenomenon of reusing sculptures, and of using new ones combined with the older, which directly affects the dates of the sculptural elements themselves and also the chrono­logy of the buildings they belong to (Utrero Agudo 2010). This examination enables the identification of the workshops operating during the Late Antique and early medi­ eval periods, their productions, and the techno­logical characteristics of their work (Villa del Castillo 2021). These results make it possible to extend the dates of traditional seventh-­century chrono­logies and thereby their relationships to Byzantine productions and/or artisans. Furthermore, the main sculptural centres seem to have been Merida in the sixth century, and Merida, Toledo, and Cordoba, along with the south-­east area in the seventh century, all of them accomplished by the activity of local hands (Cruz Villalón 2018; Villa del Castillo 2021). A large number of sculptural pieces provide evidence for the production of early Islamic workshops from the

Complete biblio­graphic references on all these constructions can be found in Utrero Agudo (2017–2018, 104, n. 11).

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eighth century onwards in south Iberia, and from the second half of the ninth century in the north-­ west area, as stated previously (Utrero Agudo 2017; Villa del Castillo 2017). That group of ‘Leonese-­ Byzantine’ capitals must thereby be understood as early tenth-­century productions, due to the arrival of skilled artisans from al-­Andalus.

Final Remarks: Archaeo­logy vs. Parallels We have tried to explain how old archaeo­logical records and interpretations pose a challenge for present archaeo­logy when approaching Late Antique and Byzantine constructions and features. Chrono­ logy, layouts, and even functions of ecclesiastical buildings have strongly suffered the effects of having been excavated with previous methodo­logies, which were focused on uncovering the layout of the monument (including their mosaics), and on prioritizing their supposed Byzantine character rather than on approaching the sequence and real significance of the site. Although current archaeo­logical investigation intends to overcome that obstacle by introducing new strategies of analysis (re-­examination of the evolution of the constructions, excavation of previously unexcavated spaces, exploration of their immediate areas and necropoleis, accurate examination of the ceramic productions, archaeometry of materials, among others), that task is not easy, especially when strati­graphy has been lost. However, newly unearthed, reliable, strati­graphic sequences are making clear that the ecclesiastical constructions located in the south-­eastern area of the peninsula and on the Balearic Islands can indeed be dated prior to the arrival of the Byzantines. They were in use over the course of the sixth and seventh centuries and even later, and they were economically connected with the Byzantine Mediterranean basin and territories, as is shown by those imported materials (liturgical and decorative elements, along with ceramic productions, among others). Although these constructions are located in the regions dominated by the Byzantines during the second half of the sixth century, this fact alone does not make them necessarily Byzantine. A good example of this advance of conception is the basilica of Tolmo de Minateda, dated to the late sixth century. If this had been discovered 80 years ago, it would have been classified as Byzantine. Fortunately, present archaeo­logy dedicated to the Byzantine period is better able to sort out this issue and has already shown a new way of approaching the corresponding material culture.

Byzantine material evidence revealed in other sites located in these areas also does not show a sign of change. The reuse of previous towns and fortresses seems to have been the common trend in order to serve military and commercial purposes. Spania does not seem to have played a significant role as transmitter of Byzantine models. Similar conclusions were already expressed by Schlunk (1945, 203). On the contrary, this same researcher defended an almost constant Byzantine influence arriving from diverse regions at different moments. This Byzantine influence survives indeed as a valid argument in the studies devoted to early medi­eval architecture and continues to be an important way to explaining it. As has been shown, this influence does not only affect seventh-­century Visigothic constructions, but also those dated between the eighth and tenth centuries and commonly known as Asturian and Mozarabic. Caballero Zoreda’s proposal (1994‒95) has also generated a neo-­Byzantinism, a frame in which formal parallels are still effective and larger in number, with the aim of showing that oriental influences were common and that they affected material culture both before the arrival of the Byzantines and after their abandonment of Spania. In others words, the hypothesis aimed to prove that the Umayyads did not bring anything that the Byzantines would not have already imported two centuries earlier. Nevertheless, the archaeo­logical research framework and methodo­logy of the early medi­eval period has also changed, and make it difficult to maintain this argumentation. Debate on material culture of this period is not about confronting Byzantium and Islam, but on improving methodo­logies of research. On one side, continuing to stress this influence as a main argument means forgetting that Byzantium was not a homogeneous frame throughout time, and that it cannot be considered as a monolithic source of inspiration and reflection. Furthermore, sixth‒seventh-­ century Byzantine churches and ornamentations suffer from their own chrono­logical uncertainties of characterization, so they should not be used as absolutely reliable comparative references (Mango 1977, 87; Rodley 1994, 117; Ousterhout 2019, 245–65). On the other hand, recent archaeo­logical analysis of Hispanic constructions dating to between the fifth and tenth centuries offer updated strati­graphic, typo­logical, and techno­logical information that cannot be ignored when dating and characterizing early medi­eval churches. The key to interpreting them is their methodo­logical and accurate analysis, not their proposed similarities and influences. Forcing archaeo­logical results into formal parallels is a useless way of deliberating, since they use different ini-

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tial approaches and discussion arguments and thus can only lead to an infertile debate. Finally, it is our opinion that the Islamic presence in the Iberian Peninsula cannot be compared with the Byzantine one. While the Byzantine presence was limited in terms of geo­graphy, time, and scope (military and commercial), the advent of Islam in 711 meant the beginning of a new historical context at all levels, that would affect almost the whole Iberian peninsula for centuries by establishing a new political, economic, and social map, as it is thus clearly reflected in the Hispanic material culture from that moment onwards. And early medi­eval architecture, as part of that material culture, clearly shows the effects of this change.

Acknowledgements This paper arises from the project ‘Arqueo­logía de las iglesias hispánicas del siglo X: la circulación de modelos arquitectónicos y decorativos. II. HAR2017–84927-­P’, funded by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness (MINECO) and AEI/FEDER, UE, and ‘III. PID2020-­116931GB-­I00’, funded by the Spanish Ministry of Science (MCIN) and AEI. I would like to thank the reviewers of this paper for their questions, which have helped me to rethink and refine some of the issues considered here.

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Desmontaje, contextualización y restitución desde la reexcavación bibliográfica’, Madrider Mitteilungen, 55: 486–559 Lorenzo, Roberto. 2019. ‘La basílica d’Ilici (L’Alcúdia d’Elx). Sobre les proporcions de la planta i les tres inscripcions gregues’, in VII Reunió d’Arqueo­logia Cristiana Hispànica, ed. by Jordi López Vilar (Tarragona: Universitat Rovira), pp. 289–96 Mango, Cyril. 1977. 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Cau Ontiveros. 2013. ‘Christians, Peasants and Shepherds: the Transformation of the Country­side in Late Antique Mallorca (Balearic Islands, Spain)’, Antiquité Tardive, 21: 217–32 Mas Florit, Catalina, Miguel Á. Cau Ontiveros, and Silvia Alcaide. 2020. ‘Buildings of Faith: Early Christianity in the Countryside of the Balearic Islands’, Journal of Roman Archaeo­logy, 33: 271–90 Mergelina, Cayetano. 1940. ‘La iglesia bizantina de Algezares’, Archivo Español de Arte y Arqueo­logía, 14.40: 5–32 Noack-­Haley, Sabine. 1986. ‘Westgotenzeitliche Kapitelle im Duero-­Gebiet und in Asturien’, Madrider Mitteilungen, 27: 389–409 Orfila, Margarita, and Francisco Tuset. 2003. ‘Descripción, paralelos y análisis de los mosaicos de la iglesia de Son Fadrinet (Campos, Mallorca)’, Mayurqa, 29: 189–207 Ousterhout, Robert G. 2019. Eastern Medi­eval Architecture. The Building Traditions of Byzantium and Neighboring Lands (Oxford: Oxford University Press) Palol, Pedro. 1967. Arqueo­logía cristiana de la España romana (siglos IV–VI) (Madrid: CSIC) Pérez de Barradas, José. 1932. ‘La basílica paleocristiana de Vega del Mar (San Pedro de Alcántara, Málaga)’, Archivo Español de Arte y Arqueo­logía, 8.22: 53–72 Posac Mon, Carlos, and Rafael Puertas Tricas. 1989. La basílica paleocristiana de Vega del Mar (Marbella: Ayuntamiento)

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Poveda Navarro, Antonio M. 2019. ‘Instrumentos eucarísticos de la iglesia del castrum Bizantino de Elo (El Monastil, Elda)’, in VII Reunió d’Arqueo­logia Cristiana Hispànica, ed. by Jordi López Vilar (Tarragona: Universitat Rovira i Virgili), pp. 305–12 —— . 2000. ‘Arquitectura sacra de la Carthaginiensis oriental durante la Antigüedad Tardía: las aportaciones de La Alcudia (Elche) y El Monastil (Elda)’, in III Congresso de Arqueo­logia Peninsular vi: Arqueo­logia da antiguidade na Peninsula Iberica, ed. by Jorge Lopez de Alarçao and Francisco S. Lemos (Porto: ADECAP), pp. 579–96 Poveda Navarro, Antonio M., Juan C. Márquez Villora, and Jesus Peidro Blanes. 2013. ‘La iglesia paleocristiana de “El Monastil” (Elda, Alicante) y su contexto arqueológico (siglos V–VII d.C.)’, in XV Congreso Internacional de Arqueo­logía Cristiana. Episcopus, Ciuitas, Territorium, ed. by Olof Brandt, Silvia Creci, Jorge López Quiroga, and Carmelo Pappalardo (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di Archeo­logia Cristiana), pp. 1153–62 Ramallo Asensio, Sebastian. 2000. ‘Carthago Spartaria, un núcleo bizantino en Hispania’, in Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. by Gisela Ripoll (Barcelona: Reial Acadèmia de Bones Lletres), pp. 579–611 Ramallo Asensio, Sebastian, and Jaime Vizcaíno Sánchez. 2002. ‘Bizantinos en Hispania. Un problema recurrente en la arqueo­ logía española’, Archivo Español de Arqueo­logía, 75: 313–32 Ramallo Asensio, Sebastian, Jaime Vizcaíno Sánchez, and Manuel García Vidal. 2007. ‘La decoración arquitectónica en el sureste hispano durante la Antigüedad Tardía. La basílica de Algezares (Murcia)’, in Escultura decorativa tardorromana y altomedi­eval en la Península Ibérica, ed. by Luis Caballero Zoreda and Pedro Mateos Cruz (Madrid: CSIC), pp. 367–89 Riera Rullan, Mateu, Miguel Á. 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An Introduction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) Sales Carbonell, Jordina, Fernando Contreras Rodrigo, and Ismael Macías Fernández. 2019. ‘Entre Iamona y Magona: últimas excavaciones y novedades interpretativas en el enclave cristiano de Sanisera (Sanitja, Menorca)’, in 4th Congrés Internacional d’Arqueo­logia i Món Antic, vii: Reunió d’Arqueo­logia Cristiana Hispànica, ed. by Jordi López Vilar (Tarragona: Universitat Rovira i Virgili), pp. 335–42 Sastre de Diego, Isaac. 2013. Los altares de las iglesias hispanas tardoantiguas y altomedi­evales. Estudio arqueológico (Oxford: Archaeopress) Schlimbach, Fedor. 2011. ‘Byzantinische Einflüsse auf den westgotenzeitlichen Kirchenbau in Hispanien? Bemerkungen zur Herleitung der Motive innerhalb der Baudekoration von Santa María de Quintanilla de las Viñas (Burgos) im Streit zwischen Visigotistas und Mozarabistas’, in Byzanz in Europa. Europas östliches Erbe, ed. by Michael Altripp (Turnhout: Brepols), pp. 184–243 Schlunk, Helmut. 1945. ‘Relaciones entre la Península Ibérica y Bizancio durante la época visigoda’, Archivo Español de Arqueo­ logía, 18: 177–204 —— . 1964. ‘Byzantinische Bauplastik aus Spanien’, Madrider Mitteilungen, 5: 234–54 —— . 1974. ‘Entwicklungsläufer der Skulptur auf der iberischen Halbinsel vom 8. bis 11. Jahrhundert’, in Kolloquium über spätantike und frühmittelalterliche Skulptur, iii, ed. by Vladimir Milojčić (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern), pp. 121–38 Theocharis, Yannis. 2003–2004. ‘Frühmittelalterliche Architekturdekoration in Spanien: Charakteristika einer “Koine” im Mittelmeerraum’, Cahiers Archéo­logiques, 51: 29–44 Ulbert, Thilo. 1971. ‘Skulptur in Spanien’, in Kolloquium über spätantike und frühmittelalterliche Skulptur, ii, ed. by Vladimir Milojčić (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern), pp. 25–34 —— . 2003. ‘El yacimiento paleocristiano de Son Fadrinet (Campos, Mallorca)’, Mayurqa, 29: 173–87 Ulbert, Thilo, and Margarita Orfil Pons. 2002. ‘Die frühchristliche Anlage von Son Fradinet (Campos, Mallorca)’, Madrider Mitteilungen, 43: 239–98 Utrero Agudo, María Á. 2008. ‘Late Antique Churches in the South-­Eastern Iberian Peninsula: The Problem of Byzantine Influence’, Millennium. Jahrbuch zu Kultur und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends n. Chr., 5: 191–211 —— . 2009a. ‘Las estructuras abovedadas en la Historia de la Arquitectura Hispánica Tardoantigua y Altomedi­eval’, Anales de Historia del Arte, 1: 219–32 —— . 2009b. ‘Las iglesias cruciformes del siglo VII en la Península Ibérica. Novedades y problemas cronológicos y morfológicos de un tipo arquitectónico’, in El siglo VII frente al siglo VII: arquitectura, ed. by Luis Caballero Zoreda, Pedro Mateos Cruz, and María Á. Utrero Agudo (Madrid: CSIC), pp. 133–54

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—— . 2010. ‘Late-­Antique and Early Medi­eval Hispanic Churches and the Archaeo­logy of Architecture: Revisions and Reinter­ pretation of Constructions, Chrono­logies and Contexts’, Medi­eval Archaeo­logy, 54: 1–33 —— . 2015. ‘Bisanzio e l’architettura tardoantica e altomedi­evale ispanica. Revisione di un lungo legame’, in Itinerando senza confini dalla preistoria ad oggi. Studi in ricordo di Roberto Coroneo, i.1, ed. by Rossana Martorelli (Cagliari: Morlacchi Ed.), pp. 377–97 —— . 2017. ‘Modelos arquitectónicos y decorativos a inicios del siglo X.  Algunas certezas y varias hipótesis’, Arqueo­logía y Territorio Medi­eval, 24: 185–206 —— . 2017–2018. ‘The Artisans behind Visigothic Buildings: The Materiality of Identity’, Visigothic Symposium, 2: 99–113 Vallejo Girves, Margarita. 2012. Hispania y Bizancio. Una relación desconocida (Madrid: Akal) Villa del Castillo, Alejandro. 2017. ‘Talleres escultóricos itinerantes en el altomedievo hispano: el llamado “Grupo Mozárabe Leonés”’, Arqueo­logía y Territorio Medi­eval, 24: 151–84 —— . 2021. Talleres de escultura cristiana en la península Ibérica (siglos VI–X), 2 vols (Oxford: Archaeopress) Villada, Fernando, and Dario Bernal Casasola. 2019. ‘Del istmo a las murallas reales: Un desafío para la arqueo­logía preislámica de Septem (ss. I–VII d.C.)’, Antiquités africaines. L’Afrique du Nord de la protohistoire à la conquête arabe, 55 Vizcaíno Sánchez, Jaime. 2009. La presencia bizantina en Hispania (siglos VI–VII). La documentación arqueológica (Murcia: Universidad) —— . 2013. ‘Hispania y Oriente durante el periodo de ocupación bizantina (siglos VI–VII). La documentación arqueológica’, in El Oriente griego en la Península Ibérica. Epigrafía e Historia, ed. by Maria P. De Hoz and Gloria Mora (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia), pp. 281–305 Wood, Jamie. 2010. ‘Defending Byzantine Spain: Frontiers and Diplomacy’, Early Medi­eval Europe, 18.3: 292–319

Joanita Vroom

14. Material Encounters in a Byzantine Setting Sixth/Seventh to Tenth Centuries ad

ABSTRACT This paper aims to present a general

overview of the distribution of Early Byzantine pottery finds (glazed fine wares and unglazed coarse wares) throughout the (eastern) Mediterranean from approximately the sixth/seventh to the tenth centuries. An attempt is made to understand the archaeo­logical data from this period of Byzantine contraction from the perspective of resilience thinking. The focus is both on ceramic products from Constantinople (present-­day Istanbul) that spread to the Byzantine territories, and on pottery (in particular amphorae) which was produced in the provinces and found in the capital. A close comparison between these exported and imported ceramic finds is used to shed new light on the nature and scale of exchange of such commodities in the period under study. Also, the role of islands in the context of the Byzantine Empire will be discussed in a comparative perspective, with a focus on the production and distribution of amphorae. A case study of one particular Byzantine amphora type, the so-­called Late Roman amphora 2/13 (LRA 2/13) and its imitations is used to further test the resilience approach.

KEYWORDS Early Byzantine; eastern Mediter­ ranean; resilience theory; imperial glazed wares; amphorae

Introduction Following the Arab expansion in the seventh century, the Byzantine Empire had lost approximately three-­ quarters of its territory, its population, its revenues, and its resources. In particular the loss of its wealthy provinces in the Near East, Egypt, and North Africa were a blow to the Empire during this period of territorial contraction, violent encounters, political turmoil, diseases, and severe economic and financial crisis. Nevertheless, the Byzantine state managed

to recover from the first shocks of military defeat, and even succeeded in surviving for another seven centuries (until 1453). It is an appealing challenge to try and discuss the adaptive economic changes the Byzantines had to take in order to persist from an archaeo­logical perspective. A new and promising way to tackle this problem is offered by a resilience approach, in other words by looking at archaeo­logical data in new ways while focussing on human flexibility in general, and on the learning capacity of survivors in varying economic and commercial systems (Holling 1986; McAnany and Yoffee 2010; Weiberg 2012). In view of the well-­known problem of understanding the material culture of the Byzantine Empire in this period of crisis, it seems worthwhile to explore in which ways Byzantine archaeo­logy can benefit from resilience thinking. With this perspective in mind, crucial questions on this period, not completely inadequately known as the ‘Dark Ages’, and perhaps more adequately as the ‘transitional period’ of Byzantium, can be approached in a novel way. One of these questions is how the changing commercial networks of the seventh to ninth centuries can archaeo­logically be detected in the eastern Mediterranean. More generally, how did the Byzantine exchange systems of either exported pottery products from Constantinople (present-­day Istanbul) or ceramic imports to the capital, function after the Arab expansion? Any beginning of an answer must lie in archaeo­ logical handwork, namely the typo-­chrono­logical diagnosis and comparison between Early Byzantine pottery finds from the capital and from other regions within the Byzantine Empire. The data derived from this handwork can shed new light on local, regional, inter-­regional, or intra-­regional exchange patterns of certain commodities in this transformation period. The understanding of these distribution systems can then perhaps reveal how the Byzantine state adapted

Joanita Vroom ([email protected]) University of Leiden Perspectives on Byzantine Archaeology: From Justinian to the Abbasid Age (6th–9th Centuries), ed. by Angelo Castrorao Barba and Gabriele Castiglia, AMW, 2 (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 221–250 10.1484/M.AMW-EB.5.130682

FHG

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Distribution of Imperial Ceramics within the Byzantine Empire From the seventh century onwards, locally made glazed wares began to dominate production in the Byzantine capital (Vroom 2011, 137–38; 2017a). For the first time, Constantinople was manufacturing its own products for export, such as Glazed White Ware I (shortened to: GWW I). This urban manufacture reached at first a modest level, but it made a difference from the previous products of the sixth century, when unglazed Red Slip Wares from various provincial workshops were imported as table wares into Constantinople. Due to a large consumer market in the capital, the quality and techno­logy of its local glazed pottery production gradually improved and became stabilized in the seventh and eighth centuries. Figure 14.1. Distribution of Glazed White Ware I in the Mediterranean (after Vroom 2017a, fig. 13.1). Furthermore, the capital served as an excellent connective hub, with direct access to the Sea of Marmara, the Aegean, and the to the new political and economic situation, and Black Sea (Vroom, 2021). proved to be resilient as an Empire. Besides distribution in the direct surroundings In short, archaeo­logical data can contribute to of Constantinople (specifically along the western the understanding of how the Byzantine Empire and south-­western Turkish coasts), Glazed White managed to maintain the economic and commerWare I was disseminated in small quantities to other cial domination of its shrinking territory after the parts in the eastern Mediterranean. These exports seventh century by carefully looking at the circuwent to coastal settlements in southern Albania, lation of ceramics between the capital and its core northern Africa, the Aegean, Crete, Cyprus, and areas during this period. Thus, I will discuss in the the Crimea (Fig. 14.1; Vroom 2012, 357). In addifirst part of this paper imperial ceramics made in tion, some fragments of Glazed White Ware I were Constantinople, which were found in the Byzantine recovered in provincial towns in central Turkey (e.g., provinces and which were sometimes copied there Amorium), which were often located along imporby local potters. Among this material are the first tant land routes joining the capital with its eastConstantinopolitan glazed products and cooking ern frontiers (Böhlendorf-­Arslan 2004, 98; Vroom pots. In the second part of this paper, the focus is 2006, 164–65). on the distribution of several seventh-­to eighth-­ Glazed White Ware I was also exported from century amphorae from Byzantine territories and the capital to the larger islands in the eastern islands, which exported bulk goods (principally Mediterranean (including Crete and Cyprus). We wine and oil) to the capital. Thirdly, a case study see, for instance, imports of the first products of this of one particular amphora type, the so-­called Late Constantinopolitan glazed tableware on Crete, where Roman amphora 2/13 (LRA 2/13), is discussed in it has been found so far at Gortys, Pseira Island, more detail. By unravelling the production zones, Heraklion, Ag. Galini, Loutres (Mochlos), and Itanos the distribution systems, and the imitations of this (e.g., Poulou-­Papadimitriou 2001, figs 7–8; 2018, widely used container in early Byzantine times, it fig. 7D-­E ; Costa 2017, fig. 4 GQB-­CER 1032.17+18). will be discussed whether these aspects can be betApart from Crete, we may notice some examples of ter understood from a resilience perspective. Glazed White Ware I finds on Cyprus, which was attacked by Umayyad forces after 654 and captured by them in 649 (Fig. 14.2). We are dealing here with imports in various (and mostly) coastal urban sites

14. mat e ri al e nco u nt e rs i n a byzant i ne s etting 2 2 3

Figure 14.2. Distribution of Glazed Wares: map of Glazed White Ware I and II on Cyprus (figure by author).

Figure 14.3. Distribution of main types of ‘globular amphorae’ and their production zones (after Vroom 2017a, fig. 13.4); shown in the circle is an LRA 2/13 type).

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and harbours, including Kourion, Amathous, and Salamis, although these were few in number (Hayes 1980, fig. 19; 2007; Touma 2001, fig. 12). The next phase of glazed pottery production in Constantinople, Glazed White Ware II (GWW II), can from the ninth century onwards be distinguished at port-­cities in north-­western Cyprus, such as Soli and Paphos (Hayes 1980, 379–80 and fig. 22). The distribution of GWW II went by then also from coastal sites to the hinterland, because some Glazed White Ware II sherds were recovered in rural settlements of the TAESP survey in the Troodos Mountains (Vroom 2013, 76). This indicates the on-­going material connectivity of these two large Mediterranean islands with the capital from the seventh century onwards. The first Glazed White Ware I products from Constantinople came to the provinces in different shapes, ranging from cooking pots to chafing dishes. These last ones were soon imitated in other parts of the Byzantine Empire by lead-­glazed examples in reddish, coarse and porous fabrics, for instance in provincial towns which were functioning as commercial nodal points or hubs, including Amorium, Corinth, Butrint, and Otranto (e.g., Vroom 2011, figs 15a-­b). Their fire-­resisting characteristics would make these domestic vessels in iron-­rich fabrics more suitable as multi-­f unctional cooking or heating utensils. Glazed Red Ware chafing dishes were not only produced in Constantinople, Greece, Turkey, and in the Black Sea region, but also in Albania and southern Italy (Vroom 20142, 74–75). Apart from chafing dishes, locally made cooking pots from Constantinople (known at the Saraçhane excavations in Istanbul as ‘CW 3C’) were travelling during the seventh and eighth centuries to different parts of the Byzantine Empire. Until now, examples of these Constantinopolitan cooking pots have been found at various sites in the Black Sea region, Rumania, Turkey, Cyprus, North Africa, Italy, southern France, and Spain (Vroom 2017a, p. 187 and fig. 13.6). On the other hand, there seems to be a more restricted circulation of contemporary cooking pots from western Turkey (the so-­called ‘CW4’ in the Saraçhane series) in the eastern part of the Mediterranean. To date, specimens of this regionally made seventh-­to ninth-­century cooking pot type have been found at sites in Rumania, Turkey, Cyprus, the Near East, North Africa, and southern France (Vroom 2017a, 188 and fig. 13.7). Among these finds were, for example, eight partial and complete pots from the ninth-­century Bozburun shipwreck off the western Turkish coast, clearly not far from their production area and undoubtedly used by the ship’s crew as pantry wares (Hocker 1995, 12–14).

Early Byzantine Amphorae Besides glazed table wares and cooking pots from Constantinople, it is worthwhile focusing on ceramic transport jars which circulated within the Byzantine Empire during the seventh and eighth centuries. Figure 14.3 shows an overview of the most common Early Byzantine amphora types (in Greek known as magarika) and their production zones in the Mediterranean. The dominant types in this period were the so-­called ‘globular amphorae’ (Arthur 1998, p. 169), which were mostly produced and distributed in the eastern Mediterranean while provisioning the capital with various foodstuffs from the provinces. Imported examples from this broad and miscellaneous assemblage were for example recovered during excavations at the previous church of St Polyeuktos in the Saraçhane district in present-­ day Istanbul (Hayes 1992, fig. 23, his types 29, 35–39, 42; see also Vroom 2011, fig. 1). When looking at their different shapes and fabrics, it is obvious that we are dealing here with a very diverse group of amphorae (occasionally in smaller sizes), which were often conveniently clustered together into the category of ‘globular amphorae’. What all these different amphora types do share is that they were perfect ceramic containers for inter-­ regional and even long-­distance transport of low value staple commodities, for instance for the distribution of wine, olive oil, or grain. Judging from the archaeo­logical material, an intra-­regional movement of ‘globular amphorae’ certainly existed in the eastern Mediterranean during the seventh and eighth centuries. In fact, the Byzantine Empire still profited from a good infrastructure of cities connected to each other by sea and by overland roads, which were taken over from the Romans. Maritime movement between primary ports of call depended upon an inter-­regional system of smaller secondary harbours, using cabotage and tramping of ships from one port to another in the Mediterranean basin. In effect, the Byzantine Empire was an urbanized society of c. 900 cities and towns, which were connected to either maritime or terrestrial networks (Haldon 2005, map 3.2). Provincial cities were self-­sufficient nuclei of production and commerce, and dependent on inter-­ regional trade. Market towns were in close connection with Constantinople, and rural areas had direct links with towns, supplying them through marketplaces (Runciman 1987, 133). Warehouses (horrea, apothiki) stacked with pottery (mostly amphorae) have so far seldom been recovered in Byzantine cities and ports in the Mediterranean. The only exceptions are: firstly, a

14. mat e ri al e nco u nt e rs i n a byzant i ne s etting 2 2 5 Table 14.1. Riley’s ‘Late Roman Amphora 13 (LRA 13)’ from Benghazi, Libya, in a new division.

Amphora type

Drawings

References to Riley

Alternative names

Provenance

Riley’s LRA 13 Type 1

Riley 1979, nos 373–74 and 397

Kuzmanov XX; Scorpan VII-­A3; Peacock and Wiliams class 54; LRA 2C; Saraçhane 29 and 35–39; Yassi Ada 2; TRC 12; Tipo San Antonino 45; Egloff 167; Bonifay globulaire 4

Import, probably from the Aegean

A variant (from Crete?)

Riley’s LRA 13 Type 2

Riley 1979, no. 375

TRC 10; Amphore crétoise type 1

Import, probably from Crete

226 joa n ita v ro o m

coastal warehouse excavated at Classe (the harbour of Ravenna) full of imported table wares, lamps, and amphorae grouped together in sets (Cirelli 2008, 133, figs 113, 334; 2014, figs 2–3; see also Augenti and Cirelli 2010, figs 5, 10, 11; 2013, figs 10.5 and 10.8); secondly, a military storehouse at the fort of Dichin (along the Danube river) with six amphorae of different types (for instance, LRA 1 and LRA 2) stacked in a row (Swan 2007, 835–36, fig. 1); and thirdly, another warehouse and anchorage at ‘Ard el-­Mihjar, south of Ashqelon (Israel), packed with local Gaza-­ type amphorae ready for inspection and for transport to other Mediterranean harbours (Fabian and Goren 2001). While the last seventh-­century warehouse shows the export of a prized wine from a productive viticultural region, the first two show how goods (around 500) were imported to urban sites. Furthermore, we know of shops (often within a stoa) in Byzantine cities, which housed potters ( Justiniana Prima), or which functioned as grocers (ergasteria) where amongst many things pottery was sold (Constantinople) (Mundell Mango 2000, 195). We can even see a glimpse of state officials functioning in such warehouses packed with ceramic containers. Several seventh to eighth-­century amphorae made on the island of Kos bear incised graffiti in Greek characters (seemingly, abbreviated names), as well as different types of control stamps depicting busts of emperors or cross-­like monograms with inscriptions (sometimes referring to ‘exceedingly glorious’) which can be connected with Byzantine state agents (Diamanti 2010a; 2010b). At least twenty-­four stamps of an official nature were found on twenty amphorae, showing that these were measured and approved as a cargo, with an official stamp on one or two of them (per cargo). According to the Greek archaeo­logist Charikleia Diamanti, these stamped amphorae were proof of a state control mechanism upon the commercial activities of Kos, performed by authorized Byzantine officers such as commercial inspectors (the kommerkiaroi). These last ones were charged with the collection of the imperial sales tax on imported goods (kommerkion) and with inspecting the transactions of warehouses for different agricultural goods on the island (Diamanti 2010a; 2010b; 2012). A substantial percentage of most ship cargoes consisted of amphorae (sometimes up to 1500 specimens in a load), which were good indicators of an efficient distribution of staple goods from the Mediterranean (such as olive oil, wine, and grain) to other regions within and outside the Byzantine Empire (Vroom 2016, table 1). Through their circulation we can detect regional, interregional, and extra-­regional movements of larger loads of basic food supplies in the Mediterranean and beyond. Furthermore,

these ceramic containers often mirrored the distribution of other archaeo­logically invisible and lighter-­ weighted merchandise in ships, such as high-­value textiles, metalware, spices, drugs, and aromatics over short-­, medium-­, and long distances (Vroom 2016). The smaller-­sized Byzantine amphorae of the seventh/eighth century had commercial advantages: they had for example less carrying capacity, which facilitated easy handling by a single person (when full) during short-­, medium-­, and long-­distance transport on various means of transfer (by ships or by pack animals) in the Aegean and in the Mediterranean. In addition, they enabled easy handling in minor and less sophisticated coastal harbours, including the loading and unloading of cargoes of smaller-­ sized merchant ships of c. 10–15 metres in length (see Vroom 2016, table 1). Most Byzantine ships engaged in commerce and in coastal cabotage seem by this period to be fairly small, often up to 20 metres long and around 8 metres wide, and carrying circa 1500 amphorae (Kingsley 2009, 324). At Constantinople’s southern harbour of Theodosius (located at Yenikapι in present-­day Istanbul), at least thirty-­seven shipwrecks have been fully excavated in recent years. They can be dated between the late sixth/early seventh to the tenth/eleventh centuries (e.g., Pulak 2007; Denker and others 2013; Özsait Kocabaş 2013; Pulak and others 2013). Some of these shipwrecks (such as the ‘YK 12’) even contained their cargo, often full with wine amphorae from Ganos (a region south of Constantinople), displaying thus snapshots of regional trade between the capital and the Sea of Marmara during Byzantine times. The role of Constantinople as a large consumer centre and as a regional and inter-­regional transit hub is indeed shown by the thousands of fragments of Ganos amphorae (also known as ‘Günsenin 1/ Saraçhane 54 amphorae’) found at this harbour (for tenth‒eleventh-­century amphora types, see Vroom 20142, 94–95). Apparently, such containers with food supplies from neighbouring regions entered the city in substantial quantities by sea from the South. It seems clear that from the seventh century onwards, inter-­regional and long-­distance transport of amphorae on small, low-­status ships (such as the ones found at the recent Yenikapi excavations) remained more prevalent in the Mediterranean than previously believed (Vroom 2016, Fig. 1 and Table 1). Coastal regions in particular were getting ceramic products from other parts of the Mediterranean. In fact, we may notice an overlapping network of amphora production and distribution, which was essentially Aegean-­centred, but stretched beyond this area to far away places in the west, east, south and north (Vroom 2021).

14. mat e ri al e nco u nt e rs i n a byzant i ne s etting 2 2 7

Figure 14.4. Evolution of Riley’s ‘LRA 13’ types (after Riley 1979 and Pieri 2005).

An Early Byzantine Amphora Type: The ‘LRA 2/13’ The map in Figure 14.3 presents some main types of seventh-­to ninth-­century ‘globular amphorae’ and their production zones in the Aegean, Cyprus, North Africa, Italy, and the Crimea, where they were made in various smaller workshops. As noticed above, we are dealing here with a very diverse group or family of amphorae, with very different fabrics and shapes, which were often gathered together in the umbrella classification ‘globular amphorae’ (Vroom 2016, 159–60). So, it would be good if we can start unravelling the different types from now on: ranging from ‘ovoid globular amphorae’ to ‘LRA 1 survivals’ (for such endeavours, see Poulou-­Papadimitriou and Nodarou 2007; 2014; Vroom 2017b). As a case study I have chosen one seventh-­to eighth-­century amphora type, being the largest in volume capacity within this diverse group of ‘globular amphorae’, which has various names but is mostly known as the ‘Late Roman Amphora 13’ or ‘Late Roman Amphora 2/13’ (shortened to: LRA 2/13).

Some questions that can be raised are: what were the characteristics of this type; how can we date this type; which were its production sites/regions; what did it contain; and how can it be connected to larger seventh-­to eighth-­century exchange patterns in the Mediterranean? This amphora type was first identified in 1973 by Georgi Kuzmanov (1973, type XX), and in 1977 by Costantin Scorpan (1977, type VII-­A3). Afterwards, John Riley (1979, 231) recognized its presence in 1979 at Benghazi (in present-­day Libya), and included this type in his series as a ‘Late Roman Amphora 13’ that was dated by him to the (early) seventh and eighth centuries. Based on Riley’s typo­logy, David Peacock and David Williams described the features and petro­ logical characteristics of this ceramic container as their ‘class 54’, and John Hayes documented its profile within the Saraçhane-­assemblages at Constantinople/ modern Istanbul (especially his ‘Saraçhane types 29, 35–39, and 42’ from the seventh-­to early ninth-­ century deposits 30 and 32–36) (Peacock and Williams 1986, 208–09 figs 125–26; Hayes 1992, fig. 23 types 29, 35–39, and 42).

228 joa n ita v ro o m

Figure 14.5. LRA 2/13 production and distribution in the Aegean (figure by author).

However, Riley classified in the same group two completely different amphora types with diverse looking shapes. The drawings in Table 14.1 clearly show that there are definitely two dissimilar types: one with an oval or ovoid body, a conical neck, an everted rim, and zones of combed or incised grooves around the shoulder (top image; see also Riley 1979, figs 93–94 nos 373–74 and 397); and another one with a more bag-­shaped cylindrical body and a rounded base (bottom image; see also Riley 1979, fig. 94 no. 375).1 Furthermore, both amphora types come with a plethora of different names: apart from the ones mentioned above the first type is so far also known as a ‘LRA 2C’, ‘Yassi Ada 2’, ‘TRC 12’, ‘TRC 15’, ‘Tipo San Antonino 42–46’, ‘Egloff 167’, and ‘Bonifay globulaire 4’, while the second type is also known as ‘TRC 10’ and ‘amphore crétoise type 1’ (e.g., Bass 1982; Egloff 1977; Portale and Romeo 2000, fig. 6 nos 47–49; Murialdo 2001, 286–88; Bonifay 2004,



1 It is even possible that within Riley’s first type there is a subtype or variant (perhaps from Crete?) due to a slightly different morpho­logy; see Table 14.1.

152 fig. 83; Yangaki 2004–2005, 515–18 fig. 10; 2005, 193–97, 281–85; 2007, figs 2a-­c). The evolution or transformation of forms of the first type is shown in Figure 14.4 (p. 227), where one may distinguish the development from the LRA 2 of Roman and Late Roman times to the later LRA 13 used in Byzantium. Perhaps the Byzantines continued using the Aegean-­based LRA 2 shape on purpose, showing their continuity with the economic system of the Roman period. Dominique Pieri distinguished the later seventh century development of the LRA 2 to his LRA 2C dite de transition with the characteristics of a longer neck, several different rim shapes and zones of incised straight or wavy lines on the upper body (Pieri 2005, 88–89 fig. 45 and plate 27 with examples found at Marseilles and Golfe de Fos). The latest products within his series could even be dated to the eighth and ninth centuries (Pieri 2005, fig. 49). Nevertheless, some scholars still link this type to the Late Antique tradition of the LRA 2, and prefer to describe it as a LRA 2/13. For the sake of clarity, I will indeed use this last term, the LRA 2/13, from now on for this first amphora type in this paper.

14. mat e ri al e nco u nt e rs i n a byzant i ne s etting 2 2 9

The second amphora type (shown in the lower part of Fig. 14.4) has, on the other hand, a rather Cretan-­ based and more restricted development (evolving on Crete to a ‘TRC 10’ or ‘LRA1 survivor’), and will not be discussed here further (cf. Portale and Romeo 2000, fig. 3 nos 27–29; Yangaki 2004–2005).

varieties in fabrics and surface treatments (Bass 1982, figs 8.4–8.6). Furthermore, the finds from the wreck included roughly made amphora stoppers, and showed a re-­use of the amphorae with at least two series of graffiti on top of each other (Bass 1982, fig. 8.7; van Doorninck 1989, 247–53). The first reference to proven local production was made by French excavators in 1989 on Cyprus, when kiln wasters of the LRA 2/13 were found in a well in the port of ancient Amathous (Empereur and Picon 1989, 242). These finds were published by Stella Demesticha in 2003, together with more kiln material of the LRA2/13 from Paphos and Zygi (Demesticha 2003, 472–73 and fig. 4). In all three cases, the LRA 2/13 was always found together with kiln wasters of the LRA 1, but in smaller amounts (Demesticha 2003, 471–72 and fig. 3). This showed that both types were simultaneously made in the same workshops, although the production of the LRA 2/13 seems to have been secondary and limited on Cyprus (Demesticha 2005, 170–72).3 Given the conservatism of pottery manufacture, there must have been serious reasons for the introduction of a new amphora type among the range of transport containers from a workshop specializing in mass production. So, why did the Cypriot workshops suddenly introduce an Aegean-­style transport container for the packaging of bulk goods in the seventh century? Do we distinguish here the penetration of a new amphora shape in a free, or rather in a state-­ controlled production and distribution? The circulation of the locally made LRA 2/13 (from Paphos, Amathous, and Zygi) may be noticed at various but mostly coastal sites on Cyprus, such as Salamis/Constantia, Ayia Philon, the basilica of Maroni-­Petrera, Kalavassos-­Kopetra, Kerathidi Bay, and Alassa-­A ghia Mavri (Fig. 14.6; see also Demesticha 2005, 172–73). Later examples of the LRA 2/13 were also recovered at Paphos, Soloi, and Kourion, where they were dated to the end of the seventh and eighth centuries (Megaw 1972, 328; Hayes 2007, 445; Randall 2013, 279). The LRA 2/13 type seems to be rare on Cypriot rural sites. We must keep in mind, though, that fragments of this amphora type are undoubtedly difficult to recognize during survey projects on Cyprus and in the Aegean, due to its confusing similarity with the LRA 2 (Vroom 2003, 144 fig. 6.3 W3.1 and W3a.1). Thus, the classification and identification of this amphora type in archaeo­logical projects is not always that simple.

Distribution and Proven Production of the LRA 2/13 The variety in shapes and fabrics of the first type of the LRA 2/13 assumes that they were made in various production sites but probably in the same geo­ graphical region (Arthur 1998, 169). The manufacture zone of this amphora type is in general associated with the Aegean, the Byzantine heartland, because examples are frequently found in this island-­r ich basin (see Fig. 14.5 and Table 14.2). This is a near-­ landlocked area, good for maritime traffic and communication, with complex (inter)regional exchange systems, based on small-­scale, short-­distance travel between islands connected to other islands or to the adjacent mainland. Apart from Constantinople, we may notice the existence of the LRA 2/13 in eastern Mediterranean ship cargoes (such as in the Yassi Ada I-­w reck near the western coast of Turkey), as well as in excavated contexts on various Aegean islands — including finds on Chios, Samos, Kos, Paros, Kythera, Crete (e.g., Boardman 1989, 108–09 nos 236–38, fig. 36 pl 24–25; Johnston and others 2014, 27 fig. 18d-­e). The total height of these examples varies from 49 to 55 cm., and their total volume capacity is estimated between c. 30 and 43 litres with an average of 36 litres (Bass 1982, 163). There are hardly any dipinti on these amphorae; instead, graffiti with Greek characters were incised on the shoulders of these containers before firing in a pottery kiln (Bass 1982, 161 and fig. 8.8). Large concentrations in many different varieties of the Aegean-­style LRA 2/13 have been recovered at the seventh-­century Yassi Ada shipwreck, excavated off the Bodrum Peninsula between 1961 and 1964, together with cylindrical-­shaped amphorae known as LRA 1 from Cilicia and western Cyprus (Bass 1982, figs 8.1–8.3).2 Of the total of c. 900 amphorae, around 719 of 40 subtypes (or 80% of the excavated total) belonged to a broad family of the LRA 2/13, with a general similar looking shape but with many

2 Although the Yassi Ada shipwreck has originally been dated to c. 625/26 ad on the basis of coins of Emperor Heraclius (r. 610–641), this date is now questionable and the wreck should be dated later in the seventh century (cf. Vroom 2016, p. 159).



3 Incidentally, the locally made LRA1 was so far found on Cyprus at Kalavasos-­Kopetra, Kourion, the Kornos Cave, Ayios Philon, Soli, Salamis, and Cap St André.

23 0 joa n ita v ro o m

Figure 14.6. LRA 2/13 production and distribution on Cyprus (figure by author).

The second evidence of production is on Kos, where kiln sites of the LRA 2/13 and the LRA 1 have been located on the southwest side of the island, in the ancient settlement of Halasarna (current Cardamaina). The pottery workshops and storage areas were situated near the sea, on the shorelines of the island, to assist an easy transport of these containers and their contents (including agricultural products of the island) to the capital and other parts of the Byzantine Empire (Didioumi 2014; Diamanti 2010a-­b, 2012). The local amphorae from Kos bear incised graffiti in Greek characters (apparently, abbreviated names), as well as different types of stamps depicting busts of emperors or cross-­like monograms with inscriptions (‘exceedingly glorious’). At least twenty-­four stamps of an official nature (copying coin icono­ graphy) were found on twenty amphorae, showing that they were controlled and approved as a cargo with an official stamp on one or two of them (per cargo). According to Charikleia Diamanti, they were proof of a state control mechanism and trade regulation upon the commercial activities of Kos, performed by authorized officers such as commercial inspectors, the kommerkiaroi (Diamanti 2010a;

2010b, 2012). It has been suggested that these last ones participated in the system providing the army (annona militaris) and the capital with agricultural supplies (particularly after the loss of Byzantium’s wealthy provinces in Syria, Palestine, and Egypt). In addition, graffiti with crosses and Christograms could even show the involvement of the church in the production and distribution of these ceramic containers (Diamanti 2010a; 2010b; 2012). Further solid evidence for an Aegean production of the LRA 2/13 and the LRA 1 is on Paros, where recently seven pottery production sites were noticed along the coastline of Naouassa Bay in the northern part of the island. Among these, two well-­preserved kilns with wasters were recovered at Lagari (near Zoodhochos Pighi church), where both amphora types were made from the second half of the sixth to the first half of the seventh century (Diamanti 2016, 693 figs 4–7). The rectangular plan of these kilns is apparently the most common one for pottery kilns in Late Antiquity (Raptis 2012, 40–41). The amphorae seem to have been produced near buildings and storehouses of an active Late Roman port on the island (Diamanti 2016, 691).

14. mat e ri al e nco u nt e rs i n a byzant i ne s etting 2 31 Table 14.2. A selection of the heterogeneous group of ‘LRA 2/13’ and ‘LRA 2/13 et similis’ showing amphorae with different shapes and fabrics.

Find context

Region

Istanbul, Saraçhane

Illustrations

References

Provenance

Aegean

Hayes 1992, 68 fig. 23 nos 3–6, 9–10

Probably import from the Aegean

Crete, Gortys

Aegean

Costa 2017, 717 fig. 36 GQB-­CER 591.3 and 591.4

Possible local production due to indigenous clays

Crete, Eleutherna

Aegean

Yangaki 2004–2005, 516 figs 10a and c

Possible local production due to indigenous clays

Kythera, Kastri

Aegean;

Johnston and others 2014, 27 fig. 18d-­e nos φ 54–55

Probably import from the Aegean

Chios, Emporio

Aegean

Boardman 1989, 107 fig. 36 pl. 24 no. 236 and pl. 25 no. 238

Probably import from the Aegean

23 2 joa n ita v ro o m Table 14.2. A selection of the heterogeneous group of ‘LRA 2/13’ and ‘LRA 2/13 et similis’ showing amphorae with different shapes and fabrics (cont.).

Find context

Kos

Region

Aegean

Illustrations

References

Provenance

Diamanti 2010a, 493 fig. 89 no. 368–1405, 522 fig. 118 no. 460–1664

Definite local production due to finds of kilns and wasters

Paros

Aegean

Diamanti 2016, 692 fig. 2c

Definite local production due to finds of kilns and wasters

Yassi Ada Shipwreck

Aegean

Bass 1982, fig. 8.5, nos CA 16 and 20

Probably cargo from the Aegean

Cyprus

Hayes 1980, figs 16.1 and 16.2; Demesticha 2003, 473 figs 4a; 2005, 172 fig. 3

Definite local production due to finds of kilns and wasters

Cyprus

Touma 2001, 282 figs 3, 5–6; Demesticha 2005, 171 fig. 2b

Definite local production due to finds of kilns and wasters

Paphos

Amathous

14. mat e ri al e nco u nt e rs i n a byzant i ne s etting 2 33 Table 14.2. A selection of the heterogeneous group of ‘LRA 2/13’ and ‘LRA 2/13 et similis’ showing amphorae with different shapes and fabrics (cont.).

Find context

Zygi-­Petrini

Region Cyprus

Illustrations

References

Provenance

Demsticha 2003, 473 fig. 4c

Definite local production due to finds of wasters

Possible local/regional production due to indigenous clays

Possible local production due to indigenous clays

Samos

Aegean

Hautumm 2004, pl. 74 no. 1733

Ephesus

Aegean

González Cesteros 2018, 101; Ladstätter 2019, 60 fig. 56

Fustat

Egypt

Beirut

Levant

Gayraud and Tréglia 2014, Possible local 372 fig. 3 nos 1–2; Reynolds production due to 2016, fig. 8 no. 7d indigenous clays

Reynolds 2003, fig. 2.5

Probably import from Egypt

23 4 joa n ita v ro o m Table 14.2. A selection of the heterogeneous group of ‘LRA 2/13’ and ‘LRA 2/13 et similis’ showing amphorae with different shapes and fabrics (cont.).

Find context

Region

Dor/Tantura Lagoon, Tantura F shipwreck

Illustrations

References

Provenance

Levant

Barkai and others 2010, 92 fig. 4 no. 5

Probably cargo from Egypt

Tunisia, Nabeul

North Africa

Bonifay 2004, 152 fig. 83 nos 2–3

Possible local production due to indigenous clays

Marsaxlokk, Tas-­Silg

Malta

Bruno and Cutajar 2013, 23 figs 15–16

Probably import from the Aegean

Canale di Sicilia

West of Sicily

Ardizzone 2010, 70 fig. 7

Probably import from Egypt

Marettimo, Aegadian Islands

West of Sicily

Auriemma and Quiri 2007, fig. 4 no. 9

Probably import (from southern Italy?)

Catania

Sicily

Arcifa 2010, 45 fig. 10c SAC 45/1

Probably import from the Aegean

14. mat e ri al e nco u nt e rs i n a byzant i ne s etting 2 35 Table 14.2. A selection of the heterogeneous group of ‘LRA 2/13’ and ‘LRA 2/13 et similis’ showing amphorae with different shapes and fabrics (cont.).

Find context

Region

Syracuse

Illustrations

References

Provenance

Sicily

Cacciaguerra 2018, 154 fig. 5

Probably import from the Aegean

Rocchicella

Sicily

Arcifa 2018, 144 fig. 26

Probably import from the Aegean

Otranto

Southern Italy

Imperiale 2004, fig. 3, no. 1; Arthur and Patterson 1998, 519 fig. 4 no. 1

Definite local production due to finds of kilns and wasters

Kotor, Prevlaka

Kroatia

Negrelli 2018, 18 fig. 5, no. 3

Probably import from the Aegean

Comacchio

North-­ eastern Italy

Gelichi and Negrelli 2008, fig. 11 no. 3; Negrelli 2007, fig. 18 no. 3

Probably import from the Aegean

Classe

North-­ eastern Italy

Cirelli 2018, 37, pl. I, nos 2 and 4

Probably import from the Aegean

2 36 joa n ita v ro o m Table 14.2. A selection of the heterogeneous group of ‘LRA 2/13’ and ‘LRA 2/13 et similis’ showing amphorae with different shapes and fabrics (cont.).

Find context

Region

Ancona

Eastern Italy

Illustrations

References

Provenance

Cirelli 2018, 41 pl. II no. 3

Probably import from the Aegean

Naples

Western Italy

Arthur 1993, fig. 3; Carsana 2018, fig. 7 no. 2

Probably import (from Egypt? eastern Aegean? north-­eastern Sicily?)

Rome, Crypta Balbi

Western Italy

Sagui and others 1997, fig. 6 no. 2; Sagui 2002, fig. 6 no. 7

Probably import (from Egypt? from Aegean? or from Sicily?)

Porto

Western Italy

Auriemma and Quiri 2007, fig. 4 no. 8

Probably import (from southern Italy?)

San Antonino di Perti

North-­ western Italy

Murialdo 2001, pl. 27 no. 211

Probably import from the eastern Aegean (Samos-­ Ephesus region?)

Marseille

Southern France

Pieri 2005, pl. 27 nos 1 and 3

Probably import from the Aegean

14. mat e ri al e nco u nt e rs i n a byzant i ne s etting 2 37 Table 14.2. A selection of the heterogeneous group of ‘LRA 2/13’ and ‘LRA 2/13 et similis’ showing amphorae with different shapes and fabrics (cont.).

Find context

Region

Golfe du Fos

Chersonesos

Illustrations

References

Provenance

Southern France

Pieri 2005, pl. 27 no. 2

Probably import from the Aegean

Crimea

Romanchuk and others 1995, pl. 20 no. 91 class 24

Regional production? Or import from the Aegean?

More Production of the LRA 2/13 We see the same phenomenon on Crete. Apart from imported specimens, it has been suggested that the LRA 2/13 was locally manufactured at the sites of Gortys and Eleutherna with indigenous clays (Yangaki 2004–2005, 515–18 and fig. 10; 2005, 194–96; Portale 2014, 478). So, this is another indication of production of the LRA 2/13 in the eastern Mediterranean. Their production was in general, during the late seventh and eighth centuries (Fig. 14.7). Apart from finds at Gortys and Eleutherna, examples of the LRA 2/13 have so far been recovered at Heraklion (seventh-­century context), Mochlos (eighth‒early ninth-­century context), Pseira island (eighth‒early ninth-­century context), and Knossos (e.g., Portale and Romeo 2000, fig. 6; Hayes 2001, 442 fig. 5 A58, 450 fig. 10 B60; Poulou-­Papadimitriou 2001). The volume capacity from a better-­preserved specimen from Gortys turns out to be between 30 and 40 litres (Costa 2017, 716). Production of the LRA 2/13 has also been established on the island of Samos and in particular in its hinterland, at nearby Ephesus on the western coast of Turkey, due to their local micaceous fabrics. In the Eupalinos Tunnel on Samos, this container type was the most frequent, with 430 amphorae counted and divided into 18 categories (Hautumm 1981, 21–58

fig. 17–41; 2004, pl 74–76 and 101 nos 1733–43). Most of these look similar in shape and combed zones to the ones from the Yassi Ada shipwreck; some even have on their shoulders graffiti of Greek letters (such as the ‘M’, ‘A’ and ‘X’) which seem to be a kind of brand name for the Church of St Mary at Ephesus (cf. Vroom 2018, 87–88 and fig. 6 for this suggestion). Furthermore, a large group of comparable amphorae appears to have been recovered in relation to an ‘ecclesiastical complex’ in the ancient city of Samos (Demesticha 2005, 174 and n. 54). Some analogous looking amphora shapes and fabrics were recently excavated in Ephesus, for example at the Vedius Gymnasium and in the Late Antique–medi­eval City Quarter south of the Church of St Mary; that is to say, in contexts that can be dated between the mid-­seventh and early ninth centuries (Ladstätter 2008; 2019; González Cesteros 2018).4 At Ephesus, it is important to keep in mind that we may notice the manufacture of a new amphora type, which is exogenous to the earlier Late Antique amphora production (which included the LRA 3, Ephesus 56, and Samos Cistern in the sixth century). Indeed, we see a drastic rupture of 100 years of Ephesian amphora tradition, with the sudden 4 An upcoming joint article with Horacio Gonzalez Cesteros will show further evidence at Ephesus.

23 8 joa n ita v ro o m

Figure 14.7. LRA 2/13 production and distribution on Crete (figure by author).

Figure 14.8. LRA 2/13 and the production and chronology of other amphorae in North Africa (after Bonifay 2005, fig. 1).

14. mat e ri al e nco u nt e rs i n a byzant i ne s etting 239

appearance of an Aegean-­based shape (Ladstätter 2008; 2019). We may notice the same break in amphora repertoire in an Umayyad context at Fustat (Cairo), where Egyptian variants of the LRA 2/13, also known as the ‘Egloff 167’, were recovered together with amphora types of a longer manufacturing tradition in Egypt, including the LRA 7 and the bag-­shaped (LRA5-­ style) amphorae (Gayraud and Tréglia 2014, 372 fig. 3 nos 1–2). The amphorae in Fustat appear to have been found together with a glass token or seal of a financial magistrate stamped in Arabic with the name al-­Qasim (734–742), as well as with a LRA 7 stopper stamped with a five-­pointed star surrounded by four small crescents — a motif that seems to derive from Sasanian icono­graphical tradition in Persia/ Iran (Vroom, in press). One of the Egyptian bag-­ shaped amphorae shows an Arabic dipinto of three letters, which the excavators interpreted as a numerical value for capacity (‘he ordered’) (Gayraud and Tréglia 2014, fig. 3 no. 1). In short, all these artefacts surely indicate commercial and administrative activities in this excavated zone, including the continuity of labels on ceramic wine containers. The Egyptian imitation of the LRA 2/13 was apparently re-­produced in Umayyad Egypt during the late seventh and eighth centuries, probably at monastic communities in the western Nile Delta (at least not far from Alexandria), because these vessels have the typical brown Nile fabric from Teenouthis / Kum Abu Billu. In Egypt, examples of these LRA 2/13 / Egloff 167 amphorae have so far been recovered at Kellia, St Macarios Monastery, Old Baramus, Marea, Bauit, and Ostrakine in the North Sinai (e.g., Arthur and Oren 1998, fig. 6 no. 6 A-­152; Konstantinidou 2010, 952 fig. 8 no. 31). It is clear that these Egyptian versions of the LRA 2/13 continued to be manufactured, re-­distributed, and exported from Alexandria (filled with Egyptian wine produced by Christian communities) under Umayyad domination (see also Reynolds 2016, 147). In fact, five specimens of the Egyptian LRA 2/13 / Egloff 167 were found in a large Umayyad deposit from the Imperial Baths at Beirut together with other imported ceramic products from Egypt, including Egyptian Red Slip Ware (ERSW) plus amphorae from the Middle Nile (LRA 7) and from various production areas of the Nile Delta (Reynolds 2010, fig. 27g; 2018, BEY 045). The shapes of the two Egyptian amphorae from this Umayyad deposit (date c. 700–750) developed at Beirut eventually into another LRA 2/13 import from Egypt (from the Souks excavation (BEY 006)) dated to the Early Abbasid period (eighth century?). In short, these examples clearly show the strong links between Beirut and

Umayyad-­Abbasid Egypt. At the same time, we see also a Cypriot LRA2/13 import in this Umayyad deposit in the Imperial baths in Beirut, perhaps from eastern Cyprus (Reynolds 2018, fig. 5B). Examples of the Egyptian LRA 2/13 / Egloff 167 were also recognized among the cargo finds of the Tantura F shipwreck in the Dor/Tantura Lagoon, 30 km. south of Haifa (in present-­day Israel).5 The pottery assemblage (of whole vessels, and sherds with complete profiles) was dated by the excavators to between the mid-­seventh and the end of the eighth centuries (Barkai and others 2010, 99). Apart from the LRA 2/13 imitations from Egypt, the wreck also included bag-­shaped amphorae made of Nile Delta silt, which had resinuous linings and contained a residue of small fish bones (probably garum). Furthermore, we must not forget that such amphorae stacked in ships were often travelling with lighter products, including Egyptian textiles or exotic spices. For instance, the ‘Rhodian Sea Law’ (or Lex Rhodia of the early seventh century), a collection of maritime regulations governing commercial trade and navigation in the Byzantine Empire, expected ships to be carrying slaves, grain, wine, oil, and textiles, especially linen and silk garments (vesté) during the seventh and eighth centuries (Ashburner 1909). A third indication of the sudden rupture in the seventh-­to eighth-­century amphora production tradition is in North Africa, where we see the break even more evidently in Tunisia. Figure 14.8 shows the long sequence of the manufacture of North African olive oil containers during Roman and Late Roman times, and then from the seventh century onwards we see the appearance of a totally new local shape (a LRA 2/13-­variant) coming from the eastern Mediterranean (see red circle in Bonifay 2005, fig. 1). This indicates the inter-­regional value of Byzantine amphora packaging, implying the central regulation of a Byzantine, Aegean-­style vessel shape that was implanted in North Africa. The North African types seem to have provided the model for LRA 2/13 imitations or variants produced in the (more western) Byzantine territories in southern Italy and Sicily (Figs 14.9a-­b). Table 14.2 indicates shapes of Byzantine-­style amphorae recalling the LRA 2/13, which were for instance manufactured at the Mitello kiln in Otranto (known as ‘Mitello 1’) and at Campanian production sites (probably church estates) in the Naples area (Misenum, Ischia) during the eighth and first half of the ninth 5 The recently identified and locally made ‘Palestinian globular amphorae’ from the Yavneh area (see Taxel and Cohen-­ Weinberger 2019) seem to be of a different seventh-­century type with a dissimilar rim shape to the LRA 2/13 and its imitations.

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Figure 14.9a. LRA 2/13 production and distribution in Italy, excluding Sicily (figure by author).

Figure 14.9b. LRA 2/13 production and distribution on Sicily and Malta (figure by author).

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century (e.g., Arthur and others 1992, fig. 8 no. 1; Imperiale 2004; 2018, fig. 3 nos 1–4; Gelichi and Negrelli 2008, fig. 8). These later versions of the LRA 2/13 et similis from Campania, Calabria, and Sicily were undeniably circulating in this part of the Mediterranean by the eighth and first half of the ninth centuries, but had more local or regional distributions and seem to be rare in the Aegean. The presence of LRA 2/13 amphorae or their Italian imitations is for instance attested at various sites on Sicily and on small islands west of Sicily (e.g., Catania, Metaponto, Syracuse, Rocchicella, the Plemmyrion shipwreck, Palermo, Canale di Sicilia, Marettimo),6 as well as in the south-­eastern harbour of Marsaxlokk (Tas-­Silg) on Malta (Fig. 14.9b). This last island acted in effect as an important transit port of cargo transfer, and naval station for the Byzantine fleet between Constantinople and the Adriatic Sea (Bruno and Cutajar 2013). Furthermore, they were found at sites along the Tyrrhenian coast and in the western Mediterranean, including Rome (in the eighth-­century context of the Crypta Balbi excavations), Porto, Ostia, Marseille, Golfe du Fos, and the Balearic Islands which remained Byzantine until 902 (e.g., Rita 1994, 326–29; Reynolds 1995, 80 fig. 93; 2010, 123 and 132; Saguí and others 1997, fig. 6.2; Murialdo 2007, 19 fig. 7 no. 5). In the same exchange system Egyptian imitations of the LRA 2/13, the so-­ called Egloff 167 amphorae, appear also to have been travelling to sites off the coast of western Sicily and along the Tyrrhenian coast (e.g., Canale di Sicilia, Naples, Rome). On the other hand, there were correspondingly Byzantine-­controlled imports of LRA2/13 amphorae from the eastern Mediterranean in coastal hubs, redistribution centres, or commercial gateways along the Adriatic shores, for example at Otranto, Kotor (Prevlaka), Ancona, Classe, Torcello, Venice, Jesolo, and Comacchio in northern Italy (e.g., Negrelli 2007, fig. 18 nos 3–5; Toniolo 2007, pl. V; Gelichi and Negrelli 2008, fig. 1.1; Imperiale 2018, fig. 4; Cirelli 2018, pl. I nos 2 and 4). A well-­preserved example was similarly recovered at the Byzantine castrum of San Antonino di Perti (Savona) from a context dating after 610 (Murialdo 2001, pl. 17 no. 211). Its shape looks similar to LRA2/13 amphorae produced in the Samos-­Ephesus area. Furthermore, other fragments of LRA2/13 variants (or Yassi Ada type 2) found at San Antonino di Perti were described as having

6 It seems that the material culture (particularly amphora finds, including LRA 2/13 variants) followed the waves of the Muslim conquest on Sicily and moved along the Arab-­Byzantine frontier on the island from the late seventh century onwards; cf. Vroom (in press) with further literature.

highly micaceous brown-­red fabrics, which sounds as if these imported vessels were indeed originating from a production region in the eastern Aegean (Murialdo 2001, 286–87 pl. 17 nos 210 and 212).

Discussion of the LRA 2/13 Amphorae It seems clear that during the seventh and eighth centuries, inter-­regional, intra-­regional, and even long-­ distance voyages on small, low-­status ships (such as the ones found at the Yenikapι excavations near the southern harbour of Constantinople/Istanbul) were more prevalent in the Mediterranean than previously known. Specifically coastal urban centres, ports, and islands were getting ceramic products from various parts of the Mediterranean. In fact, we are dealing with an overlapping network of production and distribution, which was essentially Aegean-­ centred, but stretched beyond this area to the west, east, south and north.7 An overview of some definite and potential production centres of the LRA 2/13 amphorae and the circulation of these products in the Mediterranean is presented in Figure 14.10. Due to recent excavated contexts, these vessels can roughly be dated between the mid-­seventh and early ninth centuries (the ones made in the Aegean and on Cyprus seem to be earlier than the ones produced in the more western Byzantine territories). Such transport jars were made according to certain criteria: they had a standardized form, but had at the same time a diversity in fabrics and differences in surface treatment (like straight and/or wavy incised lines) within the overall type. In short, we can distinguish vessels of a quite similar looking shape, but of different provenance made in local clays. The workshops in Cyprus, Samos-­Ephesus, Egypt, and North Africa did not produce the LRA 2 before the LRA 2/13, so we cannot speak of a type evolution or development in these places. Potters in these production zones would find it difficult to change their potting techniques, unless they were required to do so. Such a break in amphora manufacturing conditions could have been imposed on potters either by an official demand, or by a change of market orientation (Demesticha 2005, 175). It is clear that workshops in predominantly coastal regions in



7 Specimens of the LRA 2/13 were also recovered on the northern shores of the Black Sea, for instance at Chersonesos in the Crimea; cf. Romanchuk and others 1995, pl. 20 no. 91 (their class 24). However, it is not sure yet whether we are dealing here with local productions or imports, due to lack of evidence from archaeometrical analyses of their fabrics.

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Figure 14.10. Production zones of LRA 2/13 and their imitations in the Mediterranean (figure by author).

the eastern Mediterranean made this vessel type in smaller numbers for a specific purpose. What could the LRA 2/13 have transported? There are various theories concerning the contents of this amphora type, which was undoubtedly used as a transport and storage container for liquids. Scientific analysis on specimens from the Yassi Ada shipwreck has proved that they contained wine, and perhaps even a low quality wine (van Doorninck 1989, 252). Some vessels contained pitch or resin (like mastic from Chios) for the conservation of wine; apparently, tituli picti refer to resinated wine on related amphorae from Tomis, Rumania (Arthur 1998, 169 and n. 57). On the other hand, earlier inscriptions and finds of olive pits inside the jars point also to a prior use of some containers for carrying olives or olive oil (van Doorninck 1989, 252; Hautumm 2004, 210). It has been assumed that the main use of the LRA 2/13 was to carry olive oil, and secondarily wine when the containers were re-­used again. Furthermore, it has been suggested that the transport of low quality wine may have been part of a church shipment in support of the state and of the army (van Doorninck 1989, 252). Consequently, the distribution of certain bulk goods in these jars was perhaps connected to

military campaigns of the Byzantine Empire along its frontiers in the East (Cilicia, Cyprus) and in the West (Sicily) against Muslim attacks from the seventh century onwards. Interesting in this respect were the seafaring routes that most travellers and pilgrims took in the first half of the eighth century. In Figure 14.11 we see, for instance, the outbound voyage of Saint Willibald of Wessex (c. 700–787), who sailed in the Mediterranean in stages from Italy and Sicily to the Aegean and Cyprus, and finally to the Holy Land. His sea trip was slow and indirect, hopping from one place to the other (McCormick 2001, 130, map 5.1). The images added to his journey show the presence of LRA 2/13 specimens at large coastal trading hubs conveniently located along vital trans-­ Mediterranean maritime routes during Willibald’s journey (Fig. 14.11). It is clear that these amphorae were mostly found along well-­known communication and exchange networks — frequented by pilgrims, travellers, diplomats, officials, and merchants — and not so much at rural sites in the countryside. As shown above, the Byzantine Empire had a good infrastructure with coastal cities and harbours strategically connected to each other by commercial

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Figure 14.11. Finds of LRA 2/13 connected to the outbound voyage of Saint Willibald of Wessex (c. 700–787) in the Mediterranean (figure by author, after McCormick 2001, map 5.1).

and naval networks (using cabotage and tramping of ships). In such a controlled shipping system of people, ships, and their cargo, the larger Mediterranean islands (such as Cyprus, Crete, and Sicily) were functioning as connective hubs and entrepôts at the crossroads of different regional economies, as is shown by the pottery finds. We do not see a north-­south Mediterranean divide here. The borders of political and economic areas were not so strict but more fluid, connecting different cultures on these islands. We can, for example, distinguish multi-­cultural ceramic interactions on Cyprus and Crete, which still show regular and continuous contacts with the Islamic caliphates in Egypt and the Levant. One has to keep in mind that there was in 686 an agreement between the Umayyads and the Byzantines to share the produce of Cyprus after the Muslim invasion in 654, when the island was under a Byzantine-­Muslim condominium. Furthermore, the island was the headquarters of the dux Orientis at Salamis (after the fall of Antioch), and was active in continued agricultural production for export (contained in the LRA 1 and LRA 2/13, which were manufactured on the safer, south-­western coast of Cyprus).

It is obvious that the amphora workshops for the LRA 2/13 and LRA 1 in the Aegean (Kos, Paros) and on Cyprus started perhaps in the late sixth but surely during the seventh century. It has been suggested that this is possibly after the creation of the quaestura exercitus in 536, the administrative reform established by Emperor Justinian I (r. 527–565) for unifying wealthy provinces (Cyprus, Caria, and the Aegean islands) with devastated provinces along the lower Danube frontline (Scythia Minor and Moesia Secunda) (Demesticha 2005, 176; Diamanti 2015, 541 and 544; 2016, 691). This reform was instigated in order to help supporting Byzantine troops that were stationed in the Danubian region. All provinces were placed under the authority of a new army official, known as the quaestor exercitus. Apparently, some LRA 2/13 amphorae from Kos have stamps and graffiti that can be connected with customs-­collecting state officers and specifically with the quaestor Iustinianus excercitus (Eparch of the Islands) (Diamanti 2010a, 92–107, 164–69, 220–23; 2010b, 4; 2012, 2–3). This shows that Early Byzantine amphora production may be connected with the needs of the state for the transport of agricultural supplies from Cyprus and

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the Aegean islands to support the fleet and army in economically impoverished provinces.

Conclusion The archaeo­logical data presented in this paper can be fruitfully understood in the perspective of resilience theory. That is to say, the changes in the material culture, and especially in the networks of import and export of specific types of pottery to and from Byzantium between the seventh and the ninth centuries seem to allow four main conclusions about the ‘resilience’ of the Empire to persist as an economic, political, military, and cultural system during this period of crisis. Firstly, the archaeo­logical data clearly indicate that notwithstanding the imperial contraction, the administrative and economic control of the Byzantine Empire was still functioning up to a point. Of particular interest is the rise from the mid-­seventh onwards of a much used (and probably centrally ordered) standardized amphora shape, the so-­called LRA 2/13. Its standard shape features and its advantageous volume-­weight capacity (with a fixed measured quantity of bulk goods), made it easy to recognize and handle as a stock transport jar all over the Empire. These are all clear indications of the continuing control of the Byzantine state over economic and trade networks notwithstanding the Empire’s shrinking power. Although in the past the designation LRA 2/13 has often been erroneously assigned to a much too broad variation of amphora types, closer inspection shows that from the mid-­seventh century onwards, the LRA 2/13 as quite a strict standard type was introduced in several Mediterranean pottery production areas as a new packaging model for amphorae. These production areas were situated in specific state-­controlled territories, and apparently the intention was to fill the containers directly with various foodstuffs (wine, oil) from nearby rich agricultural regions (e.g., Cyprus, Crete, Egypt, Tunisia, Sicily, southern Italy). In short, the material evidence, specifically the LRA 2/13, suggests a centralized and state-­controlled system with respect to the packaging, weighing, and measuring, as well as the transport of vital goods. This could only work if the shrinking Empire was resilient enough to maintain a system of (military or ecclesiastic) exchange nodes, of connected and interlocking urban centres, and of durable coastal networks. Secondly, the fact that the LRA 2/13 has until now been mostly found at coastal sites and on islands, but far less at rural settlements in the countryside, suggests the working of certain centralized mechanisms

controlling agricultural supplies to key locations of the Byzantine administrative and military (naval) machinery. Thus, the archaeo­logical record seems to indicate that the administration of the Byzantine Empire was not only still functioning after the seventh century, but that its army and its still powerful fleet were efficiently supplied with standard amphorae and their contents through maritime and additional terrestrial networks. The overall shape of the LRA 2/13 reflects its origin and function as a standardized ceramic container specifically produced for the transportation of bulk goods (principally low quality wine, but olive oil and other commodities cannot be excluded), which were in high demand by the Byzantine fleet and army during their campaigns in the east and the west. It is not a coincidence that LRA 2/13 finds are particularly common in the warzones at the eastern and western frontiers of the Empire, as well as on strategic islands. Well-­ known find spots range from Cyprus in the east, to Sicily and Malta (being used as an entrepôt) in the west. In these Byzantine territories the presence of LRA 2/13, often in combination with the LRA 1 of the late sixth and seventh century, continued into the eighth or even the ninth century in what seems to be mostly military and ecclesiastical contexts. Thirdly, in spite of the resilience of the Empire, the contraction of economic life in Byzantium during the mid-­seventh and eighth centuries, and the drop in population numbers, partly as a result of the raids for slaves by the Arabs, had a substantial impact on the material culture. A clear effect was, for instance, the creation of coastal, small-­scale, local and regional pottery workshops near oil and wine producing areas. The workshops manufactured smaller-­sized amphorae in modest quantities, because mass-­production of ceramics, and especially of large ceramic containers, was no longer needed. In various production and packaging centres (in the Aegean, Cyprus, North Africa, Sicily and Italy), these local potters started making the standardized amphora type now known as LRA 2/13. The archaeo­logical data suggest that the distribution of the LRA 2/13 mainly happened through shipments along trans-­Mediterranean maritime networks, which connected various strategically located coastal hubs and islands, as well as the war zones where the Empire battled for its survival. Within this system, islands appear to have been used as intermediate stopovers for the regulation of the transport and for control of amphorae and their contents by Byzantine state officers (kommerkiaroi), whereas their fertile environments produced an abundance of agricultural foodstuffs. The role and function of the ecclesiastical contexts in which LRA 2/13 has been found, is not entirely clear,

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although it is known that in the Byzantine period ecclesiastical sites often produced both pottery and staple goods for wider consumption. Finally, although this paper shows that the pottery finds of the ‘Dark Age’ between the seventh and the ninth century clearly suggest the continued existence of top-­down administrative control over the Byzantine Empire by its capital during this period of military, economic, and financial crisis, it also shows that much work remains to be done by archaeo­logists and pottery specialists because the material culture of the Early Byzantine period is still poorly understood. In this light, this paper also shows how problematic it is to formulate grand historical theories about the Early Byzantine era on the basis of archaeo­logical material, which is all too often inadequately or still only provisionally dated. It is therefore highly advisable for historians and archaeo­logists alike to be careful and critical when using existing archaeo­logical diagnoses of shapes, termino­logies, chrono­logies, and typo­logies of Early Byzantine amphorae. Presently, various archaeo­ logical reports not only lack solid documentation, solid identification, and solid dating of pottery types, but also proper quantification of the ceramic finds. And quantification of the finds is needed, if only to learn more about volume capacities of amphorae, for instance in ships’ cargoes. On the bright side, Byzantine archaeo­logy advances constantly and develops rapidly, integrating new approaches, new insights, new techno­logies, new methodo­logies (including resilience theory), and thus pushes the boundaries of our knowledge thanks to ever improving typo-­chrono­logies. The history of research of the production, distribution, and consumption patterns of the LRA 2/13 and its many imitations (which were not only made in Byzantine held regions in Italy, but also in Christian-­ held territories in Muslim-­r uled regions in Egypt and Tunisia) is a case in point. It shows the complexity of the material, the many mishaps in developing a typo-­chrono­logy of the ware, and perhaps above all it shows the exciting potential of the dissemination of archaeo­logical data for meaningful research in the future.

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Titles in Series Religious Dynamics in a Microcontinent: Cult Places, Identities, and Cultural Change in Hispania, ed. by Alejandro Sinner and Victor Revilla Calvo (2022)

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