Houses of Ill Repute: The Archaeology of Brothels, Houses, and Taverns in the Greek World 9780812292695

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Houses of Ill Repute

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HOUSES of ILL REPUTE The Archaeology of Brothels, Houses, and Taverns in the Greek World

Edited by

ALLISON GLAZEBROOK and

BARBARA TSAKIRGIS

Universit y of Pennsylvania Press Phil adelphia

Copyright © 2016 University of Pennsylvania Press All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations used for purposes of review or scholarly citation, none of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without written permission from the publisher. Published by University of Pennsylvania Press Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19104-4112 www.upenn.edu/pennpress Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Glazebrook, Allison, 1966– editor. | Tsakirgis, Barbara, editor. Title: Houses of ill repute : the archaeology of brothels, houses, and taverns in the Greek world / edited by Allison Glazebrook and Barbara Tsakirgis. Description: Philadelphia : University of Pennsylvania Press, [2016] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2015039979 | ISBN 9780812247565 (alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Dwellings— Social aspects— Greece—History. | Brothels— Greece—History. | Bars (Drinking establishments)— Greece—History. | Pottery— Social aspects— Greece. | Prostitution— Greece—History. | Social archaeology— Greece. Classification: LCC DF99 .H68 2016 | DDC 306.740938/09009— dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015039979

contents

List of Abbreviations Introduction

vii 1

Allison Glazebrook and Barbara Tsakirgis

Chapter 1. What Is a House? Conceptualizing the Greek House

13

Barbara Tsakirgis

Chapter 2. Can Pottery Help Distinguish a Brothel from a Tavern or House?

36

Kathleen M. Lynch

Chapter 3. Patterns of Amphora Discard from Houses, Shops, Taverns, and Brothels

59

Mark L. Lawall

Chapter 4. Building Z in the Athenian Kerameikos: House, Tavern, Inn, Brothel?

75

Bradley A. Ault

Chapter 5. Locations of Ill Repute in Late Hellenistic Delos

103

Monika Trümper

Chapter 6. Dining and the Cult of Aphrodite: The Function of the South Stoa at Corinth

129

David Scahill

Chapter 7. Looking Inside on the Outside of a Pot Amy C. Smith

143

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co nt ents

Chapter 8. Is There an Archaeology of Prostitution?

169

Allison Glazebrook

Notes

197

Bibliography

215

List of Contributors

239

Index

241

Acknowledgments

255

A b b r ev i at i o n s a n d T r a n s l i t e r at i o n

Abbreviations of ancient authors and works follow the Oxford Classical Dictionary. Abbreviations of standard reference works appear below. Full details for all other references can be found in the bibliography. In transliterating Greek, we have used Latinized spellings for well-known place names and authors, such as Isaeus, following the Oxford Classical Dictionary. We have used a direct transliteration from Greek for all other Greek names and terms. ARV ARV 2 BAD CVA ID IG LGPN II Para

RVAp SEG

J. D. Beazley, Attic Red-Figure Vase-Painters, 1st ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1942). J. D. Beazley, Attic Red-Figure Vase-Painters, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963). Classical Art Research Centre, Beazley Archive Database, Oxford, 1997–, http://www.beazley.ox.ac.uk. Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum ([Various places of publication], 1922–). Inscriptions de Délos (Paris: H. Champion, 1926–72). Inscriptiones Graecae, vols. 1–3: Attica (Berlin: Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1873–). M. J. Osborne and S. G. Byrne, Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, vol. 2: Attica (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994). J. D. Beazley, Paralipomena: Additions to Attic Black-Figure Vase-Painters and to Attic Red-Figure Vase Painters, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971). A. D. Trendall and A. Cambitoglou, The Red-Figured Vases of Apulia (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978–82). Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum (Leiden, then Amsterdam: Lugduni Batavorum apud A. W. Sijthoff, 1923–).

viii

Traill UKV

A b brev iat io ns

John S. Traill, Persons of Ancient Athens (Toronto: Athenians, 1994–2012). Karl Schefold, Untersuchungen zu den Kertscher Vasen (Berlin and Leipzig: De Gruyter, 1934).

Introduction allison glazebrook and barbar a tsakirgis

The study of Hellenic urbanism has developed from an investigation of the evidence for town planning, the identification of particular architectural features constituting a polis (fortifications, agora, bouleuterion, prytaneion, gymnasium, temple, theater, and fountain houses), to considerations of “everyday life” based on the physical remains of private structures, Greek oikiai. But what about activity that exists somewhere between the public and private realms? Classical Athenian writers attest to a diverse urban landscape that includes not only private houses but also tenement houses (sunoikiai), inns (diaitai, pandokeia), factories (ergastēria), taverns (kapēleia), gambling dens (skirapheia), training schools (didaskaleia), and brothels (porneia) (Isae. 6.19–21; Ar. Vesp. 109–14, 550; Dem. 27.19 and 28.12; Isoc. 287; Aeschin. 1.24). Yet, despite our knowledge of specific terminology, associating these terms with actual physical remains is not an easy task. Isaeus mentions a sunoikia in the Peiraeus housing prostitutes and one in the Kerameikos district selling wine (Isae. 6.19–20). Aeschines refers to doctors, smiths, fullers, carpenters, and pimps renting space in another (1.24). The term sunoikia, regularly translated as tenement house, might have implied not simply multioccupancy, but also multipurpose function. Current research on Greek domestic architecture, furthermore, has revealed the lack of zoning in ancient Greek cities (Tsakirgis 2005) and raises questions concerning whether or not the physical polis should be thought of in terms of a modern city where houses and commercial areas are largely separate. Apollodoros, for example, suggests that his opponent Stephanos was running a brothel out of his oikia ([Dem.] 59.67), that is, mixing private residential with commercial function in one building. Depending on the interpretation of this

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passage, brothels in oikiai are either shocking or a normal occurrence (see also Aeschin. 1.124 on Timarchos). Sokrates, in turn, proposes that Aristarchos should put his female relatives to work baking, cooking, and weaving and then selling the surplus items for profit (Xen. Mem. 2.7). The only objection to this plan appears to be that it should be slaves who undertake such work for profit. The collocation of work space and living space was a definite feature of the physical landscape at both Olynthos and Athens (Cahill 2005: 65; Tsakirgis 2005: 79). The material remains together with the literary sources suggest the need to think about what constitutes nonpublic urban architecture and consider where, or even if, a line can be drawn between the identification of residences and commercial buildings.

From Houses to Taverns The starting point for the discussion, and the baseline against which all else will be measured in this volume, is the ancient Greek house. The study of ancient houses has evolved tremendously in the past century and especially in the past thirty years. Previously, houses were viewed only as the repository for works of art, like mosaic pavements and fresco paintings, and little considered for their architectural details, layout, and what both could tell us about the social life of the inhabitants. That Greek houses were excavated at all and subject to scholarly publication was in large part due to the attention previously paid to the houses of Roman Campania and the large residences built in the final century of habitation on the Aegean island of Delos. The latter, while nominally in Greek territory, were as much the expression of the wealthy Roman traders who inhabited the island in its last major phase, as products of Greek cultural and social practice. Attention paid to Greek houses intensified after the Second World War. Modern geopolitical events played little role in this altered focus; rather, the influence of research by prehistorians revealed that hitherto ignored aspects of the domestic setting, including floral and faunal remains and the spatial distribution of finds, could serve as eloquent testimony to human action and interaction within the house. Previously, the spatial mapping of finds in houses had been done, quite fortuitously, in the excavation of the houses at Olynthos (Cahill 2002), but beginning in the 1970s and 1980s the practice became widespread in the excavation of houses throughout the territories once inhabited

Introduction

3

by Greeks. This new information vastly increased the possibility of analyzing the use of space within houses and advancing our understanding of the social use of space in the domestic environment. One of the first scholars to appreciate fully the potential of this information was Michael Jameson of Stanford University. Jameson had long worked on social, especially religious, practices of the Greeks and was deeply involved in the excavations at Halieis in the Argolid in Greece. The excavations at Halieis became a laboratory for the unearthing and recording of all finds from the houses and allowed for a much deeper understanding of domestic lives. Bradley Ault’s 2005 publication of the houses and their attendant assemblages attests to the value of this approach to interpreting the domestic material. Jameson also published in 1990 two articles that have had long-lasting positive implications for the study of Greek houses. In those nearly identical contributions, Jameson spoke to the value of Greek houses as sources for Greek social life; in many ways the present volume stems from that conviction. In addition, Jameson argued for the value of the archaeological evidence as independent from the scant and prejudiced literary sources on Greek houses, especially in light of material evidence that seems to contradict the written. Jameson’s clarion call has been answered by numerous scholars working on Greek houses and households. Analysis of the houses and attendant domestic assemblages at Halieis by Bradley Ault (2005a), as mentioned above, and the reexamination by Nicholas Cahill (2002) of the domestic impedimenta and their find spots in the Olynthian houses have proven the great value of a close look at the humble objects left behind by the residents of a house. Margriet Haagsma has done the same for the early Hellenistic houses at New Halos. In two books, Lisa Nevett (1999, 2010b) has also taken up the banner of spatial analysis, extending her view over houses from the Iron Age through the Hellenistic periods, and from both the Greek mainland and the other areas of the Greek world. Recently she has begun the excavation of a house at Olynthos using the principles of total recovery, so that the floral and faunal remains will get their due in an understanding of the domestic environment at this northern Greek site. Lisa Nevett and Bradley Ault’s volume, Ancient Greek Houses and Households: Chronological, Regional, and Social Diversity (2005a), highlighted the contribution of domestic archaeology to our understanding of the social, cultural, and economic organization of the polis. They acknowledge that while a rich record of literary references to the oikos remains extant, these texts are

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Athenocentric and present the elite male perspective. The archaeological record, in contrast, reveals a broad range of living and working arrangements, and their volume thus paved the way for the present one. According to several of the authors writing for that volume, some of whom have written again for this book, oikoi were not simply self-sufficient, but directly involved in market exchange. Even more wealthy oikoi, for example, might include some form of industrial activity. Ault and Nevett and their fellow authors emphasize the importance of looking for patterns in ground plans and the careful plotting of actual finds. Contributors examining oikoi from Athens, Olynthos, Delos, and Sardis demonstrate ways in which the physical oikos connected to a diverse social and economic life within the polis. The collection adopts a broad interpretation of “house” based on whether or not the structure has “the full range of domestic activities represented” (165). The present volume builds on this very important work by considering both houses and those purporting to be “houses of ill repute”— establishments for transient populations and entertainment. While Ault touches on these types of structures in his chapter, “Housing the Poor and Homeless in Ancient Greece,” in the aforementioned volume, that earlier collection more commonly centers on oikoi as places of permanent residence. The examination of brothels and the evidence for them in the Greek world follows logically from the recent 2011 volume Greek Prostitutes in the Ancient Mediterranean, 800 BCE–200 CE (2011), edited by Madeleine M. Henry and Allison Glazebrook. While the existence of brothels in Classical Greece has not been in dispute, both disagreement over their physical identifiers and hesitation to examine a less seemly side of antiquity have heretofore resulted in a paucity of scholarship on the topic. The several essays appearing in Glazebrook and Henry’s volume on Greek prostitutes are foundational to, but in no way repetitive of, the considerations presented in this volume. Similarly, the use of context pottery to elucidate social settings, as will be presented in the chapters by Ault, Lawall, and Lynch in this volume, draws in its methodology from books such as The Symposium in Context: Pottery from a Late Archaic House Near the Athenian Agora, an award-winning study authored by Kathleen Lynch (2011b). The contextualization of the remains, including both pottery and other small finds, is a fundamental approach proven valuable in each of these essays here to our understanding of the humble buildings, whether strictly domestic or mixed use, and the varied activities that went on in them. The types of objects and their spatial distribution within

Introduction

5

the buildings in which they were found can provide eloquent testimony to human behavior and the use of space.

Urbanism Studying buildings and objects without consideration of their urban context is to deprive them of an essential feature that adds immeasurably to the understanding of those houses, brothels, and taverns, and their attendant finds. The houses and other buildings considered in the following pages are all found in the urban setting, being used by the general population by means of the thoroughfares that gave access to them, and interacting with neighboring buildings. Many of the buildings examined in the following chapters also shared walls with other structures, and so were intimately and inextricably linked to their neighbors. These facts are significant when one considers the role and functioning of houses, taverns, and brothels in the economy of the ancient city. In order to be easily accessible to patrons, commercial establishments were often located on major thoroughfares, at intersections, or near significant landmarks. Thus Building Z, examined below by Bradley Ault, lies just inside the Sacred Gate and very close to the Dipylon Gate of Athens, off two major streets of the ancient city. The South Stoa at Corinth, being restudied by David Scahill, is located at the end of the Lechaion Road, next to the open space of what would become the forum of Corinth. The tavern whose inscribed amphoras were previously published by Mark Lawall (2000) opens onto the road that led directly into the eastern side of the Athenian Agora. The accessibility of some of the buildings discussed in these pages, such as the House of the Lake on Delos, mentioned in the chapters by Allison Glazebrook and Monika Trümper, is bordered by four streets, such an easily accessible spot that it led Nicholas Rauh (1993) to assert that the house was a brothel. One as yet unanswered aspect of the urban setting of these commercial establishments is the ownership of both the houses and the possible taverns and brothels discussed below, and the relationship, if any, between the owners of such enterprises and previous owners of the buildings, or owners and residents of contiguous structures. Prosopographical evidence from the houses and shops of Classical Athens and Corinth is very scant, and we can identify neither the owners nor the occupants of the buildings. We make the last distinction

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because those who owned and those who resided in the buildings may not have been one and the same; commercial enterprises in Athens were often the province of metics, who were not allowed to possess real estate before the fourth century BCE. This means that while the businesses of sex, entertainment, and drink may have been profitable for the brothel and tavern keepers, the buildings themselves may have been profitable for owners who kept their hands free of the commercial activities by merely charging rent to those who ran such establishments, and not by selling wine and women themselves (Glazebrook 2011a). The urban setting for the houses, brothels, and taverns, and their role in the economy, can also be seen when one interrogates the small finds, as Kathleen Lynch, Bradley Ault, and several others do in their chapters. The pottery recovered from private residences and commercial enterprises was produced elsewhere, either in the Greek city or farther away, as was the case with the transport amphoras (and their erstwhile contents) studied by Mark Lawall. In order to purchase these vessels for use at home or in the tavern or brothel, the buyer needed both to visit a seller and to have the goods transported to his brothel or tavern. Thus the road system discussed above served not only as access for customers to the brothels and taverns but also as the means of access for the commodities sold. While it has long been recognized that ancient cities had no formal or legislated zoning in the Classical period, we can also recognize from the written and material record that self-selected zoning did take place. Thus the socalled Industrial District of Athens southwest of the Agora consists of a number of houses and shops where stone working was done (Young 1951a; Shear 1969: 383–94). As places of entertainment, brothels and taverns likely clustered in high-traffic areas, such as an agora, a harbor, or near city gates, without being segregated from spaces of habitation (whether single-family dwellings or tenement houses) (Glazebrook 2011a).

Scope of the Volume Th is book tackles in par ticu lar the problem of the identification of private buildings in the ancient Greek city through the examination of artifactual assemblages, architectural design, and facilities such as water sources, with a focus on such issues as determining what amount and types of pottery represent a domestic structure versus a nondomestic space such as a tavern or brothel.

Introduction

7

A fundamental question behind every one of the chapters is this: can we distinguish between places of permanent residence and places of temporary habitation and dining, like kapēleia, pandokeia, and porneia, where, while some may reside permanently, the transient daily visitors, who might eat, drink, have sex, and/or even sleep, outnumber the residents? Various chapters underscore the importance of archaeological assemblages and how such assemblages can and cannot be used to reconstruct the social and economic organization of the polis and its individual structures. The volume begins with a chapter by Barbara Tsakirgis on the identification, in both material and theoretical terms, of a house. While a great number of houses have now been excavated and published in the Greek world, and many have been recognized as having functions beyond simple residency, the question of how to define living space is still debated. Janett Morgan’s recent analysis (2011) of the houses in Athens and Olynthos is but one attempt to wrest more definitive definitions from the material remains, and the first chapter follows suit in its examination of the question “what is a house?” The determination of whether an excavated structure was a house depends on many factors, including its location, its date, and the socioeconomic level of its inhabitants, but examination of the architecture alone cannot answer the question. Ideally the matter is decided by observing how human beings acted and interacted within each building, but given that they went out of use long ago, our interpretation of the remains must come from an examination of the associated assemblages of finds in comparison with written accounts of Greek daily life. This chapter examines houses of the Classical and Hellenistic periods in order to allow the formulation of a definition of a Greek house; one of its objects is to establish the groundwork for the subsequent chapters in the volume. The second chapter, by Kathleen Lynch, examines artifacts recovered from a Late Archaic domestic well deposit ( J 2:4) north of the Athenian Agora. Lynch argues that artifacts in context can help identify the function of structures and the spaces within them, and by applying that theory to the ceramic assemblage from the well, she demonstrates that household assemblages might be distinguished from those of brothels. Lynch acknowledges the unfortunately uneven archaeological preservation, formation processes, and disturbed stratigraphy, all of which contribute to a patchwork of evidence, but considers that the cleanup horizon after the Persian sack of Athens in 479 BCE provides the best evidence for Late Archaic household assemblages. Lynch presents the quantities of pottery in the deposit and the problems inherent in vessel

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quantification methodology. She makes comparisons to the material recovered from the Dema House in Attica, a tavern in the agora, and Building 2 in the Kerameikos. One important contribution of her chapter concerns the large proportion of this household’s pottery that relates to hosting symposia. The well deposit is the first to allow the quantification of an Athenian household’s investment in the activity of drinking, thus allowing for arguments that focus on whether the presence of drinking vessels is an indicator of a commercial space of entertainment. In Chapter 3, Mark Lawall investigates the patterns of amphora discard from houses, shops, taverns, and brothels. Lawall notes that recent research draws attention to the various uses, reuses, discarding, rediscarding, and postexcavation “editing” of transport amphoras and concedes that such events might lead one to despair of any likelihood of using amphoras in the archaeological study of houses, shops, taverns, and brothels. Lawall argues, however, that certain patterns in the use and discard of amphoras do seem to allow a distinction between those used in typical households and those used in commercial settings. Commercial graffiti, for example, tend to cluster around the latter, while more generic markings are more widespread. Long-term storage of amphoras appears to have been common enough in both houses and shops, but large-scale discard tends to be more often associated with places of commerce. Lawall’s study takes him to Building Z in the Kerameikos, where Bradley Ault returns in the next chapter. In Chapter 4, Ault turns our attention again to Building Z in the Athenian Kerameikos, applying some of the arguments used earlier by Lynch in order to ask whether the structure was a house, tavern, or brothel. Building Z, excavated just within the Sacred Gate, spans five major phases between its initial construction ca. 430 BCE and its final destruction early in the first century BCE. Since Building Z lacks the earmarks of a public edifice, Ault follows the excavators in believing that it had a distinctly private character, despite the fact that it is twice the size of an average Classical Athenian house. Already in its first phase, Building Z contains evidence of expensive interior decoration and an ample water supply in its two courtyards; the excavators identified the use of the building in this phase as domestic in character. The artifacts, including fine ware drinking vessels, loomweights, votive deposits, and unusual examples of jewelry recovered from well-preserved destruction layers of the later phases, point to the Building Z’s exceptional nature, and the excavators have proposed that the building served as a tavern and inn with

Introduction

9

prostitutes in its third phase. Ault interrogates both the varied artifact assemblages and their evolving spatial configurations with an eye to assessing the character of Building Z. In Chapter 5, Monika Trümper takes the discussion into a later period by considering the locations deemed to have been of ill repute in Late Hellenistic Delos. Delos was a thriving cosmopolitan free port from about 167/166 to the mid-first century BCE, with high fluctuation in its multicultural, commerce-oriented population, and although it is very likely that this bustling harbor city provided facilities for activities of ill repute, namely taverns and brothels, their identification in the archaeological record is challenging. Trümper critically reviews two facilities, a putative taberna vinaria and a putative brothel, the so-called House of the Lake. While the taberna provides some evidence for the sale and consumption of wine, systematically contextualizing the House of the Lake within local domestic and public architecture shows that its identification as a purpose-built brothel cannot be maintained. The criteria used for this latter building’s identification as a location of ill repute would render up to 76% of all known Delian houses as potential purpose-built brothels. In the second part of her chapter, Trümper examines where else in Delos facilities of ill repute may have been located, following the criteria that have recently been developed for the identification of taverns and brothels (e.g., McGinn 2002; Ault 2005b; and Glazebrook 2011a and this volume [Chapter 8]). She identifies several buildings, such as the “Granite Palaistra” and the warehouses on the coast, as multifunctional commercial-residential buildings that could be used by many people, including possibly for activities of ill repute. She concludes that given the lack of comprehensive conclusive find assemblages, ultimately it must remain unknown for now where the inhabitants of Delos enjoyed activities of ill repute. Her methodology, however, offers a systematic way of looking for diversity in the material remains. In Chapter 6, David Scahill also takes the reader out of Athens, now to Corinth, where he considers the South Stoa at Corinth and its function as a place of dining and observance of the cult of Aphrodite. Constructed sometime around the end of the fourth century BCE, the South Stoa may have been designed to house the delegates of the Corinthian League after its refounding by Demetrios Poliorketes, but, as with many stoas, it could have been put to any number of uses by the city and its citizens and its function probably changed over time. Scahill notes that the area of ancient Corinth in which

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the stoa was built hosted cult activity well into the Hellenistic period, and he argues that the South Stoa likely took on functions related to that cult activity rather than having served strictly as a commercial establishment. Early in its history, the stoa shows signs of having been used for banquet-like gatherings, and Scahill argues that these were probably centered on magistrates and cult activities. Whether or not these included the cult of Aphrodite is currently unknown, owing to the paucity of concrete evidence, but Scahill contends that the relationship between cult banqueting and the congregating of celebrants would more than likely invite informal if not formal connections with many forms of entertainment, potentially including prostitution. In the seventh chapter, Amy Smith analyzes the degree to which vase painting, ca. 550–350 BCE, can be used as evidence of nonpublic interior space as it was experienced in ancient Athens. She takes the vast majority of her examples from Athens’s democratic period (from 510 BCE), when red-figure artists enlivened their pots with many images of figures that cannot be identified as heroes or divinities, that is, not necessarily figures of myth. Among these nonmythic scenes, and even a few mythic illustrations, Smith sees indications of both social space, shown through activities and objects, and architectural space, illustrated with features of the built landscape, namely columns, doors, windows, and ladders, and she argues that both categories of space might be interpreted literally and metaphorically. The plethora of images of doors, some opening onto the marriage bed, for example, both indicate the appearance and use of doors and are used metaphorically to refer to the “secrets” held within. Smith contends that such conflation should not present us with an either/or choice in our interpretation of the scenes, but rather encourage us to read vase paintings, as well as the actors who populate them and the attributes they bear, in a nuanced manner. She asserts that the craftsmen who decorated these vases surely intended their images to be understood on many levels and perhaps differently by their variety of viewers. Similarly the vase evidence supports an emerging idea of flexibility of space and, contrary to our modern conceptions, discourages us from dividing interior space according to gender and in terms of labor. They further reveal the fallacy inherent in our search for “nonpublic interior” space. Living space in ancient Greece lay at the intersection of continuity from public to private and outside to inside. The final chapter, by Allison Glazebrook, takes us directly into the world of brothels and sex for sale, and how the former can be identified as a location of the latter by asking the question “Is There an Archaeology of Prostitution?”

Introduction

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Glazebrook looks back on the evidence presented in some of the previous chapters and argues that while few examples of spaces of prostitution, like brothels, exist in the ancient material record of the Greek world, some, such as Building Z3 in the Kerameikos, the Aphrodiseion at Markopoulo, and another in Piraeus, have been linked to prostitution in Classical Athens. She also examines spaces in Hellenistic and Roman Greece, such as in Thessaloniki and on Delos, where venues associated with prostitution have been identified. Glazebrook interrogates the features commonly used to identify such spaces of prostitution, including multiple entrances, easy visibility from the street, small rooms, multiple andrōnes, concentrations of sympotic ware, large cisterns, erotic graffiti, erotic objects, foreign jewelry, inscriptions, and concentrations of sympotic ware and loomweights. She asks important questions regarding how many of these features were necessary to define a space as a brothel or to associate other spaces with prostitution. Glazebrook argues that if such locations for sexual activity for hire can be identified from the material remains, we will be able to learn more about the various types of prostitutes in the Greek world and the reality of the world of prostitution.

Why This Project Matters Why should the examination of humble buildings evoke so much interest? Houses surround us today, as in antiquity; it is worth remembering, in light of the scholarly focus on monumental buildings, that there were more houses than all public buildings combined in any given ancient city. The domestic environment, including the built form of the house and the attendant household assemblages, have much to tell us about the social organization of the Greeks, whether from the perspective of human reactions or the greater questions of the economy and religion. Less glamorous structures are also important sites of commercial activity. Brothels and taverns are an important feature of this economy. We know that the sex and entertainment trade flourished in ancient Athens and Corinth, and based on the accounts in Athenian oratory and comedy, we know that women worked as innkeepers, servers at taverns, and sex traffickers, as well as prostitutes. As a result, the study of brothels, taverns, and inns sheds light on the role of women in the ancient Greek economy. A richer picture of Greek urbanism that includes the complexity of activities undertaken in the Greek polis has the potential to shed light on the

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diversity of experiences as well as populations within ancient Greek cities, and enhance our understanding of the social and economic importance of the sex and entertainment industries in the Greek world. The first step toward a fuller and richer understanding of the nuances and complexity of private architecture is raising awareness about the richness of the urban landscape and considering methods for identifying structures in the archaeological record.

chapter 1

What Is a House? Conceptualizing the Greek House barbar a tsakirgis

Une maison est un machine-à-habiter. [A house is a machine for living in.] —Le Corbusier, Vers une architecture (Paris, 1923)

Many people at many times have tried to define a house, so the question could be asked, why should we again seek a definition of the house, since we all know what a house is?1 The aim of this chapter is to understand the concept of the Greek house, both as it was identified by the ancient inhabitants and as it is recognized by the modern scholar, and thus to provide a baseline for the chapters that follow, in which taverns and brothels and assemblages of pottery and tools are considered. The ultimate goal of the present volume is to come to an understanding of whether or not we can distinguish among houses, brothels, and taverns in the material record, and the starting point for much of that discussion has been the Greek house. While the main subject I address in this chapter is the definition of an ancient Greek house, I examine the topic and the formulation of a definition by using archaeological and textual evidence, cross-cultural comparisons, and theoretical approaches. Since a modern author brings her own cultural and social assumptions to the identification and discussion of Greek houses, my goal is not only to strip away those ideas of housing based on modern social practices and cultural norms, but also to examine some of the relevant theoretical discussion about domestic architecture

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and household space. While I may be attempting to achieve the impossible, that is, a defi nition of the house in the ancient Greek world, I hope that the following discussion will enrich our understanding of domestic space in Greek antiquity. This chapter casts a net over the full chronological range of the periods covered in the succeeding chapters, that is, the Classical and Hellenistic periods, but it also refers to some earlier houses and households, as many of these have been excavated in recent years with attention to questions that had previously not been asked by excavators. I include here discussion of buildings and objects in domestic assemblages, since considering the envelope of the built space without examination of the evidence of human action within means looking at only half (or less) of the total picture. I limit my attention to communities and territories where Greeks were the predominant cultural group. The parameters of this study are entirely practical, instituted to keep the material under discussion to a manageable amount. The chronological focus on the Classical and Hellenistic periods was also chosen in order to allow for reference to textual evidence, with a full and open-eyed recognition that the written sources are replete with omissions and prejudices, given that they were written almost exclusively by and for elite males and stem largely from the city of Athens. Many of the people occupying the buildings I consider in this chapter, be they housewives, prostitutes, owners, or barmaids, were women whose own opinions about what made a home (or tavern or brothel) do not survive in the written record.

The House as Shelter: Architecture and Layout The architecture of the Greek house varies considerably over time, from the one- and two-room houses of the Early Iron Age to the spacious, almost palatial residences of the Hellenistic period. Recognizing those differences over time, it is worth taking a broad view of the plans of Greek houses to see whether there are commonalities in their forms and to understand what those shared features might represent in terms of human behavior or thought. Domestic architecture, including both the materials used in construction and the organization of space, provides valuable information about the people who built and lived in a house. Paths of access from one part of a house to another reveal how the builders and inhabitants of a home regarded concepts such as privacy and also represent strategies for social control, as restricted access to any given space might represent a desire to limit entrance to such rooms

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(Hillier and Hansen 1984; Blanton 1994). The construction techniques and materials not only reflect age-old practices of building and locally available stone, wood, and soil, but are at times manifestations of culturally constructed ideas of taste, wealth, and power. More expensive and consciously placed features of interior decoration, such as painted plaster walls, mosaic floors, and freestanding sculpture, further express the status and aspirations of the home owner. Understanding the homely elements of the architectural construction and the interior decoration can bring us further, but not necessarily entirely, into the mind of the inhabitants. A constant feature in most Greek houses from the Late Archaic period onward was a central courtyard enclosed within the walls of the house, providing light, air, and access to the surrounding rooms; however, the one architectural feature of houses most discussed in the past, but mostly absent in the reality of the remains, is a distinct women’s quarter. In the fifth century BCE the increasingly common residential plan was built with an entrance vestibule, a feature that controlled both physical and visual access to the interior of the house. Recognizing the resulting plan and dubbing it the “single-entrance courtyard house,” Lisa Nevett (1999: 103) argued that the layout facilitated the separation of the sexes in Classical Greece. Buildings recognized as houses and with this configuration of rooms are known around the Classical Greek world, including Houses C and D in the Industrial District in Athens (Fig. 1.5) (Young 1951a), House of Many Colors at Olynthos (Fig. 1.1) (Cahill 2002: 85–97; Robinson 1946: 183–206), House A vii 4 at Olynthos (Cahill 2002: 103–8; Graham and Robinson 1938: 118–21), House 7 at Halieis (Ault 2005a: 13–20), and House 33 at Priene (Wiegand and Schrader 1904: 285–87), and the varied sizes and specific accommodations within each structure show that the Greeks were quite willing to experiment slightly with the established model. The plan of the single-entrance courtyard house that I have just described can also be seen in the structure by the Sacred Gate in Athens, a building known as the Pompeion (Fig. 1.2), the starting point of the Panathenaic procession (Hoepfner 1976). The monumental building has a colonnaded central courtyard and surrounding rooms lit, ventilated, and accessed from that court. Given the description I detailed above of the typical Greek house, it is fair to ask what distinguishes the Pompeion from a house. One possible nondomestic feature of the building is its size, much larger than the buildings recognized as houses not very distant in central Athens around the Agora, and a second is the sizeable porch with central ramp on its eastern side. On the other hand, the contemporaneous House of Dionysos and the House of the Rape

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Figure  1.1. Olynthos, House of Many Colors, plan. Courtesy of Nicholas Cahill.

of Helen at Pella in northern Greece are comparable in size to the Pompeion (Makaronas and Giouri 1989). The multiplicity of andrōnes in the Pompeion should perhaps be considered a factor in determining its nondomestic identity. Contemporaneous Greek houses like the central house under the Late Roman house in area Omega on the slopes of the Areopagos in Athens have one andrōn, as does the House of the Greek Mosaic (Shear 1973: 152–53; Graham 1974: 47), although it should be noted that Janett Morgan (2011) does not believe that either of these buildings was used for domestic activity. Somewhat similar to the Pompeion, the Pella houses have several reception

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Figure 1.2. Athens, Pompeion, view from the south. Photo courtesy of the author.

rooms and andrōnes, as do many Hellenistic houses, such as the House of Ganymede at Morgantina (Tsakirgis forthcoming). How, then, can we tell that the Pompeion is not a house? Is it the combination of the circumstantial factors noted above, or is there more evidence for its nondomestic identity? Before I answer that question, let us consider another example, a Hellenistic building on the east side of the agora at Morgantina (Fig. 1.3) with a colonnaded central courtyard, now dubbed the Public Office (Sjöqvist 1958: 161; Miller 1978; Bell 2005, 2006, 2007). Like its neighbor, the House of the Doric Capital, the Morgantina building has rooms on three but not four sides of the courtyard and appears to have no vestibule. Why has this structure been identified as a public building, possibly a prytaneion according to Stephen Miller, or a civic office with bank according to Malcolm Bell, while the structure on the hill above has been recognized as a house? Is its location on the agora the sole determinant of its nonprivate status? The telling factor in the identification of both the Pompeion and the Public Office at Morgantina is the presence of the oikos, the term that denotes both the physical structure of the house and household contained within it. One must include in the discussion of identifying a house the people who lived

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Figure 1.3. Morgantina, Public Office, plan. Courtesy of Malcolm Bell and the American Excavations at Morgantina.

in it: the nuclear family, any extended family, and the slaves. The difficulty arises of how to take account of a house’s residents, since they are no longer alive and many of them had no voice in the written record. As noted above, it is generally recognized that the Greek written sources are prejudiced, as they recorded the thoughts of well-to-do men, rarely women, and never slaves. Because of this absence of personal written accounts, Ian Morris (1998) has referred to both groups as invisible. The problem to be surmounted is how to

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make visible the invisible in any Greek building in order to determine whether it was a house or not. As stated above, a common feature of Greek domestic architecture was the unroofed courtyard. In Early Iron Age dwellings it is difficult to define the limits of this space, as it was simply the area in front of the small one- or tworoom house. Some seventh- and sixth-century communities, such as Zagora on Andros (Fig. 1.4) (Cambitoglou et al. 1971), show that these open spaces could be used by several individual dwellings in a cluster. These shared courts suggest a social organization that leaves no written record, perhaps one based on family or clan structure. Once courtyards were enclosed within the walls of individual houses they responded to other aspects of social life, including perhaps the desire to regulate movement within the house, perhaps precisely in relation to the female inhabitants (Nevett 2010a). Since the courtyard was usually placed at the center of the house, anyone passing through it could be observed in her or his passage to another part of the house. While the courts of later houses were adorned with colonnaded porticoes, and some earlier houses had an area on one side of the court protected by a shed roof, it was the unroofed space itself that served the most important function, as sources of light and air, as a pass-through, and as the setting for many daily domestic activities, the proof of which can be seen in the domestic assemblages. In his attempts to identify the social function of physical spaces in private buildings, Nathaniel Alcock has argued that problems arise from trying to interpret vernacular buildings solely through the physical evidence (Alcock 1994: 207). Because of the materials used in their construction, not all buildings are well preserved, particularly those constructed by private individuals for domestic and commercial activities. The more beautiful and durable materials available to the builders of large-scale public structures, such as temples and stoas, were beyond the means of most Greek home builders. For that reason, the literary sources must be examined in order to provide insight into the question of what constitutes a house. Because the comic playwrights peg the action of their plays to the familiar haunts of daily Athenian life, including the house, Aristophanes and Menander are often cited sources for the house and its domestic equipment. While Nesselrath (1997) draws a difference between the private spaces of the city as presented in Aristophanes versus those inhabited by the people of Classical Athens, other scholars argue for the value of Aristophanes as a source for private life. Gregory Crane (1997: 202) sees Attic comedy as expressive of “the

Figure 1.4. Zagora, plan of the site. Drawing by Tina Ross after Hoepfner 1999: 165.

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face-to-face society of the village,” and understands that as a result of living in close quarters the characters are intimately informed about the private lives of others, including details of their bodily functions and sexual practices. Lysistrata, for example, and her fellow Athenian women have spent most of their lives in the domestic setting, as have the characters of the Ekklesiazousai and Thesmophoriazousai, and they know many of the foibles and weaknesses of their fellow Athenian women. The plays of Aristophanes are replete with words for household objects, professions, and foodstuff s; this vocabulary, which haunts a midlevel Greek student’s nightmares, appears in few other places in Greek literature, but provides ample evidence for this discussion. Like many other figures in Greek literature, most Aristophanic characters do not walk through their houses and describe the spaces and furnishings, but they do act out their comic plots with the playwright’s assumption that the Athenian audience would be familiar with the layout of an Athenian house despite the sparseness of the stage setting that indicated the domestic locale. In many plays, the house is actually depicted. The front of the skēnē in the Lysistrata, for example, has been interpreted as representing the façades of the neighboring houses of the title character and of Kalonike (Vaio 1973: 372). The doorways were depicted in such a realistic fashion that K. J. Dover (1966) believed that herms were set on stage to mimic the door guardians standing outside Athenian homes. The kitchen (optanion, ipnos) is a favorite setting for Aristophanic escapades, despite there being no designated kitchen in the excavated remains of fifth-century Athenian houses. The playwright must be suggesting a traipse through the pots and pans and stove, rather than through a room set aside for cooking. Details such as the smoke hole over the hearth (Ar. Vesp. 146– 47) and the rooftop location of the Adoneia festival (Ar. Lys. 387–98) make an appearance in the plays, but they are treated as familiar features of a never fully described whole. While Aristophanes does not purport to write documentary accounts of Athenian mores and the houses in which they were acted, he does offer a reliable view of the contemporaneous conception of the Athenian home (see e.g., Eq. 1033; Pax 891–93; Vesp. 836–38, 139). Aristophanes’ Wasps presents the most detailed description of the physical layout of a Classical Greek house that exists in literature. His purposes in referring to the house are twofold—to increase the comedic effect by placing the action in a familiar setting, and to comment on the polis, seen as the macrocosm of the oikos (Crane 1997; Hutchinson 2001: 62–68). Philokleon is imprisoned at home by his son, Bdelykleon, who opposes his father’s participation

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as a paid juror in the law courts. The father, barricaded within the house and guarded by two of his household slaves, makes every possible attempt to escape. At first, Philokleon tries fleeing by the high route, by means of the gutters (hudrorroai, line 126) and even through fissures (opai, line 127) in the wall that his slaves stuff with rags, thus stymieing his attempt. Then Philokleon scales the wall (toichos, line 130) but is captured in nets spread by the slaves in the courtyard (aulē, line 131). Next, Philokleon tries to run down the drain (puelou to trēma, line 141) of the ipnos (kitchen?, line 139), but finally has partial success when he sticks his head out of the smoke hole (kapnē, line 143). But Bdelykleon uses a piece of wood as a flue stop (tēlia, line 147), thus preventing his father’s escape by this route. Trying a more conventional exit through the door (thura, line 152), the father is again stopped by his son who secures the door with a lock and a bolt (katakleis, mochlos, line 154). Again on an upward path, Philokleon attempts an exit from under the tiles (hupo tōn keramidōn) of the roof (orophē, line 206). The chorus worries that he will try to dig through the mud bricks of the wall (dioruxai, line 350) or venture an escape through a window (thuris, line 379), which he finally does. The comedy of this passage is derived in part from the familiarity the audience had with each element of the house detailed by Aristophanes. They do not need to be told what the parts of the house are, because each one lived in a building equipped with most or all of the escape routes tried by Philokleon. Aristophanes does not need to draw a map of the Athenian house for the audience because of their intimate knowledge of the space, but he does provide his modern audience with both vocabulary for domestic impedimenta and some sense of the layout of a residence. The unroofed courtyard is clearly seen as the place where the slaves set their snares to capture the fugitive, and the centrality of that space is apparent from its proximity to the wall that Philokleon climbs. The door fittings are attested in the material remains of many houses, but in few other texts (katakleis: Ar. Vesp. 154; mochlos: Theoc. 4.11, Ar. Thesm. 415, Xen. An. 7.1.12, Ar. Lys. 246, Aesch. Cho. 879, Eur. IT 99, Ar. Lys. 310). One of the most valuable elements of the house that Aristophanes builds for us in words is the exterior window, a feature that survives only infrequently in houses, because mud brick was the primary building material for the walls, but is mentioned in ancient texts (Arist. [Ath. Pol.] 50; Tsakirgis 2010). Absent from this literary map of the Classical Athenian house, as it is in the excavated remains of the actual houses, are bathrooms of any description. Human waste was probably collected in terracotta containers and then disposed of in the street, either simply in street drains or in the koprōnes, cesspits

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identified and discussed by Bradley Ault (1999). Aristophanes was not above jokes about defecation, and he exposes his character Blepyros (Eccl. 320–22) in drag using one of these waste pits in the street. Bathtubs for immersion bathing were innovations of the fourth century BCE and so not part of the domestic landscape familiar to the viewers of Old Comedy. Looking a bit later into the fourth century BCE, it is worth noting that Menander is also a valuable literary source for details of housing and the domestic sphere (Lape 2004). Cynthia Patterson (1998: 185–225) presents a thorough examination of Menander as a source for social history, and she criticizes those who would ignore the poet when considering the social and political history of early Hellenistic Athens. Patterson does, however, warn against (p. 194) reading Menander’s plays as a “mirror of life.” But because Menander’s plays are situation comedies, they are better than the plays of his Old Comedy predecessors as descriptors or investigative tools for understanding the architecture of the house. The mother in Menander’s Phasma (the Ghost), lines 51–52, breaks a hole in the party wall with the neighboring house, a possibility in Greek house walls that were fashioned largely of mud brick. Housebreaking using this method is known also in the historical record (Lagger 2008). The second story, preserved not at all in actual Athenian houses, exists in the dwellings in Menander’s plays, as do storerooms and the weaving room (Samia 13–21, 232–34), homely spaces that make no appearance in the tragedies or historical sources. Among the most consulted ancient written sources for Greek houses are Athenian forensic speeches from the late fifth and fourth centuries BCE, but their contemporary, Xenophon’s Oikonomikos, is the document most often cited in discussions of social life in the Greek house (Pomeroy 1994). Written in the fourth century BCE by a well-educated and well-traveled student of Sokrates, this treatise purports to report the conversation between the newly married Ischomachos and Sokrates. Ischomachos relates to the philosopher how he counseled his young, unnamed wife on the proper management of their household. Alex Purves (2010: 197) echoes the experience of the fifthcentury audience for comic plays—that readers of Xenophon’s dialogue would well understand the work because of their own intimate familiarity with the Athenian house. While in the past some have taken the Oikonomikos at face value, as a description of an Athenian household well ordered in its human and material contents, the dialogue is better understood today as a prescriptive text, that is, how an Athenian household should be organized and run (Purves 2010: 197–98).

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Where houses appear in the forensic speeches of the Classical period (see especially the speeches of Lysias 1 and 15), they also need to be read as symbolic presentations of houses rather than descriptions of actual ones. So, for example, Euphiletos describes his Athenian home, in which he committed murder, as an oikidion, a little house. The defendant may have indeed lived in a small house, but his use of the diminutive is more clearly motivated to impress the jury with his status as an ordinary Athenian, rather than one wealthy enough to afford a speech writer such as Lysias. My interpretation of this speech is by no means unique and runs contrary to Gareth Morgan’s (1982) reconstruction of the small House D in the Industrial District of Athens as an exemplar of the type of home occupied by Euphiletos (Fig. 1.5; see also Young 1951a: 217–24). By stating that he lived in a little house, Euphiletos presented a carefully edited version of himself, as modern defendants do in the courtroom when, under instruction from their attorneys, they get a haircut and don a suit. Even Euphiletos’s description of his house and household, with serving girls and an upper story usually occupied by the women, should be viewed with caution, as here the defendant and his speech writer Lysias are anticipating the symbolic function of the house as it appears in Xenophon. Lysias has the speaker argue that before the amorous goings-on that led to the murder of Eratosthenes, Euphiletos lived in a well-ordered home, where the women were housed on the upper story and so were not seen or heard by outsiders, just as Thucydides’ Perikles prescribes at the end of the Funeral Oration (Thuc. 2.45) as appropriate behavior for Athenian women in Classical Athens. Lysias returns to that presentation of the house as symbol of propriety in Against Simon, in which he relates the penetration of the women’s quarters on the upper story of the house, an act that realizes the potential threat to any of the women themselves (Lys. 3.6–7).

The House as Home: Social Use of Space and the Domestic Assemblage As is clear from the previous discussion, the house is not simply a free-standing entity that is devoid of meaning beyond its stones, wood, mud brick, and terracotta. Beyond these, the architectural layout and its details speak to the social life of the inhabitants, both how ideas of social interaction lie behind the construction of the domestic environment and how that environment itself

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regulates the behavior of those living within the confines of the house. In constructing a definition of the Greek domestic space, however, one cannot consider only the architecture of the buildings (Nevett 1999; Ault and Nevett 1999; Nevett 2010b). While written descriptions of domestic life in Greek antiquity would be ideal sources for any examination of the use of space in the house, such accounts are largely lacking, and so for this discussion we must turn to the artifactual assemblages and interior appointments of the ancient buildings assumed to be houses. Houses are not people, neither are the pots and pans and domestic tools found in any building equal to the residents, but a house was constructed to contain human inhabitants and to serve as the setting for their daily lives. Thus, the objects found in a domestic assemblage and the find spot of that material, especially if it is a primary deposit, can tell us much about the residents and their use of the space in the dwelling. Where the members of an oikos used or stored or dropped their tools and toys in the last moments of the house’s life can provide some clue as to the ways in which the building was used. The most valuable conclusions depend on material found in its primary deposition, that is, where it was left by the residents, not where it moved as a result of silting, rebuilding of the home, or any other natural or human action. Material in houses, as that in any ancient building, accumulated through any number of processes, and few houses have been excavated with the material from their domestic assemblages located precisely where the residents used those objects (La Motta and Schiffer 1999). In the Greek world, the houses at Olynthos present a rare example of dwellings where much of the domestic assemblage was found deposited where the objects were last in use. As Nicholas Cahill’s (2002) careful account and analysis of the houses at Olynthos and their domestic assemblages show, food preparation might be located in or near the courtyard or in the flue of an Olynthian house. Appreciation of the deposition of finds also requires us to realize that while some sites such as Olynthos offer a good idea of what was happening in the daily lives of the residents there in particular rooms at the time of the taking of the city by the troops of Philip II, houses at many sites such as Morgantina, where the city was abandoned and the houses probably stripped bare of their portable and valuable contents, are far less able to be analyzed in the same way. Besides shelter, the consumption of food is a necessity for human life, and so vessels for food storage, preparation, and consumption abound in houses. Clusters of such containers and service items allow archaeologists to distinguish

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areas of the home where each of these activities may have taken place. The emphasis here needs to be on the word “may,” as the location of the remains of, for example, vessels for drinking wine might be the storeroom where the cups were kept when not in use or the dining room where the actual consumption took place. Similarly, cooking pots might have been deposited where they were last used or where they were stored. In some houses, the locations of use and storage might have been the same, if we are to trust the scant written sources for the kulikeion, the ancient sideboard, which is attested in or near the dining room where the kylikes stored there were used. Ideally the physical remains of food itself would be analyzed in order to identify the type of foodstuff and its place in the house, but the reality of excavations, especially those conducted decades ago, means that such minute and fragile remains are not always available for analysis. Evi Margaritis’s (2014) masterful analysis of the paleobotanical remains from a kapēleion in northern Greece shows the value of the proper excavation and examination of such remains. Unlike architectural form and its commonalities identified above, the location of vessels for food storage, preparation, and consumption shows remarkable variation throughout the Greek world. In some early houses, large-scale and well-decorated storage amphoras were placed in front of the dwelling or where they could be viewed from favored positions within the house. Examples of this practice can be seen earlier at Zagora on Andros (Fig. 1.4) or later at Azoria on Crete (Cambitoglou et al. 1971; Haggis et al. 2011). The display of the storage amphoras was a declaration of wealth and status, proclaiming the ability of the householder to maintain his oikos through any difficulties in the food supply and perhaps even to gift others so that they too might survive (Gallant 1991). There is a further aspect to consider regarding the analysis of assemblages as aids to understanding social life, and I will leave it to Bradley Ault to examine this question more fully in his discussion of Building Z near the Kerameikos in Athens. Clare Kelly-Blazeby (2008) in her study of Greek taverns has questioned the ready acceptance of assemblages with many drinking cups as domestic, and her work raises questions about the quantity of any shape of vessel or object recovered from a building assumed to be a house. We must determine which objects signal a domestic assemblage and which objects or quantity thereof should force an archaeologist to rethink the identity of an assemblage as domestic or not. A modern scholar must not assume that the household equipment of the present day can be recognized in ancient counterparts, but rather must exercise considerable caution and turn with

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equal caution to other sources, such as the literature and vase paintings, in order to understand what were the usual activities conducted in the house and what therefore might be the objects that survive to represent those activities. The conclusions to be drawn from artifactual, literary, and visual evidence of social interaction are not cut and dried, as can be seen by several scholarly attempts to wrestle with the nature of the evidence and to come to an understanding of what constitutes a domestic assemblage (Foxhall 2007; Lynch 2011b; contra Kelly-Blazeby 2008). Here the scholar is at the mercy of the sources produced by men, such as Xenophon’s Oikonomikos, Lysias’s oration on the murder of Eratosthenes, and the vase paintings, many of which have been the focus of study by Robert Sutton (2004). Women worked wool in the home for almost every waking moment, as we learn from Elizabeth Barber (1991), and thus we should expect to find spindle whorls and loomweights in the Greek house. Food was stored, prepared, and eaten in the home, so pithoi and amphoras, as well as braziers, cooking pots, and food service vessels, should also appear there. But how many loomweights represent normal household production of thread and cloth and how many represent commercial production, a question that is relevant for Houses A viii 7/9, as discussed by Nicholas Cahill (2002: 250–52)? How many food service vessels did an ancient home have? What number of cups represents a tavern rather than a house? Not simply the rooms of a house, but also the social activities enacted there survive in albeit dramatic form in the comic plays. Greek domestic religion, a defining feature of ethnic identity and a primary activity of social interaction, was conducted daily in the home, beyond the confines of public sanctuaries of the polis. Although some domestic cult was, as Sally Humphreys (1993) argued, extensions of polis cult, much also was personal and private in nature and recognized individual aspects of the oikos that were tied to family identity. Mention of religious observance, so ephemeral in nature, is an especially welcome find in the comedies. Menander is a valuable source for domestic rites; in the Samia lines 39–46 we are given details of the Adoneia and its rooftop revelries as well as the practice of burning incense on household altars (line 159). Mention of the Adoneia also features in the Lysistrata (lines 387–98). In the Phasma (line 23) the playwright reveals that domestic altars were adorned with ribbons and that women worshiped at them. Although the tragedians also wrote of religious observance in the house, the reader must remember that their plays were set in the myth history of the past and were less certainly a reflection of contemporary ritual practice.

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The material evidence of domestic ritual abounds in the house, although some of the physical remains may be disguised by their very simplicity. Altars, large and small, have been recovered from Classical houses, and while many were found in courtyards, some appear in other rooms (Graham 1953: 196–98). Terracotta figurines served either as votives to the deities or as actual cut images in the home, and they can be found in the innermost rooms of the domestic quarters as well as in rooms for entertainment such as the andrōn (Rumscheid 2006). Ritual activity of some sorts, as evidenced by the altars large and small, was often located in the courtyard (e.g., House of Many Colors, Fig. 1.1), but the recovery of figurines from the andrōn suggests some ritual observance in that formal room (Robinson 1946: 183–206; Cahill 2002: 85–97). Many rituals have left no trace in the material record: spoken prayers, sung hymns, and burnt incense were fundamental to domestic religion, but all are ephemeral in nature (Morgan 2007a, 2007b). Equally impossible to identify are those vessels or fragments thereof that served as containers for offerings, the broken pots containing gardens for the Adoneia being the most difficult to distinguish from normal domestic discard.

A Mirror of the Oikos: The House as Symbol In the past couple of decades, consideration of domestic architecture in general and Greek houses in particular has been well informed and formed by theoretical discussions originating in the fields of sociology and philosophy. In an attempt to understand living spaces and houses beyond their cultural definitions, theorists have considered how a living space should function for its inhabitants on a greater symbolic level. The French Marxist philosopher and sociologist Henri Lefebvre argued that social space was the result of a collection of operations or activities and the ordered performance of those operations, especially those that relate to production (Lefebvre 1974). We can regard the house as the social space par excellence, and thus the plan of a house responds to past and present social behaviors while also allowing future behavior to occur along the same lines. Thus the Greek house’s form and plan are determined by how the Greeks lived in the past, and are built to allow, if not also to force, domestic behavior of the same sort into the future. In this way, if the Greeks chose to keep their family lives and in particular their women from being seen in public and interacting with men not of their family, a house such as the single-entrance courtyard house with its restricted access and

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interior closed off to the outside would result. Strict adherence to Lefebvre’s theory does not necessarily allow for the variations resulting from personal choice, but his focus on production and the economy as well as on the political processes that lead to the production of space has resulted in his work’s lasting influence on urban theory. The need for the builders to respect preexisting streets and urban features when laying out the footprint and plan of a house is a timeless universal as applicable to Greek houses as to modern. Lefebvre’s theory was applied by Bill Hillier and Julie Hanson (1984) in their analysis of the use of space. By examining patterns of access to individual rooms and parts of buildings, Hillier and Hansen argued for the ways in which architectural layouts could reinforce the norms of behavior in any given structure. While the theoretical approaches framed first by Lefebvre and later applied by Hillier and Hanson have advanced the study of Greek houses beyond the interminable typologies that characterized house studies before the last decades of the twentieth century (e.g., Drerup 1967; Krause 1977), the social theory needed another aspect in order to be applicable to the specifics of Greek houses and to our concerns in this chapter. The important first step in this direction was taken by the architect Amos Rapoport (1969), who inserted the element of culture into the discussion of house form. Culture adds important nuance to societal structure, and without a consideration of culture, any discussion of houses can stand on a theoretical level but is missing a core element. In his several studies of houses, and in particular in his seminal study of how culture affects house form, Rapoport argued that culture was the most important determinant for house form. In this, he has challenged the contentions of both Lefebvre and Bourdieu that social considerations were the more dominant force in determining house form. A theoretician whose work is eminently applicable to the study of the Greek house as a symbol is Pierre Bourdieu, who speculated on the use of social space as cultural capital, a nonmonetary asset that could be used to further one’s social mobility (Bourdieu 1979). If we consider the tendency of Greeks from an early period to display their wealth via the enormous relief amphoras standing before their doors, or the Late Classical and Hellenistic Greeks who referred to their wealth in subtle ways with their windows, wooden and bronze-studded doors, and ashlar walls, we can see Bourdieu’s theory in physical form. The actions of the Classical Athenian statesmen who lived in modest homes and were praised a century later by Demosthenes recognize the symbolic value of this cultural capital. While their homes were not the

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mansions of the fourth-century politicians criticized by Demosthenes, Aristides and his contemporaries were gaining favor with their contemporaries by showing off their equality to their fellow citizens. For Hellenistic Greeks who chose to build on a palatial scale and with decoration referencing the interior appointment of Macedonian palaces, their houses were also cultural capital, used to express their elevated social standing and to serve as settings for events such as drinking parties where that standing could be enhanced and increased. In this way, the Greek house can be viewed as having a symbolic function analogous to that of the Roman house, which has been argued to reflect the wealth and status of its owner (Hales 2003). Alex Purves (2010) has applied the analysis of Bourdieu to the Greek house, in par ticu lar in her reading of Xenophon’s Oikonomikos. Purves (p. 201) considers that Xenophon, through the words he puts in the mouth of Ischomachos, recognizes that the house was a metaphorical and physical extension of the self. When the house is arranged well it reflects the wellordered being of its owner. Purves (p. 208) argues that the power of the house also has a reflexive quality, in that the proper ordering of its living space can lead to the establishment of order in its occupant. The house then is not simply acted upon; it acquires its own agency and acts upon those who reside within it. These interlocking approaches to the study of house form on both the practical and the symbolic levels are summarized by Rosalind Hunter-Anderson (1977: 295), who explores many aspects of housing including form, permeability, rigidity, and size. Hunter-Anderson sees a house as one of the many material aspects of human culture, an assessment with which I agree wholeheartedly. For this reason, Greek houses cannot be ignored when one studies Greek culture, even if the houses are not as imposing and impressive as temples and sculpture. Hunter-Anderson also considers that a primary function of the house is to separate its contents from the external environment, a role best understood for Greek houses when we consider them as defining the daily physical sphere of activity for women. Hunter-Anderson is especially engaged with what she terms the “activity house” (p. 303), where activities beyond sleeping and eating occur. Greek houses, with their accommodations for storage, food preparation, weaving, and other domestic industry, fit this model well, and Hunter-Anderson allows for variability of form based on the number of people resident there and the number of activities in which they are engaged. Overall her model of the house, while divorced from cultural specifics, is the most nuanced of any that we have surveyed.

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The final thread linking the application of theoretical analysis to the understanding of Greek houses was made when Michael Jameson (1990a, 1990b), in two important articles informed by current thinking on social and cultural considerations, briefly discussed how house plans and equipment responded to the norms and needs of Greek culture. Jameson’s articles were critically important in building a bridge between the theorizing of the social scientists and the study of Classical material culture. His application of the ideas developed by Rapoport and others enabled scholars of Classical antiquity to see the value of applying theoretical considerations developed outside the scholarship of Classical humanism. A testament of the power of Jameson’s articles can be seen in the books of Nevett (1999), Cahill (2002), and Ault (2005a), all of whom draw upon the lessons learned from Jameson, and all of whom strengthen his arguments by adding considerable evidence from specific buildings and sites.

Variables Other questions come to mind here. Was activity in a Greek house always consistent from family to family, or did one family live in its house in a way different than did its neighbors? What constituted domestic activity in a Greek houses, and should we also expect to find variation from one home to another? Amos Rapoport, in his seminal cross-cultural study of houses, argued both that houses built by those of a given culture share characteristics that allow for activity to be conducted within the norms of that culture, and that people resident in the houses tend to model their activity in similar ways given the layout of the houses. Consequently there is a circular relationship between the forms of the buildings and the way people live in them. Rapoport’s argument was taken to an extreme, an extreme with which I do not entirely agree, by Wolfram Hoepfner and E. Schwandner (1994), who argued for type houses in the Classical Greek world, houses of near identical layout in communities. These common plans represented in architectural form the isonomia, the political equality, of the residents. Also against this view is Nicholas Cahill (2002), who has effectively argued that the political equality or residents of a town (e.g., Olynthos), was not necessarily parallel to any economic equality, a factor that ultimately has significant bearing on the size and layout of a house. One determinant that we would certainly use, if we were discussing this matter as it relates to modern structures, is the location of a house. Modern

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practice, and even law, restricts which types of commercial and industrial activities can be located in residential districts. Such niceties of zoning, motivated by concerns for health and comfort, often did not apply in ancient cities, and marble workers’ shops, fullers’ shops, and metalworking establishments can be found cheek by jowl with houses in ancient cities (Cahill 2002: 223–65; Tsakirgis 2005). In fact, these activities might take place within the houses in Classical antiquity. Industrial activity was separated in some houses by time rather than by space, with the open court of the House of Mikion and Menon in Athens, discussed below, serving both as workroom and showplace as well as part of the living area of the house. Greek houses could vary in size, even within a single city, and even when constructed in the same period. By way of example are Houses C and D (Fig. 1.5) in the Industrial District in Athens (Young 1951a: 202–28; Tsakirgis 2005: 76–77). Built at the same time, after the Athenian cleanup of their city following the Persian invasion, the two houses share very similar plans, the single-entrance courtyard plan as named by Nevett. Both have vestibules that do not allow direct visual or physical access to the interior, both have an unroofed courtyard with little evidence of even a simple post or shed roof on any side, and both, agreeing with the prescriptions for Greek houses in Xenophon (Mem. 3.8.8) and Ps.-Aristotle (Oec.), have larger rooms on the north that have doors in their southern face. Yet House C has a footprint nearly twice that of the other (House C: ca. 256 m2 vs. House D: ca. 140.40 m2) and is much more rectilinear in plan than other Athenian houses, such as the House of Mikion and Menon discussed below (Shear 1969), that take account of the preexisting street system. The differences in scale might be due to the differences in economic standing of the owners, both of whom, if citizens, would have shared equal political standing in the democratic city in the fi fth century BCE. Discussion of Houses C and D leads us back to the particularly thorny corollary of the problem of identifying houses. In the immediate neighborhood where Houses C and D are located, the so-called Industrial District, there are buildings that contain ample evidence for both workshop activity and residential activity. An excellent example of this is the House of Mikion and Menon, well known as a workshop for a family of sculptors from just before the middle of the fifth century BCE until the second quarter of the third century BCE (Shear 1969: 383–94; for the cistern F 16:1 and well deposits F 16:8: Thompson 1954; Miller 1974; Rotroff 1997: 451, 2006: 356). This building, located at the crossroads of two streets near the southwestern corner of the

What Is a House?

33

Figure 1.5. Athens, Houses C and D, plans. Courtesy of Agora Excavations, American School of Classical Studies at Athens.

Agora, contains ample evidence of the marble worker’s trade tools, marble chips and dust, and unfinished sculpture. Also located here, however, is abundant evidence of household activity—pots, pans, lamps, and painted wall stucco. Mikion, Menon, and their marble-working relatives clearly worked and lived in the rooms of this building, but how they negotiated the difference between space for working and that for living we cannot determine.

The Home and the Market: The House as a Commodity Before drawing the discussion to a close, it is worth considering the role of the house in the Greek world as a commodity, an object to be valued in monetary terms and to be bought, rented, and sold. The monetary value of the house could be enhanced by its symbolic value, discussed above, as a vehicle to increase the social standing of its owner and thereby to serve as cultural capital. In some periods, when property was inalienable, that social and cultural

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capital may have been paramount. From at least the fourth century BCE, when houses could more easily be bought and sold in Athens and elsewhere, there appear documents recording the sales, lease, and mortgage of houses (for Athens: Fine 1951, Finley 1952, Lalonde, Langdon, and Walbank 1991; for Olynthos and Amphipolis: Robinson 1928, Hennig 1987, Chatzopoulos 1988, Lalonde, Langdon, and Walbank 1991). The records are few, and the variations in the date of the records, local currencies, property values, and social circumstances make comparisons very difficult. Among the sources are the Attic Stelai, the fragmentary remains of the ten inscribed slabs erected in the sanctuary of Demeter and Persephone in Athens to record the sale of the houses and household properties confiscated from the defamers of the Eleusinian Mysteries (Pritchett 1953, 1956). Lisa Nevett (2000) has made a preliminary study of these various records and has determined that the evidence suggests that in both Athens and Olynthos residential property values were greatest near the Agora; Cahill (2002: 276–81, 294–99), in his study of the Olynthian material, agrees. In this we might see evidenced in monetary terms the value of that cultural capital on the social construction of the house. The houses nearest the civic center fetch the highest price because their owners and those who desire to live in the homes value the proximity to the seat of power.

Conclusion In this chapter we have seen that the Greek house was more than the stone, wood, and mud brick from which it was made. For its residents, the house was a complex construction, determined in its physical form, plan, and details by both social and cultural norms. While human behavior prior to the construction of any house was a factor in determining its structure, the building and its details helped direct life and social interaction within, both in the present term and into the future life of the building and its residents. Just as a house today can be seen as aspirational, a commodity to be desired, the Greek house was used to display wealth and taste both to those who lived within and to those who did not. Greeks such as Demosthenes recognized houses that adhered to societal norms and were suspicious of those that did not. Th is xenophobia toward the new in domestic architecture was simply a statement of dislike for behavior outside the norm in society, rather than an abhorrence of large buildings. The adherence to socially and culturally constructed types of houses reveals that the Greeks recognized a Greek house when they

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saw one, even if they could not and did not put that definition into words. Their flexible use of space and the regular collation of work and residence make distinguishing houses from other structures in the archaeological record complex. Modern ideas and mistaken interpretations of some primary sources have resulted in misunderstandings about the form, role, and variety of uses that can be recognized in the material remains of ancient houses. Looking beyond the homes of the elite in Athens, we can see from both the domestic assemblages and an unprejudiced reading of the primary sources that some houses served as more than places of residence.

chapter 2

Can Pottery Help Distinguish a Brothel from a Tavern or House? k athleen m. lynch

This volume provides insight into the archaeological identity of brothels and taverns, and this chapter asks if it is possible to distinguish a brothel or tavern on the basis of its ceramic assemblage alone. Several of the contributions to this volume suggest that large quantities or significant proportions of drinking equipment reflect activities of brothels (Ault, Scahill, Glazebrook). In the absence of distinctive architectural markers or artifacts, do overall ceramic assemblages from domestic, brothel, and tavern contexts display enough variation that identification of a building could be based on the character of the pottery alone? Before we can answer that question, it is necessary to address a fundamental problem. How can we distinguish the pottery from a brothel, from a tavern, from a house? One might assume that archaeologists have a good idea of what pottery Classical houses, especially in Athens, contained, but even this most prevalent of all activity contexts is poorly understood. In theory, the activities pursued in each context might result in different material culture signatures: different types of artifacts, different types of vessels, and different proportional quantities of these artifacts. We may, in fact, expect a tavern to have more drinking cups and pouring vessels or for a brothel to have fewer utilitarian vessels associated with food preparation than a house (see Glazebrook, this volume [Chapter 8]). Since houses are somewhat easier to identify archaeologically than taverns and brothels (see Tsakirgis, this volume [Chapter 1]), this chapter seeks a characterization of a domestic ceramic assemblage. If there are signature characteristics of a domestic assemblage,

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perhaps then taverns and brothels might be identified by their deviation from a domestic character. In reality, several factors inhibit such distinctions. First, the incomplete nature of the archaeological record, combined with inexact excavation documentation, tends to prevent an accurate assessment particularly in characterizing the variety and number of pottery shapes in each context. Second, there are few well-identified, well-preserved household ceramic contexts anywhere in the Mediterranean, so we have little evidence for defining a typical household ceramic assemblage.1 Finally, even if we could confidently define a household assemblage for one site at one period, this definition might not transcend either space or time. What was used in Classical Athens may have little to do with Hellenistic Crete. Nevertheless, the field of archaeology would not exist if scholars gave up in the face of such difficult questions. This chapter explores the problems of using ceramic evidence to distinguish use contexts, and offers a sketch of a real household assemblage. In the end we can form some expectations for a domestic ceramic assemblage, which we can then compare to possible taverns and a possible brothel.

Problems In seeking to discover what kinds of pots and how many of them an ancient Greek household owned, scholars encounter many impediments related to site formation, archaeological record keeping, and ceramic study methodology. As archaeologists excavate stratigraphically, layer by created layer, they encounter many challenges to interpreting the exposed spaces and contexts. Most excavations occur on sites that were continuously occupied for many hundreds of years. This means that later building activities likely disturbed and cut through earlier layers, thus giving the archaeologist an incomplete picture of the original context and its artifacts. In addition, archaeologists rarely encounter primary use or even closed deposits, which should be most closely related to original activities (Schiffer 1987: 58–62). Most archaeological excavations are not similar to Pompeii, so it is less common for archaeologists to find artifacts lying in situ on ancient floors.2 Normally ancient residents kept their floors clean, but they did renew mud or beaten-earth floors periodically.3 Before a new surface was installed, a fill might be introduced to level the old floor, which may have developed pits or low spots. This fill and even the new floor material may contain artifacts within them, but archaeologists cannot

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assume that these objects originated from activities within the structure itself.4 It is possible the ceramic fragments contained in fi ll might have been introduced from another location altogether.5 Debris from a nearby refuse dump or even displaced earth from nearby constructions might be brought in. Nevertheless, ceramics recovered from stratigraphic excavation are extremely useful for their chronological sensitivity, and they do illustrate activities at the site in the most general sense. For example, a fragment of a type of wine amphora within a floor fill can indicate that the site received wine from a particular production site, but it does not mean that wine was drunk in that very place. Occasionally, however, excavators do discover a primary use deposit, that is, a deposit that is directly associated with activities that took place in that space, but not all primary deposits are created equally. Varying formation processes affect how representative the deposit is of the original activity. For example, refuse pits, koprōnes, contain debris discarded from the house in which they occur, but their contents are probably not proportionately representative of all activities in the house. Instead, objects most frequently used and broken may be overrepresented (Ault 1999: 552–54 and appendix A).6 The situation at Olynthos, attacked and presumably abandoned in 348 BCE, is deceptive (Cahill 2002: 25, 45–49). At first look, it might appear that inhabitants abandoned the site in a hurry, but in fact they carried some objects away, and looters and squatters scavenged others (Cahill 2002: 48–49, 67–68).7 Nevertheless, that many ceramic objects did remain in situ and in conjunction with other artifacts does permit a better understanding of the household use of the objects (Cahill 2002: 72). Other sites that were abandoned gradually, and possibly scavenged later, such as the Dema House or the Vari House in the Attic countryside, present a different picture.8 Presumably the inhabitants of these rural farm houses removed some of the portable objects; thus, the pottery from these wellexcavated sites reflects activities at the site, but it does not provide an accurate quantification of the original household assemblages. We need, as well, to keep in mind differences of geography and chronology.9 The character of a domestic assemblage for Late Archaic Athens should not govern expectations for houses elsewhere and in other periods. Finally, the omnipresent issue of excavation policies exerts an enormous influence on any attempt to characterize the contents of a ceramic assemblage. First, sometimes trench locations result in the excavation of only a portion of a room or building. The evidence, then, may be incomplete and makes char-

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acterizing the overall artifact assemblages, especially pottery, difficult. Second, excavated ceramics are treated inconsistently, both within excavations and between excavations. Most archaeological projects today record the quantity and weight of ceramics, and many retain all excavated pottery; however, this has not always been the case, and each excavation follows its own policy. Some excavations saved only a nonscientific “selection” of diagnostic pottery. Other excavations saved only fine wares and discarded the less datable and identifiable coarse wares. Some count, weigh, and then discard nondiagnostic body sherds because project storage is an issue. As a result, it can be hard to compare recent excavations to past ones and one excavation to another. In sum, few archaeological contexts are similar enough to offer direct apples-to-apples comparisons, and this is largely because no two site formation histories and no two modern excavation policies are the same (Orton 1993: 177).10

Solutions? Even with all the above limitations, archaeologists have to make an effort to characterize the contents of an “average” household. This chapter restricts comments to Athens in the Archaic and Classical periods in order to provide a more narrow focus. Excavations in Athens, a continuously occupied city, result in very fragmented views of structures and their original interior spaces. Artifacts are rarely found in primary use deposits, but there is a very useful series of refuse deposits, mainly in defunct wells, that provide insight into private and public activities in Archaic and Classical Athens. Many of these deposits were formed over a very short period and can be connected to historical events. Thus, their chronology and context are unusually well documented. The contents of a deposit excavated by the American School of Classical Studies at Athens’s Excavations of the Athenian Agora, Well J 2:4, provide an opportunity to define an Athenian household assemblage for the first time (Camp 1996: 242–52; Lynch 1999, 2011b).11 Deposit J 2:4 is located north of the Classical Agora square within the fragmentary remains of a Late Archaic house built in the last quarter of the sixth century BCE. The house lay along a major north-south road leading out of the Agora; to its south, the Panathenaic Way runs east-west toward the Agora from the Kerameikos (Fig. 2.1). In its original form the house had a courtyard well, but in a second phase dating to after 480 BCE this well was closed, filled in with the debris that is of interest to this study, and covered over by an interior wall. The house remained in

Figure 2.1. Plan of the Athenian Agora, ca. 480 BCE with Persian destruction cleanup deposits marked. Richard Anderson for the Athenian Agora Excavations. Courtesy of Excavations of the Athenian Agora.

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use until sometime in the Hellenistic period, when some wall robbing occurred. Finally, an early Roman temple with concrete foundations was built over the house remains. The deep footings of the Roman temple platform disturbed and fragmented original household walls and floors. To the west, the heavy, cut stone foundation of an unexcavated Roman latrine obscures an unknown portion of the western part of the house. Even with these preservation problems, the house of Well J 2:4 is comparatively well preserved for a Late Archaic house in Athens, and it provides the best preserved household ceramic assemblage to date. The artifacts deposited into Well J 2:4 resulted from cleanup following the sack of Athens by the Persians during the second of the Persian Wars in 480 BCE. After the war, the destruction of the city prompted many Athenians to clear away debris and build anew, and the contents of twenty-two deposits unearthed during the Agora Excavations include whole, perfectly usable pots, as well as many fragments of household and fi ne ware pottery discarded as if the goal was a clean slate (e.g., Fig. 2.3a) (Lynch 2011a; Shear 1993). This disposal mentality resulted in refuse deposits with closer correspondence to original activity contexts than an ordinary refuse pit formed over time might have.12 Excavators and scholars have long assumed that most of the debris in the Persian destruction deposits excavated near the Athena Agora originated in the households ringing what would become the Classical Agora (Shear 1993: 393), but they have not been able to use the rich ceramic data set from the deposits to characterize an “average” household for two main reasons: (1) the contents of the Persian destruction deposits may not represent single households, and many seem to contain a mix of debris from household, commercial, and public contexts; and (2) the excavated ceramics had not been quantified thoroughly before an unknown percentage was discarded. In contrast, since the excavators retained all artifacts from Deposit J 2:4, excavated in 1994–95, and the well could be associated with household architecture, it provided the first opportunity to characterize and quantify a single-family, domestic assemblage from the city of Athens. In this chapter I use Deposit J 2:4 as a case study to characterize a Late Archaic Athenian domestic assemblage (cf. Lynch 2011b: chap. 3). For the goal of distinguishing a house from a brothel or tavern, both the variety of pottery shapes present and their quantities will be significant. Even Well J 2:4, the best available deposit for this objective, required a strategy beyond simple counting owing to internal stratigraphy, the introduction of objects originating outside the household, and the unknowable quantity of pottery its owners

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Figure  2.2. Internal stratigraphy of Well J 2:4 looking east. Lynch  2011b: fig. 5.

possibly discarded elsewhere or reused. Since the objective is to characterize what was in use in the house at the time of the Persian destruction, it will be necessary to distinguish this snapshot of the household assemblage from both pottery discarded earlier in the house’s use and that introduced from outside the house. Deposit J 2:4 had an internal stratigraphy reflecting the way it was filled (Fig. 2.2), and this stratigraphy helps to determine what was in the house at the time of its sack.13 The story told by this deposit’s stratigraphy is roughly as follows: the period of use (Level 6) comprised pots mainly used for fetching water, broken while in use. Immediately above the period of use was a pocket of predominantly complete fine wares (Level 5), dumped into the well during the clean up (Fig. 2.3a). In this same pocket were some fragmentary pieces with joins between the top and bottom of the well. This joining pattern indi-

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cates that the filling took place over a short time period. Next, dumps of rock and gravel with few ceramics (Levels 4 and 3), probably generated by concomitant building activities inside or outside of the house, were used to fill up the well. Near the top more broken pottery was tossed in (Level 2)—this includes pieces that join with those below. It is possible that the well fi ll was allowed to settle, and a final topping-off fill was brought in from outside the house (Levels 1a and 1b). The topmost layer (Level 1a) included worn, abraded, earlier sixth-century BCE fragments, and this pottery probably originated in a refuse heap or ditch nearby (Fig. 2.3b).14 We now have a conundrum: how do we confidently distinguish between the pottery in use by the household and that introduced from elsewhere for fill? Also, not all the household’s pottery might have been discarded down the well during the cleanup. It is possible that some portion of the household’s ceramic assemblage was disposed of elsewhere or retained for further use. For example, the deposit did not contain a complete krater, only a few fragments of their feet, but the presence of complete kylikes and other forms associated with the symposium imply that this house certainly owned one. Minimum number of vessel (MNV) calculations seek to estimate the number of vessels recovered from an archaeological context.15 For Well J 2:4, the goal is to identify how many vessels were in use in the house at the time of its destruction. This is a bit different from typical MNV calculations that aim to identify the minimum number in a particular population.16 For our purposes, that population was further narrowed to “those vessels in use at the time of destruction.” As many diagnostic fragments as possible were characterized and counted; however, in any context about 10% of all diagnostics cannot be diagnosed. That is, they are too small, unusual, or poorly preserved for confident identification. The estimates presented here are the result of conservative qualifications for the MNV associated with the house. The estimates do not include objects or fragments clearly in the period of use deposit. These likely fell in prior to the house’s destruction, thus should not be considered in our picture of the household as it was at the time of the destruction. Single fragments without joins were not counted as part of the original household assemblage, with the exceptions of bases, which were used for calculating MNV. The methodology for determining MNV involves a formula that takes both complete and incomplete objects into account. This chapter uses a formula that Susan Rotroff devised for her study of another well filled with pottery excavated by the Excavations of the Athenian Agora (Rotroff and Oakley

Figure  2.3a. Example of a complete red-figured kylix (P 32420) from the pocket of complete fine wares in Well J 2:4. Courtesy of Excavations of the Athenian Agora.

Figure  2.3b. Fragment of a closed form, probably a stand (P 33239), with early sixth-century BCE black-figure from Level 1 of Well J 2:4 indicating that fill taken from outside the house was used to top off the well. Courtesy of Excavations of the Athenian Agora.

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1992: 133–36).17 In her discussion, Rotroff explores the difficulties of developing an objective characterization of highly subjective data (Rotroff and Oakley 1992: 133). Complete vessels and vessels over half preserved are counted as “one.” The formula also considers the number of bases as a measure of fragmentary pottery. In addition, MNV calculations will be affected by the condition of fragments (is it possible to identify the original form, or are the pieces too worn?), the retention policies of the excavators (did excavators discard coarse ware diagnostics?), and even the knowledge of the ceramicist studying the fragments (is she able to recognize forms from small fragments?). Rotroff ’s formula reads, estimated MNV = W + O + [(U − O) / 2] where W = a whole base, O = over half a base, and U = under half a base. For example, for skyphoi, each base fragment was assigned to one of the following categories: base = 100%, base > 50%, and base < 50%. Using these conservative approaches, Table 2.1 reports the results of MNV for the domestic Deposit J 2:4. Deposit J 2:4 contained at a minimum 149 drinking vessels, including a set of 8 nearly complete red-figured cups and 8 nearly complete black-gloss cups (plus many fragmentary bases, see Table 2.1); 61 black-figured or black-gloss cup-skyphoi (bases can be either); 46 drinking ser vice vessels including amphoras, oinochoai, pelikai, and a psykter. Here we should note the presence of only 2 fragments of kraters—none were preserved in the pocket of fine wares; 71 table vessels including 2 black-figured lekythoi, an askos, and various lekanides and covered bowls; 68 household ware utility vessels including lekanai and jugs; 22 cooking vessels; 10 votive miniatures; 2 phialai; 1 plate; and small numbers of personal and unidentified use objects. Interesting observations include that this house owned more than one set of drinking vessels; sets of both skyphoi and kylikes appear.18 In order to express the relative abundance of each functional group of pottery, column 2  in Table 2.1 describes the functional category as a percentage of all pottery from the deposit. Figure 2.4 illustrates the overwhelming importance of drinking equipment in this household assemblage. Approximately 50% of the household inventory was devoted to wine cups and service vessels. Also worth noting is the presence of miniature votive pottery and phialai denoting household rituals; thus, the presence of votives does not automatically mean a public, religious context. The quantity of these objects needs to be considered.

Table 2.1. Minimum Number of Vessels for Pottery Probably Originating in the House of Well J 2:4

Drinking vessels RF cup BG cup BF cup-skyphos BG cup-skyphos BF Heron class BG type B skyphos BG Corinthian-type skyphos (Corinthian and Attic fabrics) BG one-handler Subgeometric survival skyphos Mug Sessile kantharos Drinking service vessels BF stamnos BG amphora BF amphoriskos BF oinochoe BG oinochoe Banded oinochoe RF pelike BG pelike BG psykter BG closed BF krater Table vessels BF lekythos BF/BG lekythos Askos BG olpe BF lekanis lid BG lekanis BG lekanis lid BG bowl BG covered bowl BG stemmed dish BG salt cellar Small bowl BG jug

Total

Percentage of total

8 39 6 55 1 1 21 14 2 1 1 149

39%

1 2 1 3 2 2 1 3 4 25 2 46

12%

2 15 1 19 2 1 5 3 3 8 9 1 2 71

18% (continued )

Table 2.1 (continued )

Household ware Lekane Mortar Bowl Pitcher Mushroom jug Closed Basin Pithos Large storage vessel Stopper Cooking ware Chytra Cooking bell Brazier Ritual Votive miniatures Plate BF phiale Argive monochrome juglet Personal Unguent pot Pyxis Pyxis lid Feeder Uncertain use BG stand Disc Ring Pesos Other artifacts Lamps Total Source: After Lynch 2011b: table 5.

Total

Percentage of total

29 11 1 6 1 15 1 1 1 2 68

18%

19 1 2 22

6%

10 1 3 1 15

4%

1 1 1 1 4

1%

1 1 1 1 4

1%

6

2%

385

48

k at hl een  m . ly nc h Uncertain, 1% Personal, 1%

Lamps, 2%

Ritual, 4% Cooking, 6%

HH Utility, 18%

Drinking Cups, 38%

Table Vessels, 18%

Drinking Service, 12%

Figure 2.4. Minimum number of vessels from Deposit J 2:4 in use at the time of destruction, 480 BCE, organized by function. Data from Table 2.1 (after Lynch 2011b: table 5).

Before discussing these results, another potential interpretive problem must be considered. The categories listed in Table 2.1 represent an act of interpretation. The researcher must decide how a shape is used, decide what functional category is meaningful, and then assign each shape to a category. Several vase shapes have more than one function and thus rightly could belong in two or more categories (see the discussion of household ware pitchers below). Different scholars may also place the same vessel shape in different functional categories. A black-figured lekythos might be a table vessel to one, a votive or personal vessel to another. In addition, the researcher’s choice of functional categories can affect the analysis. A category that emphasizes an object’s pouring function may miss the fact that the pouring occurred only during wine-drinking activities. The assessment of the ceramic assemblage from the house of Deposit J 2:4 would be more satisfying if we had another house’s pottery with which to compare it. Without a comparably preserved and formed deposit, it is not

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45% 40% 35% 30% 25% 20% 15% 10% 5%

ps m La

l

in U nc er ta

na Pe rso

al tu Ri

ng ki Co o

H

H

U til

ity

es se ls eV bl

Ta

ki rin D

D

rin

ki

ng

ng

Cu p

s

Se rv ice

0%

J 2:4

Dema

Figure  2.5. Comparison of percentage of pottery in functional categories between Athens Deposit J 2:4 and the Dema House in the Attic countryside. Data from Lynch 2011b: table 5 and Jones, Sackett, and Graham 1962.

possible to determine how typical this household was. For example, two important questions remain unanswerable at this time: What was the social status of this household? Were the inhabitants wealthy or not? The emphasis on communal drinking in its contents points to at least a working-class status, but it would be useful to have a ceramic assemblage from a wealthier household for comparison (Tsakirgis 2005). Nevertheless, it is possible and potentially useful to compare Deposit J 2:4’s pottery to another geographically and chronology close assemblage. The Dema House was a rural farmhouse in Attica that dates to ca. 425– 400 BCE, after which time it was abandoned (Jones, Sackett, and Graham 1962). A comparison of MNV from Deposit J 2:4 and the Dema House illustrates the different characters of the two assemblages, which may reflect rural activities or the poor preservation of ceramics at the shallowly stratified Dema site (Fig. 2.5).19 For example, the portion of the ceramic assemblage devoted to household utility is greater at the Dema House, possibly to accommodate more storage or agricultural activities in the Attic countryside. The number of fine

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ware drinking vessels makes it clear, however, that wine drinking was an important activity even in rural Attica. It is also useful to compare the ceramic assemblage in Well J 2:4 to that from a tavern, also close in geography and chronology. Lucy Talcott published a Classical well deposit from the Agora Excavations dating to around 425 BCE (R 13:4), which she identified as being the contents of a tavern (Talcott 1935: 477–523). Table 2.2 presents an analysis of the contents of this deposit using the same methodology as used for Table 2.1. Excavators, however, did not save all diagnostic pottery fragments, so we can only assume that the remaining pottery is representative of the original deposit’s contents in both variety and quantity. Talcott identified this deposit as originating in a tavern, “a wine-shop with some pretensions to elegance” (497). Her criteria included a perceived large number of drinking cups and “convivial equipment,” and in fact, 48% of the pottery in this deposit was associated with drinking (Table 2.2 and Fig. 2.6a). Another criterion for Talcott was the number of transport amphoras, some bearing commercial graffiti. Mark Lawall, in his study of these notations denoting weight and capacity, refined Talcott’s interpretation of the original context to a kapēleion, a bar, where individuals drank wine on the premises.20 Transport amphoras from Well J 2:4, on the other hand, lacked these commercial graffiti, further confirming their domestic origin (see Lawall, this volume [Chapter 3]). Comparison of the pottery in Talcott’s tavern deposit to Deposit J 2:4 reveals some expected and unexpected patterns. If a kapēleion, we would expect R 13:4 to have a large stock of drinking cups, and it does in comparison to the domestic J 2:4 (Fig. 2.6a).21 On the other hand, drinking ser vice vessels— table amphoras, kraters, and oinochoai— are surprisingly underrepresented in the kapēleion assemblage. We assume that some wine would be served on the premises of a kapēleion, premixed in pitchers for small-group or individual consumption; thus, we expect more mixing and pouring vessels. The ratio of cups to serving vessels is 10:1. In contrast to our assumptions, this ratio implies that many drinkers were served from a few vessels. In comparison, the ratio of cups to ser vice vessels in Deposit J 2:4 is 3:1, which reflects a more elaborate drinking kit than in R 13:4. The large number of olpai in R 13:4, 13, may provide a solution. The olpe shape, whatever its ancient name, probably served a number of purposes.22 It is possible, however, that the small volume of an olpe (ca. 100 ml), mixed with some quantity of water, may be the means of distributing wine at this establishment.23 If we move the olpai to the “Drinking Service” category, the picture changes somewhat (Fig. 2.6b). With the addition of olpai, the ratio of cups to ser vice vessels is 3:1. If in this commercial drinking

Table 2.2. Minimum Number of Vessels from Deposit Well R 13:4, Lucy Talcott’s Taverna Totals Drinking vessels RF cup BF cup BG cup BF cup-skyphos BG cup-skyphos BF Heron class BG type B skyphos BG Corinthian-type skyphos (Attic fabric) BG Attic skyphos BG one-handler BG mug BG stemless BG bolsal BG sotadaean kantharos Drinking service vessels RF krater BG large bowl BF stamnos BG amphora BF amphora BF amphoriskos BF oinochoe BG oinochoe Banded oinochoe RF pelike BG pelike BG psykter BG psykter lid BF kalpis BG closed

1

16 2 23 7 8 2 1 60

44%

1 2

3

6 Table vessels BF lekythos BG askos BG globular lekythos BG olpe BF lekanis lid BG lekanis BG lekanis lid BG bowl BG covered bowl

Percentage of total

4%

1 1 6 13 3

1 (continued )

Table 2.2 (continued) Totals BG stemmed dish BG salt cellar Small bowl BG jug BG plate Household ware Lekane Mortar Duck askos Bowl Table amphora Pitcher Mushroom jug Closed Stamnos Stopper Amis Transport amphora Cooking ware Chytra Cooking bell Lopas Eschara Brazier

Percentage of total

1 6 1 33

24%

3 1 1 2

2 2 12 23

17%

2 2 1 1 6

4%

Water jar Ritual Votive miniatures BF phiale Argive monochrome juglet Personal Unguent pot Pyxis Other artifacts Lamps Total

2 2

1%

3 3

2%

4

3%

137

Source: Data from Talcott 1935 and restudy of the deposit by the author.

50% 45% 40% 35% 30% 25% 20% 15% 10% 5%

Ta

La m ps

in U

nc

er ta

al

al Ri tu

ok in g

H

Pe rso n

H

Co

U

til

ity

Ve sse ls bl e

rin ki ng D

D

rin ki ng

Cu

Se rv ic

ps

e

0%

J 2:4

R 13:4

Figure 2.6a. Comparison of percentage of pottery in functional categories between Deposit J 2:4 and taverna Deposit R 13:4 considering only fine ware serving vessels. See Tables 2.1 and 2.2 for data. 50% 45% 40% 35% 30% 25% 20% 15% 10% 5%

ps m La

in ta er nc U

Pe

rso

na l

l tu a Ri

ng ki

til U H H

Co o

ity

ls se es eV

Ta bl

ki rin D

D rin ki

ng

ng S

er

Cu

ps

vic e

0%

R 13:4

J 2:4

Figure 2.6b. Comparison of percentage of pottery in functional categories between Deposit J 2:4 and taverna Deposit R 13:4 considering olpai as serving vessels. See Tables 2.1 and 2.2 for data.

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establishment, olpai, which can be black-glazed or plain, were used in the ser vice of wine, then excavation retention policies, which resulted in fewer plain wares being entered into the excavation inventory and retained in context storage, may render their quantities too low. Fine ware will appear to be more prevalent if coarse wares are underreported. In sum, the large number of cups attests to the importance of individual drinking, and the commercial graffiti point to a commercial activity involving wine, but it remains unclear exactly what the context of this drinking was. Evidence for another wineshop of some type exists in the slightly later, massive commercial deposit U 13:1 near the Roman Library of Pantainos (Shear 1975: 355–61; Lawall 2000: 69–71; Lawall, this volume [Chapter 3]). The deposit appears to be composed of debris from several different types of production and sales shops, but it has not been studied in full. Even though 150 objects were inventoried and 50 tins of pottery were saved, vast quantities of ceramics were discarded, including a dismaying “six tins of loomweights.”24 No quantification of the pottery was made before it was discarded. Nevertheless, the excavator, T. Leslie Shear, Jr. (1975: 357), identified part of the deposit as originating from a tavern on the basis of hundreds of cooking pots and household lekanai. Large numbers of drinking and table vessels and an impressive quantity of shellfish and seafood remains attest to dining activities, unlike Deposit R 13:4 (Shear 1975: 357–59). Over 250 transport amphoras, many with commercial graffiti, prompted Shear and Lawall both to identify some portion of the debris in Deposit U 13:1 as originating in a wineshop. Whether these amphoras represent a wine sales shop or the stock of a kapēleion is not clear. Since U 13:1 is a mixed-use deposit, we will never be able to isolate the “tavern” assemblage from other residential and commercial components of the deposit. The comparison of domestic Deposit J 2:4 to possible commercial drinking establishments emphasized that both types of contexts result in assemblages with similar members. Drinking wine and chores occur in both contexts. What seems to distinguish the tavern is the quantity of drinking vessels, or rather the relative proportion of drinking vessels within the assemblage. Notice that unlike U 13:1, Talcott’s tavern (R 13:4) did not have an abundance of cooking ware (see Figs. 2.6a and 2.6b). This difference in quantities may distinguish a drinking-only kapēleion from a food establishment akin to a modern taverna. Unfortunately, if quantities are the key to identifying contexts from artifacts, it may be impossible to apply this methodology to excavations that do not recover entire contexts or to excavations that discarded pottery without quantifying it.

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Ideally, it would be useful to be able to compare a domestic assemblage of pottery with one from a confidently identified brothel in order to describe their differences. In reality, and as this volume points out repeatedly, archaeological evidence for brothels is ambiguous and often speculative. Like a tavern, a brothel shared many activities with a domestic establishment, such as drinking wine and household cooking and chores (see Glazebrook [Chapter  8] and Trümper [Chapter 5], this volume). If prostitutes lived on the premises, there may be a convincingly domestic component to the brothel assemblage. Nevertheless, a comparison of a possible brothel, the fourth-century BCE Phase 3 of Building Z in the Kerameikos, provides some insight. Building Z’s pottery is difficult to assess because not all of it is quantified in the publication (Table 2.3).25 Again, if only fine ware serving vessels are considered components of wine service, then wine ser vice accounts for only 3% of the assemblage.26 Allowing household ware pitchers to serve wine would raise the figure to 8%, which is similar to the percentage of the kapēleion assemblage devoted to wine ser vice (Fig. 2.7). The higher proportion of table vessels, 32% in the Building Z assemblage, reflects an increased cultural preference for plates and bowls by the mid-fourth century than in the Archaic and Classical periods, so should not be considered a marker of different activities. The larger proportion of cooking ware pottery in the brothel context could represent a commercial dining establishment, and recalls the abundant cooking wares in the possible tavern debris in Deposit U 13:1. The presence of ritual vessels in Building Z complements the amulets and terracottas that also document religious activity in houses (Knigge 1991: 93).27 One of the criteria used for identifying Building Z as a brothel is the abundance of drinking equipment, but as presented in Figure  2.7, drinking equipment is actually more abundant in the domestic deposit, J 2:4. Figure 2.7 illustrates the problems of comparing incommensurable assemblages. It is difficult to identify signature patterns in the data. Some trends seem to be meaningful: the larger portion of the ceramic assemblage devoted to drinking activities in a kapēleion seems convincing. But the fact that a brothel might have been a hybrid of a tavern crossed with a household makes it difficult to imagine being able to identify a brothel on the basis of its pottery alone.

Conclusions? Is it possible to determine what the ceramic assemblage of an average household/ tavern/brothel should include? We can begin to see some characteristics, but

Table 2.3. Published Pottery from Building Z, a Possible Brothel in the Kerameikos

Drinking vessels BG cup BG Attic-type skyphos BG one-handler Kantharos Drinking service vessels BG oinochoe Krater Table vessels Lekythos Askos Guttus Lekanis Lekanis lid BG salt cellar Small bowl BG plate Household ware Lekane Mortar Pitcher Beehive Beehive lid Flower pot Pithos Lid Transport amphora Uncertain Cooking ware Chytra Lopas Cooking lid Eschara Water jar Pan

Totals

Percentage of total

8 9 8 31 56

18%

5 5 10

3%

1 2 4 2 11 9 28 41 98

32%

6 2 14 2 1 1 1 1 9 1 38

12%

26 15 4 1 3 49

16% (continued )

Table 2.3 (continued) Totals Ritual Votive miniatures Thymiaterion Kernos Votive ring

16 3 8 2 29

9%

3 1 4

1%

24

8%

Personal Pyxis Amphoriskos Other artifacts Lamps Total

Percentage of total

308

Source: Data from Knigge 2005.

50% 45% 40% 35% 30% 25% 20% 15% 10% 5%

ps La m

ta in nc er

na l U

so Pe r

al tu Ri

in g Co

til U H

ok

ity

ls se H

bl

eV

es

rv Ta

Se ng ki rin D

D

rin ki

ng C

up s

ice

0%

R 13:4

J 2:4

Building Z

Figure 2.7. Comparison of percentage of pottery in two deposits near the Athenian Agora: R 13:4, a tavern, Deposit J 2:4, a house, and Building Z in the Kerameikos, a possible brothel. Data from Tables 2.1, 2.2, and 2.3.

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additional evidence is needed to develop and test hypotheses further. Domestic assemblages from both the city ( J 2:4) and countryside (Dema House) contain much more equipment for formal drinking than we may have thought.28 Different sets of drinking cups may be present in a domestic assemblage. Household pottery and cooking equipment, in contrast, account for a modest percentage of the domestic assemblage in comparison to equipment for wine drinking. The household assemblage does not contain a large number of transport amphoras or jars marked with commercial graffiti (although the Dema House preserved more amphoras, presumably for storage, but also without graffiti). In contrast, in a tavern or kapēleion, commercial graffiti and ample amphoras appear, but “domestic equipment,” such as lekanai and pitchers, does as well (see Lawall, this volume [Chapter 3]). In Athens, as at many sites, shopkeepers and craftsmen lived on the premises of their shops (Tsakirgis, this volume [Chapter 1]). Therefore, from a ceramic perspective, we should often expect to find a domestic assemblage baseline even in these commercial contexts, but hopefully with some shapes or quantities of shapes unexpected for a household. As for the ceramic assemblage typical of a brothel, it is not possible to characterize it fully at this time, but it is likely that it will look frustratingly like that of a house. Trends such as more pottery per square meter or higher proportions of some drinking vessels might signal a brothel context, but researchers need much more data to establish such patterns. It is unlikely that pottery alone can solve the problem of how to distinguish a brothel from a tavern from a house. However, if pottery is retained and processed effectively, then it may form part of a suite of characteristics used to identify the original function of a context. Deposit J 2:4 now provides an example of a domestic assemblage to which the assemblage of pottery from other excavations may be compared. It provides a foundation for future work, although J 2:4 itself would benefit from comparison to other household assemblages. As more studies like this one are done, even previously excavated pottery—legacy data—may be added to the comparison and provide new insights. Pottery, the most ubiquitous of archaeological artifacts, has great potential to illuminate ancient life, but we must work to unlock that potential.

chapter 3

Patterns of Amphora Discard from Houses, Shops, Taverns, and Brothels mark l. lawall

In a simple world, ancient Greek families with modest needs for wine and oil consumption should have discarded their empty transport amphoras near their houses, and the resulting pile should be of only moderate size. Shops, especially those selling goods contained in amphoras, should have discarded their empties, too, somewhere nearby, and the pile should be somewhat larger than that of the ideal house. Behind the local tavern should be a small hillock of amphora sherds (a collina testaccio?). And a brothel . . . well, even the level of random speculation offered here becomes difficult. As plenty of commentators have noted in recent decades, the archaeological record is unlikely to follow such idealized scenarios. While it is unrealistic to expect a set of simple rules for distinguishing households’ amphoras from those of shops, taverns, or brothels, certain patterns do emerge in amphora debris associated with what appear to be private dwellings as opposed to patterns of debris associated with commercial structures. Such a dichotomy between domestic and commercial is obviously an oversimplification, but that fact makes it all the more striking that over time these different patterns of amphora debris remain in effect. This chapter, like others in this volume, begins with consideration of how to treat the archaeological data, in this case the remains of transport amphoras. The differences in amphora debris emerge from a survey of domestic and commercial amphora accumulations. Despite the hesitation I expressed above as to the possibility of characterizing the pile of amphoras associated with a brothel, I close this chapter by considering the extent to which these two defined patterns

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of debris can be related to places where one would fi nd a prostitute, porneia (following here Glazebrook’s careful definition of this term: see p. 170 in this volume).

Garbage Patterns and the Functions of Buildings Research seeking to link ceramic assemblages (i.e., garbage without the organic material) with building function does not have a long history in Classical archaeology. There has been notable recent progress in this regard, particularly in comparisons between household assemblages (Berlin 1999; Foxhall 2007; Cavanagh and Mee 2007 for field survey assemblages) and comparisons between household and sanctuary contexts (Berlin 2002). The links between original function and the archaeological record have been addressed with much more prolonged attention in other archaeological fields especially in North America. Much of this work, often heavily dependent on ethnographic comparison or historical records, has focused on how well the archaeological record of ceramic consumption (what is discarded and where) reflects original practice (Majewski and O’Brien 1987: 183–86; Beck 2006; Varien and Ortman 2005; Hutson and Stanton 2007). There have also been efforts to differentiate between past functions of buildings through patterning in the archaeological record, and to differentiate between various status levels for households as indicated by their ceramic remains (Yentsch 1990; Lee Decker 1994). Of most direct relevance to the problems addressed in this chapter is research comparing the archaeological records of households with those of inns or taverns (King 1988). Not surprisingly, such studies have found a greater proportion of drinking-related vessels at inns as compared with households. Other results were more unexpected: households generated relatively more pipe stem debris; households generated far less debris of storage vessels. Certain patterns, however, were shown to result from broader changes in behavior and were not attributable to the different functions of the buildings. The earlier, household phase at St. John’s Plantation, St. Mary’s City, Maryland, saw garbage being dumped off the front porch as well as out of the back door; the later phases of the site, when it was used as an inn, saw garbage being thrown out of the back door. The shift, however, might correspond as much to developing conceptions of “front yard” and “back yard” in the late seventeenth century as to the changes in the building’s function. Even the greater proportion of drinking vessels is not without problems. Studies of

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probate records show that households tend to accumulate drinking vessels through time, so older households will look more like a tavern than younger households. Despite these notes of caution, such studies do raise the likelihood that a similar comparative approach to household and commercial debris should generate some successful distinctions. At the same time, these studies support a methodology that goes beyond simple assumptions about quantities of drinking vessels as defining a tavern (even recently: see Margaritis 2014: 117, though the bulk of her study is much more nuanced; cf. the analyses by Lynch, this volume [Chapter 2]). Patterns of garbage disposal, however, are also influenced by considerations of population density and the sedentary nature of the given society. While many of the New World case studies cited above involve relatively sparsely populated areas, studies of waste disposal in early modern cities highlight the challenges faced when population density is quite high. The streets of nineteenth-century New York City could be so deep in garbage as to become impassable (Larsen 1969: 239, with a striking photograph on p. 241); pigs were pressed into ser vice as roving garbage consumers in New York, Louisville, Chicago, and Cincinnati (Larsen 1969: 243–44). The scale of urban garbage disposal in antiquity is indicated to some extent both by excavated sites in Egypt (as highlighted by Peña 2007: 284–90) and by Greek and Roman legislation intended to improve the cleanliness of cities (Liebeschuetz 2000; Saliou 2003). At the most basic level, such examples do not let us assume that debris found near one building came from that building. They raise the likelihood that an urban center like Athens, or any densely populated site in the Greek world, would have generated layer upon layer of garbage. Great heaps of rotting food waste, broken ceramics, old clothing, furnishings, building material, and so on must have been a commonplace of ancient cities. The government tried to keep the streets passable, and tried to move the worst of it at least 10 stades (ca. 2 km) outside the walls of the city. But where a conscientious citizen might shovel the debris from the street in front of his house is anyone’s guess.

Problems Surrounding the Use, Discard, Recovery, and Publication of Amphoras As with other classes of pottery (see Lynch, this volume [Chapter 2]), so too the use of amphoras to differentiate between debris from private as opposed

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to public functions is not at all straightforward. When most Classicists consider transport amphoras and the archaeological record, they think immediately of Monte Testaccio, the immense pile of broken, mostly Spanish, amphoras along the banks of the Tiber near ancient Rome’s warehouse district (Rodríguez Almeida 1984). In a distant second place might come thoughts of the amphoras depicted as being carried by eager symposiasts on Attic vase paintings (Moore 1997, cat. no. 611, ca. 490 BCE). A few might recall large numbers of amphoras buried in an inverted position, row upon row, in the basements of some houses (e.g., at Mesembria-Zone in Thrace; Tsatsopoulou-Kaloudi 2001: 27, fig. 30). But then, before getting too lost in such archaeological musings, they will recall Herodotus’s famous description of amphora use in Egypt, where he explains the lack of amphoras visible to the visitor by noting that the locals take them all off to become water containers in the desert (Hdt. 3.6.1–2). And then barrels and wineskins come to mind (Marlière 2002; Tchernia 1997; Desbat 1997). Surely, Monte Testaccio itself demonstrates that wine and oil were decanted into smaller vessels for further, individual uses and consumption. Such a range of impressions creates a high level of skepticism and low level of expectation as to the utility of studying amphoras as a window into ancient life, whether private or public, PG- or XXX-rated. Such skepticism is useful to the extent that it encourages a more careful review of the evidence. Some of the ideas and impressions just noted are entirely accurate; others are problematic. We can dispense with Herodotus: plenty of Egyptian contexts of his day have now been excavated and found to include Greek transport amphoras—he was wrong (Marchand and Marangou 2007; Ladstätter 2010: 454–55). Monte Testaccio, too, is not as straightforward as it might seem in terms of evidence for common practices of amphora use and discard. This mountain of sherds resulted from a “perfect storm” of the immense weight and wall thickness of the vessels involved and the density of the local Roman population to encourage the discard of the jars as soon as possible once the goods got close enough to the city (Peña 2007, esp. 300–306). The chances of finding such a thing anywhere else in the ancient world—especially involving much thinner-walled, more manageable Aegean amphoras—are very slim (Lawall 2011a). Yet other common impressions of the evidence for amphora discard are very useful. Amphoras in most cities and regions and in most periods of antiquity did move through cities and even overland to their various consumers. Wineskins and, especially in later periods, barrels were undeniably

Patterns of Amphora Discard

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Figure  3.1. Amphora storeroom depicted on red-figure oinochoe. Photo courtesy of American School of Classical Studies, Agora Excavations. Agora Image 2000.02.0129, Slide Sheet 14:19, Slide Set 12:05.

used, too, but they never substantially replaced the amphora until well beyond the chronological scope of this essay (see Bekker-Nielsen 2013: 16–18 on the various containers used for transport of goods; the lingering use of amphoras through the Byzantine/Medieval period is widely documented). Once in the hands of consumers, amphoras were brought to symposia and other meals and eventually dumped down convenient wells or pits (Lynch 2011b). One redfigure vase painting from the Athenian Agora shows a figure holding an amphora amid a crowd of other such jars, presumably in a household’s storeroom or wineshop (Fig. 3.1) (Grace 1979, fig. 5). Once the jars were brought to the symposium they were clearly central to the activity—both literally and figuratively (Coccagna 2011). And yet amphoras were equally important in daily commerce and storage of goods. Black-figure images show small quantities of oil(?) being sold from amphoras (Chatzidimitriou 2005: plate 50.E16). It is important to note that ample evidence connects amphora use with all manner of commodity in shipping and storage—not just wine or oil (Lawall 2011b). Near some buildings identified as shops or taverns, garbage pits of various kinds

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seem especially dominated by amphoras and drinking vessels (Lawall 2000; and Lynch, this volume [Chapter 2]), and yet the remains of other foodstuffs at these locations further support the multifarious uses of the amphora (e.g., Margaritis 2014). So, clearly, amphoras were used both in household contexts and in public commerce. Can these two functions be differentiated in the archaeological record? Such a differentiation faces many complications: postdiscard, ancient movements of debris; changing functions of the buildings themselves; modern treatment of finds from excavations; and modern choices about reporting finds. Examples of primary discard (from table to trash, as it were) are very rare and cannot be assumed in most cases without additional evidence. In some cases, the amphora debris was clearly discarded in certain locations along with other ceramics and other garbage, gathered into other piles, and eventually dumped en masse to support new construction projects (e.g., the Pnyx III fill: see Lawall 2005: 50–53). Even entire houses might be demolished such that the debris they contained— debris once thought to have been “permanently added to the archaeological record” (not that the ancient users would have thought along those lines)—would then get redeposited into much larger building fills or other landfill projects. In addition, the venues potentially generating the amphora debris could change function. In a recent survey of shops and workshops around the Athenian Agora, Susan Rotroff drew attention to Aeschines’ speech Against Timarchos (1.124), in which he describes a doctor, a smith, a fuller, a carpenter, and a pimp all successively using the same building (Rotroff 2009: 43).1 Ursula Knigge’s (2005; cf. Ault 2005b; Ault, this volume [Chapter 4]) publication of the architecture and finds from Building Z in the Kerameikos documents the conversion of the structure from large house to “tavern and workshop” to banquet hall, though in this case the different functions correspond to archaeologically distinct phases (see below). Depending on how quickly or frequently such changes occurred for a given building, the amphoras from one function might well get mixed together with those of subsequent functions. Furthermore, the amphoras selected for reporting and/or illustration in a publication of the building or area of excavation might be poorly representative of the general mass of amphora material recovered during excavations. Publications tend to prioritize stamped handle fragments or a very few complete amphoras. Even the jars and sherds kept in storage might be a num-

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ber of stages of “editing” removed from what was originally found (Lynch, this volume [Chapter 2]; Rotroff 2006: 9–12). Many sites, due to lack of storage facilities (though there are some happy exceptions!), can store only what one hopes is a representative sampling of rim and toe fragments of jars. Finally, while the associations between artifacts and household architecture have enjoyed considerable attention in recent decades (e.g., Cahill 2002; Ault 2005a; Westgate, Fisher, and Whitely 2007; Ladstätter and Scheibelreiter 2010; Glowacki and Vogeikoff-Brogan 2011), the artifacts associated with market complexes have received relatively little attention. Instead, the architectural development of such complexes has dominated even current research, with some, though lesser, attention paid to commercial equipment (weights, measuring devices, coins) and market-related inscriptions. The ceramic finds from the well-defined areas of Hellenistic agoras have rarely been considered as more than evidence for chronology (if even for that purpose) (see the essays in Chankowski and Karvonis 2012 and Giannikouri 2011, with exceptions; Trakosopoulou and Papastathes 2011).

Traces of Household and Commercial Use on the Amphoras Themselves With all these complicating factors in mind, I turn to the more positive patterns that may be found in the archaeological record of amphora use and discard. I begin with what can be seen on the jars themselves. Perhaps the most tangible or direct indication of amphora use comes in the form of numerical or other commercially relevant graffiti. Such graffiti can include volumetric notations, price marks, possible identifications of contents, and identifiers of merchants or buyers (Sacchetti 2010, 2011; Johnston 2004; Lawall 2000). In many cases, amphora graffiti are published without, or with only minimal, consideration of find spot (e.g., Vanhove 2006; Nawotka 1998); in other cases the graffiti come to light only from their presence on amphoras used as burials (and hence no longer near their area of use as food/drink containers; e.g., Brugnone and Vassallo 2004 and Cordano 2004). But when context is taken into account, such “commercial” graffiti have been found to cluster in specific areas of the site in question. In the case of the commercial graffiti from the Athenian Agora, a dense concentration appeared in the southeastern corner datable from the mid-fifth to early fourth centuries BCE (Talcott 1935;

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Lang 1976; Lawall 2000). Very few further examples appear in any later deposits down to and including the Sullan sack of the city in 86 BCE. At the Rachi settlement at Isthmia, nine examples of graffiti, including price graffiti and volumetric notations, cluster in and around the North Building, a large multiroom structure whose plan does not resemble those of the houses at the site, hence this may be a commercial building of some sort. Miscellaneous abbreviations and other graffiti, by contrast, may be more generally widespread over a site (e.g., Rusjaeva 2010). Other painted or incised markings on amphoras can be used to suggest association with a particular owner (though this need not distinguish the goods belonging to a homeowner from those belonging to a shopkeeper). A striking example of this phenomenon came to light at Belozerskoe near Cherson, Ukraine, where amphoras in one pit all show a small painted M on the neck, while jars from another pit, nearer another structure, all bear the monogram AB and a separate Λ (Bylkova 2011, 2013, and pers. comm., August 2004). Such patterning of discard helps to define at least one short segment of the use-todiscard trajectory of the amphoras, even if their previous roles as household containers or commercial jars remain uncertain. This last example, with markings on the jars that are not inherently informative as to their points of reference, highlights the importance of find spot and associated amphora material in interpreting the function of a given amphora assemblage. While amphoras themselves do not indicate the domestic as opposed to commercial use of their find spot, the presence of explicitly commercial graffiti can begin to point in this direction. This positive conclusion needs to be tempered with the cautionary notes above concerning potential reuse. Even so, the presence of commercial graffiti should alert the researcher to consider further aspects of where these marked amphoras are being found. In order to define what patterning in the archaeological record one might look for, I turn next to considering find spots of amphoras and the state of preservation of the jars.

Amphoras in Situ Given all the chances for debris to be moved around in the years between Classical Antiquity and today, as noted above, it is not surprising that one rarely encounters amphora deposits still closely associated with their past roles in use

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or primary reuse (as opposed to secondary reuse or simply provisional or final discard). And yet, rare instances do attest to the storage of amphoras, whether empty or with some contents, in buildings of various sorts.

In the House Seemingly private houses, especially those that were abandoned abruptly, can still preserve small groups of amphoras stacked in storage areas. A group of mid- to late fifth-century jars, most upside down, was found in the corner of a basement room at a house near the Silen Gate on Thasos (Grandjean 1988: plates 74.1 and 78; 1992). Three houses at Olynthos, among those described by Nicholas Cahill, are notable for having included ten or more amphoras each in their abandonment levels (Cahill 2002: House of Many Colors, Houses Av1, A11), and Cahill (2002: 133) notes that such large numbers might indicate “nondomestic” activity. Most houses here and at New Halos (Beestman-Kruyshaar 2003; Haagsma 2010) included relatively few amphoras. A late second-century abandonment context at Olbia Pontike preserved two Italian, one Punic, and two Aegean amphoras all in one room, with the two Italian jars propped in one corner (Lawall et al. 2010: nos. L-329, 359, 367, 368, 370; Leipunskaya 1995: 41–42, plate 11). At Halieis, much larger numbers of amphora fragments are reported per house; however the figures here include the many small fragments from the occupation levels, not only the vessels found from the site’s abandonment (Ault 2005a). In some of these situations, where jars are found stored in the house, an important chronological pattern seems to emerge. Since jars in such use as storage containers might have been moved only on rare occasions when the contents were needed, chances of long survival seem quite good. Even if the jars were being kept on hand, empty, with some future intention to reuse them, their chances of long-term survival seem quite high. Indeed, a feature of some such deposits is the very wide range of dates represented by the jars and hence the long chronological gap between the earliest jars and the closing date of the given deposit or stratum (Grandjean 1992: 575–81; cf. Empereur and Garlan 1992: 211–13, arguing for a narrow range of dates). The availability of amphoras on hand in household storerooms is also attested on the Attic Stelai, where amphoras are sold off as the contents of houses owned by the hermokopidai (Amyx 1958), and by Aristophanes who has

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a slave take an amphora and taster from the house and hire himself out as an amphora carrier (Aristophanes, Heroes, Kassel and Austin 1984: III.2, no. 310).

In the Shop Commercial or industrial establishments also appear to have kept some old jars aside for storage of goods or materials. Thus, at Hellenistic Trypitos (Crete), Natalia Vogeikoff-Brogan has proposed that one complex of rooms, all readily accessible to the adjacent street, was a public shop of some sort. Here, too, one room has multiple, nearly complete amphoras, and it would not be surprising if they, too, demonstrated a wide range of dates (Vogeikoff-Brogan 2011: 415–17). The well-preserved amphoras in the underground structures at Maresha (Israel), connected with oil production, likewise show dates consistently much earlier than the periods of crisis and abandonment of the site in the late second century BCE (Finkielsztejn 2002). Hence not all public or commercial buildings consumed amphoras, or at least not all of their amphoras, at a fast rate, nor did houses. Some shops do appear to have consumed and discarded amphoras at a very fast rate—the Punic Amphora Building in Corinth is perhaps the best example (Zimmerman Munn 2003). Here, the living floors were covered with smashed Punic and Aegean amphoras and remains of the fish they once contained. In this case, the debris spread to pits and fills outside the building too (Williams and Fisher 1976: 104–5). And yet, in striking contrast to the situations of complete, stored amphoras noted above, the finds associated with each phase of activity in the Punic Amphora Building are very restricted in the range of dates represented.

Discard (Within or) Nearby The practice of discarding large amounts of amphora debris in out-of-use wells or cisterns, or other convenient pits, as is seen with the areas around the Punic Amphora Building, was very common both for houses and for commercial buildings.2 Despite the ubiquity of the practice, certain impor tant distinctions do arise between such fills near (or within) households and those near (or within) commercial buildings.

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Figure 3.2. Selection of mended amphoras from Well Q 12:3, ca. 480 BCE. Photo courtesy of American School of Classical Studies, Agora Excavations. Agora Image 2000.02.0891, Slide Sheet 49:01, Slide Set: 12:10.

Well Deposit Q 12:3, the Stoa Gutter well, was excavated in 1954 and published in 1986 (Fig. 3.2) (Roberts 1986). Even though only a selection of the amphoras was included in the publication, that cata logue lists thirty-five amphoras. Large pieces of another twenty-one jars are stored in the context pottery. Even if some coarse pottery has been discarded since the excavations, the inventoried and noninventoried pottery represents a strikingly large number of amphoras. The well has been argued to belong to a potter’s shop, though other goods—perhaps even amphora-contained goods— could have been sold in the vicinity. (Indeed, it is noteworthy that if it was a potter’s shop he was not a potter of amphoras; very few of the pieces are local Attic.) A more recently excavated well deposit, Well J 2:4, argued by Kathleen Lynch (2011b and this volume [Chapter 2]) to have been associated with an individual’s house, contained far fewer complete jars or substantial fragments (Lawall 2011a). The lesser quantities appear in J 2:4 despite the fact that both Q 12:3 and J 2:4 are likely associated with cleanup following the same catastrophic event, the Persian attack on Athens in 480 BCE. A similar situation

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may hold for the “Persian sack” well, Deposit R 12:1, just south of Q 12:3, whose finds as they are retained today include ten inventoried amphoras, many of which are complete jars, and three further storage tins of amphora sherds large and small. Other Persian sack deposits (H 12:15, E 14:1, D 15:1, G 11:3, and the upper fill of G 6:3), all along the west and often more southerly areas of the Agora Excavations, may have quite plentiful amphora fragments, but they tend to offer only fragments instead of complete or nearly complete jars. These deposits, too, may be from more generally domestic contexts; however, the pre-Persian buildings in this region are of debated function to the extent they are known at all (especially the buildings under and near the later Tholos, buildings that may have been responsible for the debris in G 11:3 and H 12:15). As with Q 12:3, associated with a proposed potter’s shop, so too the later buildings in the southeast corner of the excavations are more securely associated with commerce than basic household functions. It might be expected that the use of amphoras at taverns or wineshops should see a fast rate of discard into nearby receptacles, even of nearly complete vessels. This fast rate need not, of course, be daily or even monthly. Even if a jar remained in action for a year in a tavern before being discarded, the archaeological record likely would not be able to distinguish such a use life from that of a jar that was emptied and permanently discarded within a day or so of importation. Close study of Well Deposit Q 15:2, one of a group of deposits with frequent examples of commercial graffiti (Lawall 2000), revealed that the animal bone debris, which is encountered throughout the deposit, shows no sign of gnaw marks from scavengers or general erosion from being exposed to the elements for long periods. It seems that the bones were thrown into the well directly, over time, without them sitting in another refuse dump fi rst (L. Snyder, pers. comm., October 1999). Likewise, the nearly complete jars and fragments, representing more than 260 amphoras, show slight developments in form from the lower to the upper fill. The deposit may have been in use for a decade or so as the area served its customers (Lawall 2000: 70). And yet, other large amphora deposits in the same area, mostly somewhat earlier than Q 15:2, appear to have been filled by one operation. Even moving later into some early Hellenistic deposits around the Agora, certain contexts stand out for their apparent connection to amphora-related commerce as opposed to possible household use (and/or minor craft work establishments). For example, many complete jars and large fragments (seven inventoried jars/fragments, parts of thirteen more not inventoried) were dumped near a late fourth-/early third-century BCE shop complex at the north

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end of the Agora (P 6:7; Milbank 2002). Other late fourth- or early thirdcentury BCE deposits in the area of the southeastern end of the Kolonos Agoraios (B 17:8 and D 15:3), farther south toward the Areopagus (A 17:3), and on the southeast slope of the Areopagus (O 20:3), all now preserve far fewer inventoried pieces (no more than four), though varying quantities of amphora sherd material (pieces of up to twenty-one vessels, in the case of D 15:3). This last point— that these other contexts can include plenty of smaller sherds of amphoras— highlights both the importance of differentiating between well-preserved pieces (more commonly seen with amphora-related commercial buildings) and the general ubiquity of amphora debris over any ancient urban site. From such comparisons around the Agora Excavations, two useful patterns emerge. First, shops selling amphora-contained goods tend to generate large deposits of well-preserved amphoras or fragments. This pattern repeats, too, in the published amphoras from the taberna vinaria on Delos (Chatzidakis 1997; Trümper, this volume [Chapter 5]) and in destruction levels from the agora of Pella (Akamatis 2012). Houses and workshops, regardless of whether they might have kept a few jars on hand for household storage, tend to generate far fewer and less substantial amphora fragments. Second, this pattern holds true even when one controls for the circumstances leading to the discard of the material. The catastrophe of the Persian sack did not “trap” such an unusual number of jars from households as to upset the basic observation that shops discard more amphoras than houses. That said, discard from shops seems likely to have been at a very high intensity regardless of circumstance, while discard that can be directly associated with specific houses is substantial only in the face of sudden catastrophe. Whether the greater number of amphoras being discarded from shops is due to less interest in reusing the jars or simply to more rapid and intense use prior to the jars wearing out is difficult to determine.

Amphoras and Porneia Thus far, this chapter has considered only examples of discard involving buildings generally considered to have been houses and those generally identified as amphora-related shops or taverns. The third point of focus for this volume, however, is the brothel. Is there an “archaeological record” of the brothel in terms of amphora use and discard?

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For the most part, the answer is largely negative and predictably so. There are so few buildings even tentatively identified as porneia in the Greek world, and so few with amphora remains published, that there is little to go on. Furthermore, if a porneion is simply a location where one could be assured of finding a pornē (Glazebrook, this volume [Chapter 8]); and if such a location could— even on a temporary basis—be a house, a colonnade, a tavern, or any other imaginable structure, then distinguishing those amphoras used in prostitution from those used in another activity in the building seems impossible. Even the observed relationship with water supply, which could easily be a function of a handy amphora or two, does not lead very far in the interpretation of amphora debris. Even so, it is noteworthy that the one building discussed so often here and elsewhere as a structure whose function as a brothel played a substantial role in its design and had a substantial impact on its archaeological remains, Building Z in the Kerameikos Excavations, does offer some points of similarity with commercial as opposed to domestic amphora debris.3 A substantial sampling of the amphora material from Building Z is now published (Knigge 2005).4 Here, the pre–phase Z1 fills include only one published amphora sherd; from phase Z1 there are five published pieces, all well preserved (and the text notes that this phase included many more amphora fragments that were not mended up for publication); from Z2 there are two better-preserved pieces and five smaller fragments; and then Z3 again includes six wellpreserved jars— all from the courtyard areas along with five small fragments; Z4 has no amphora material published; Z5 has only three small stamped handle fragments. To some extent the degree of preservation and the numbers of the amphoras reflect the overall state of the archaeological record of the building. If phase Z1 was destroyed by the earthquake that did so much damage elsewhere in Athens, Attica, and the surrounding region in 426 BCE, then the sudden trapping of so much debris might explain the large pieces of amphora that are published from that phase. The drop in numbers for Z2 is similarly understandable if the area was damaged and more deliberately abandoned at the end of the Peloponnesian War. The third phase is generally characterized as being the best preserved, and here we have the largest number and best preservation for the published amphoras. The last two phases have the least to offer in any artifact category. A few points about the patterns of amphora deposition here hark back to the patterning discussed above for domestic and commercial establishments. First, the large quantity of amphora material trapped in the earthquake

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debris of 426 BCE does recall some contemporary fills in the Agora (attributable to the same event), fills that do appear in the southeastern corner of the excavations—the “wineshop area.” Other fi lls in the Agora of this period, while often rich in amphora sherds, do not necessarily include many wellpreserved jars. So the relatively large number of restorable jars from phase Z1 at Building Z may be a further indication of the building’s use as a tavern/ brothel even in its first phase (Ault 2005b and this volume [Chapter  4]). That said, the five restored vessels (and fragments of many others) are hardly unusual for the abandonment contexts at Olynthos and other domestic sites. Taken in the context of Ault’s discussion of other aspects of the first phases of the building, however, it does seem noteworthy. An even larger number of well-preserved jars appears in the Z3 phase, one in which the abandoned debris is so abundant that it may be more reflective of the building’s functions than debris in any other phase. Interestingly, the well-preserved amphoras in this phase are found not in the rooms themselves but in the courtyards. These finds may represent a temporary setting aside of the jars, perhaps even a case of “provisional discard.” Again the numbers of well-preserved jars bring to mind Agora contexts associated with amphora-related commerce, but we are dealing here with an unusually well-preserved assemblage and the unique point at which the building was abandoned at the end of the fourth century. When thinking about the amphora debris from Building Z in terms of a connection between amphoras and brothels, it should be remembered that what we have is a “commercial” amphora pattern alongside nonamphoric indications of prostitution (as delineated by Glazebrook [Chapter  8], Trümper [Chapter 5], and Ault [Chapter 4] in this volume). The commercial nature of the amphoras only strengthens the likelihood that all of the personnel in the building were engaged in commercial pursuits. As was noted earlier in the case of commercial graffiti, so too here with commercial amphora debris, the indications from the amphoras do not stand alone. But they are very useful!

Buyer Beware This exploration of the various ways amphoras might be associated with houses, shops, and brothels started out by noting the various dangers and difficulties accompanying the task. One such problem bears reemphasis: the functional identities of the buildings themselves are as problematic as the associated amphora records. That is, the identification of the building as a tavern might

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depend very much on the amphoras found nearby; a house might be so identified in part by the scarcity of “taverna equipment”; and a brothel might differ from a house in plan (Ault 2005b: 149, and this volume [Chapter 4]). In fact, functional identifications are almost always the result of many threads of evidence— architectural plans, associated artifacts of varying sorts, sometimes even literary sources. To the extent that it may or even should seem dangerous to try to identify the “amphora fingerprint” of houses, shops, and brothels, it will be best for the reader to consider the suggestions offered in this essay as only one potential component of the toolkit needed for identifying ancient activities through the archaeological record.

chapter 4

Building Z in the Athenian Kerameikos: House, Tavern, Inn, Brothel? br adley a. ault

Between 1978 and 1981 the German Archaeological Institute in Athens explored an expansive complex as part of its ongoing program of excavations in the Kerameikos. Known as Building Z, the structure is located directly south of the Sacred Gate, within the line of the Themistoklean city wall and the recessed gateway itself, at the southeastern limits of the excavations just below Hermes Street. Building Z spans five major phases between ca. 430 and 86 BCE, when it was ultimately destroyed in the Sullan sack of Athens (Fig. 4.1). From the outset, Building Z became a subject of scholarly and popu lar attention due to its identification as a possible tavern, inn, and brothel (e.g., Davidson 1997: 85–90). If this interpretation is correct, it would make Building Z the best preserved example from the Greek world of a type well attested in the ancient sources, located in a quarter of the city notorious as a “red-light district” (cf. Wycherley 1957: 222–23; Lind 1988: esp. 158–59; and Davidson 1997: 84–86; wherein the primary texts are collected and considered). The recent final publication of Building Z (Knigge 2005) contains not only a comprehensive account of its architecture and phasing, but a cata log of over eleven hundred objects associated with the structure (see the Appendix to this chapter). As such, we are now in a position to assess its status more fully than previously, when only preliminary reports were available (cf. Knigge 1991: 88–94; Ault and Nevett 2005: 149–50). While the final publication is scrupulously detailed in terms of its documentation, it remains firmly embedded in

Figure 4.1. Phase plan of Buildings Z1–Z5. Drawing by Tina Ross based on Knigge 2005, suppl. 1, plan 1.

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the tradition of Altertumswissenschaft, especially in aspects of its presentation and interpretation. The two oversized volumes of Kerameikos 17, one devoted to an account of the remains, a catalog of the objects, a concordance, and indices and a second containing figures, plates, and a dozen quarto-sized foldout plans and trifold sections, are unwieldy to say the least. Potentially more problematic, however, is the interpretation offered there of Buildings Z1 and Z2 as successive private houses, which came to assume the functions of a tavern, inn, and brothel only with Building Z3 from the third quarter of the fourth century, following the decades-long abandonment of the structure after the destruction of Building Z2 at the end of the fifth century (e.g., Knigge 2005: 96–97). In fact, even Building Z3’s association with prostitution is scarcely acknowledged, having become subsumed under its identification as an inn and textile workshop.1 This chapter not only provides a readily accessible, updated summary of Building Z, and an evaluation of certain results presented in its publication, but also offers additional levels of interpretation in order to help clarify the function of the complex. It is intended to be neither comprehensive nor exhaustive. For that the reader is encouraged to consult the final publication itself, which, however cumbersome and other wise challenging, holds a treasure trove of primary data. I present this discussion with all due respect to the excavators, in the hopes of stimulating further consideration and ongoing dialogue about the nature of this important structure. As this essay is necessarily selective, I concentrate upon an examination of Buildings Z1, Z2, and Z3, spanning the last third of the fifth to the end of the fourth centuries. These present the best preserved succession of structures and their attendant assemblages, and are also those upon which the interpretative sequence hinges. Considerably less survives of Buildings Z4 and Z5, which date from the first half of the third century down to 86 BCE. But these are briefly considered below as well, particularly since they reinforce the revised interpretation of Buildings Z1 and Z2 offered here.

Building Z1 Already in its first phase, dated just before the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, Building Z is exceptional for its size (Fig. 4.2).2 Measuring approximately 19 × 27 m, it covered some 500 m2. Nevertheless, Building Z1 lacks the earmarks

Figure 4.2. Building Z1, plan. Room numbers are those mentioned in the text. Drawing by Tina Ross based on Knigge 2005, suppl. 3, plan 3.

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of a public edifice. Its foundations were of rubble, and there is no evidence that it bore a tiled roof. These suggest that Building Z was, from the outset, a private construction. But its area, which provided space for at least eighteen rooms clustered around three narrow courtyards (Rooms a1, b1, c1), two of which contained wells, is twice that of contemporary houses. Elements of several rooms and details of their finishes, although poorly preserved in the overall plan, do survive. These suggest attention paid to their appointment and allow us to speculate as to their function. As a result of its topographical situation, the main point of access to Building Z always appears to have been situated in the northeast corner of the complex, where a large room opened off the intersection of two minor arterial roads that ran parallel and perpendicular to the Sacred Way. No traces of thresholds were preserved, but such expansive vestibular rooms are in themselves unusual and probably speak to elements of the buildings’ intention, a point that will be returned to below. In Buildings Z1 and Z2, these rooms, G1 and G2, respectively, preserved bases for a single upright support. A secondary entry to Building Z is also possible in the southeast corner of the structure, where an annex of rooms within the complex is clear from their plans. Although identified as such only by the excavator for Building Z3 (cf. Fig. 4.4), this too is at odds with an age when the “single-entrance courtyard house” had come to dominate the repertoire of domestic architecture (Nevett 1999). Room Ca1 dominates the interior of Building Z1, given its size (ca. 20.5 m2), its central hearth, its location on axis with the central court, and its anteroom (Cb1) paved with a pebble mosaic. This example is notable as being among the earliest Greek mosaics, with white pebbles used to delineate triangular motifs against a dark ground. The excavator interprets the two rooms here as a prostas porch fronting an oikos unit, a primary living area within Building Z1. On the south side of the central court, Rooms O1 and P1 bore traces of red painted plaster along their preserved south walls. Although among the smaller rooms in Building Z1, each covering only about 8 m2, they yielded twenty-five and twenty-three objects apiece, making for some 19% of the overall assemblage of four hundred objects recovered from this phase of the structure. Notable among the finds from these two rooms are a Panathenaic amphora (202), as well as numerous fine ware vessels associated with the consumption of food and drink; three pyxides (183–85); a lekythos (194); two lekanis-pyxides (186–87), one of which contained a collection of shells,

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colored pebbles, and blue pigment; a bronze mirror (200); and a bronze spindle (221). Probably accessed from the east, via the southeast extension of the central courtyard, Rooms O1 and P1 may have communicated with one another, leading the excavator to suggest that they served as a three-klinē andrōn and its anteroom. A room directly across from Rooms O1 and P1, on the east side of the central court, Room K1, has for good reason been identified as a kitchen. With an elaborate sieved drainage installation (231) set into its earthen floor, which also showed abundant traces of fires associated with food preparation, its assemblage of fourteen objects included three chytrai (226–28), a lopas (229), a mortar (230), an iron cooking tripod (232), an iron knife (234), and a bone stylus (236). Thus far we have accounted for the best preserved rooms in Building Z1 located in its most “public” areas. Accordingly, the excavator has termed the arrangement of prostas and oikos, andrōn and anteroom, flanking a central court, the main rooms of the andrōnitis, or male-dominated quarters of the house. The corresponding gynaikōnitis has been located in the southwestern quarter of Building Z1, which provides a sequence of the best preserved rooms from the overall life of the structure. Clustered around a narrow north-southoriented court with its own well, and accessed through a constricted opening at the south end of the prostas, these include, moving counterclockwise, Room B1, fi nished with red plaster; Room Ab1; Room Aa 1, identified as a bath on the basis of a drain located there; and R 1, from which the bath was accessed. Among the artifacts recovered from these rooms are a bronze aryballos (151); two bronze cups that bore the inscriptions ΔΕΜΟΣΙΟΝ ΑΘΕΝΑΙΟΝ (152–53), marking them as “official” measures; a lekanis lid (149); and a lekane (150) surrounded by two loomweights (154), four spindle whorls (155), and five astragaloi (158); all from Room B1. Room R 1 yielded a cache of 108 loomweights (126–30), once stored in a painted fine ware amphora (121); a 14 kg lead weight (133), perhaps associated with a lifting device for drawing water from the nearby well; two complete amphoras; and fragments from three additional amphoras (138–42). The numerous other rooms of Building Z1 are poorly preserved beyond their general outlines, but, again, their very multiplicity, I would suggest, argues against identifying the structure merely as an expansive private house, as the excavator has proposed. While Building Z1 does indeed suggest “living large,” it also indicates there were quite a few individuals occupying the structure. Building Z1 was destroyed by an earthquake ca. 420 (likely one of those

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reported in Thucydides 5.45), and the pattern of habitation established in its first phase is continued in the two subsequent iterations of Building Z.

Building Z2 With its prompt rebuilding after the earthquake, perhaps during the Peace of Nikias, Building Z2 retained the same area as Z1, maintaining its primary entrance from the northeast, but now employed exterior foundation walls constructed in polygonal ashlar work (Fig. 4.3).3 While the basic disposition of the plan was repeated, there are significant differences as well. Nineteen rooms now revolve around an enlarged central courtyard, the dominant space of the structure. Moreover, the area formerly occupied by the prostas porch has been transformed into an expansive pastas hall, an interesting example, perhaps, of the one architectural form superseding the other. One of Building Z2’s two wells was situated here. There is still no evidence that the structure supported a tiled roof. While the excavator is inclined to see Building Z2’s continuity as a private residence, perhaps even one under the same ownership as Building Z1, this interpretation is at odds with the identification of five rooms opening onto the courtyard as possibly accommodating dining couches (Knigge 2005: 35, 39). These include the line of three identically sized rooms, B2, C2, and D2, along the western side of the pastas (each covering ca. 13 m2), which exhibit telltale off-center doorways, and two slightly smaller rooms south of the courtyard, O2 and P2 (covering ca. 8.5 m2), in the same position as the predecessor andrōn/anteroom complex O1 and P1. Rooms Ea 2 and Eb2, in the northwestern corner of Building Z2, have been identified as a kitchen complex servicing these rooms, although their floor levels were considerably damaged by the cistern inserted here in Building Z3. It is also worthwhile pointing out the two plaster basins of indeterminate function near the entry to the complex on the east side of the courtyard, one finished in red plaster fronting and one left plain within Room J2. An identifiable “oikos complex” lay in the southwest corner of Building Z2. Th is consisted of the largest room in the structure, R 2 (covering some 43.92 m2), accessed from the south end of the pastas. A small annex, Room Aa 2, opened onto Room R 2, and was equipped with two built cupboards. Along with the five chytrai (309–13), a lopas (317), a coarse ware lekanis (315), and a small eschara-like vessel (316) found there, the room is reasonably

Figure 4.3. Building Z2, plan. Room numbers are those mentioned in the text. Drawing by Tina Ross based on Knigge 2005, suppl. 4, plan 4.

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identified as having served as a second kitchen. Room Ab2 lay to the north but was accessible only from the southwest corner of the pastas. Its plaster floor contained a rectangular cutting, measuring ca. 1.8 × 0.6 m, filled with plaster fragments (and five loomweights [322]). If this feature served as some sort of bathtub, or a cutting for one, a drain in the southwest corner of the room may have functioned to evacuate the water, and raises the possibility that the two stucco basins associated with Room J2 near the entrance of Building Z2 also served for hygienic purposes (but see note 7 for an alternate interpretation). Only approximately two hundred objects were recovered from Building Z2, and few of these are to be considered in situ. Among the most interesting features of Building Z generally are the numerous deposits seemingly related to ritual practice. From Building Z2, these include three instances of amphoras with the toes removed, set upright into the ground, perhaps to receive offerings (321 from Room Aa 2; 330 from Room D2; and 333 near the entry Room G2). Also, at least twenty-seven votive deposits were identified from Buildings Z1–Z3, most conclusively so. In a variety of locations, some were situated below thresholds; others were simply set below floor level. They contained a range of objects, occasionally burned, including vases (as well as miniatures), figurines, lamps, and bird bones.4 An example from Room X 2 in Building Z2 formed an especially coherent assemblage (275), and included thirteen miniature skyphoi, two miniature bowls, and seven terracotta figurines (a standing female, two youths wearing piloi, a herm, a squatting silenus, and two birds). As the excavator notes, this par ticu lar deposit bears a strong resemblance to the offerings in a child’s grave (Knigge 2005: 29), although it is more likely a particularly elaborate example of the “pyre deposits” typically associated with industrial activity elsewhere in Athens (see note 4).

Building Z3 Building Z2 was destroyed by fire at the close of the fifth century, perhaps in connection with the demolition of the city wall at the end of the Peloponnesian War (Fig. 4.4).5 Thereafter the plot lay vacant until Building Z3 was erected early in the third quarter of the fourth century.6 Once again, Building Z adapted itself to the footprint of its predecessor, but incorporated significant alterations to its overall plan. Two entrances gave access to the complex, in the northeast and southeast. An expansive L-shaped courtyard provided the central axis around which twenty-two rooms revolved, along

Figure 4.4. Building Z3, plan. Room numbers are those mentioned in the text. Drawing by Tina Ross based on Knigge 2005, suppl. 5, plan 5.

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each of its four sides and as a central block. Water supply from an elaborate tile-lined well located in the northern portion of the courtyard was supplemented with three cisterns that lay along a north-south line to its west. Two of these cisterns were located beneath nonfigural pebble mosaic pavements, while a third mosaic adorned a small exedral space (Q3) in the southern portion of the building. In its third major phase, Building Z also bore a tiled roof, which would have helped to feed the cisterns.7 Unlike those for Buildings Z1 and Z2, the plan of Building Z3 does not sort itself out so clearly into potentially distinct activity areas. Two simple hearths were located, one in the southeast corner of the courtyard adjacent to the doorway into Room P3, and another nearby in Room J3, where an iron grill (746) was also recovered. Hygienic installations may be associated with a basin just north of the southernmost cistern (although see the alternate explanation offered in note 7), and an in situ loutērion (813) in the northeast corner of Room P3. A flat-bottomed, three-handled, spouted vessel of open form (911), other wise unparalleled, recovered from the courtyard may well have been a receptacle for human waste. Striking overall, instead, is the uniform and cell-like quality of the rooms, along the west and, especially, the south sides. Combined with the artifactual assemblage recovered from the building, which comprised more than 820 objects, including 163 coins (the majority of which were “small change” bronze issues of one-quarter to one-eighth obol), 153 loomweights, 31 kantharoi, 24 chytrai, and 23 lamps, the excavator willingly identifies Building Z3 as a tavern, inn, and brothel, whose female inhabitants engaged in the manufacture of textiles when not other wise occupied. A quick look at some of this material serves to confirm this impression. Yielding 176 objects, Room Aa 3, in the southwest corner of the structure, was the richest in Building Z3. Probably contained in or on wooden furniture, the assemblage included thirty-four loomweights (509–11) and seven spindle whorls (512); twenty-one astragaloi (539); eighteen coins (548–53); and seven lamps (513–19), one of which (514) bore the graffito ΝΑΥΚΡΑΤΗΣ, likely as a personal name. Much cooking ware and black gloss fine ware was recovered, as were items such as a one stater lead weight inscribed ΣΤΑΤΕΡ and embossed with astragaloi (521), a piece of an ivory flute (531), a bronze spearhead (523), a silver medallion depicting Aphrodite or Selene (544), a silver plaque with a  face (546), a bronze medallion bearing a gorgoneion (545), and several Phoenicio-Punic style glass paste beads (540–43). A small limestone naiskos that once contained a marble statuette of Kybele (528) lay among the debris of Room Aa3, as did a terracotta statuette of a seated girl (529).

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Rooms B3, F3, and K 3 also contained large numbers of artifacts. The ninety-six objects from B3 included four iron keys (608–11), plus a number of other iron implements such as two knives (606–7), a spit fragment (613), tongs (614), a hoe (615), and a pick head (616); a one mna lead weight embossed with a dolphin (605); twenty-seven loomweights (598–600); a miniature bronze chest containing the whitish remains of lead-based makeup (the psimuthion of Xenophon Oikonomikos 10.2; see note 15) and a glass cabochon (604); and, curiously, a beehive (591; perhaps from which honey had not yet been extracted?). Among its 108 objects, Room F3 yielded additional examples of a miniature bronze chest (720) and a one mna lead weight bearing a dolphin (707), as well as a marble statuette of Kybele on a limestone base (714–15), and a sliver mandorla-shaped medallion with the Asian mother goddess grasping her breasts (717). The finest piece of jewelry from Building Z was recovered in Room K 3 (one of 77 objects), and comprises a silver medallion depicting Aphrodite as the evening star (794; cf. Knigge 1982, 1985, for full readings of the iconography). Along with fine, plain, and coarse ware vessels for the preparation, serving, and consumption of food and drink, numerous other rooms from Building Z3 yielded additional quantities of loomweights, coins, and other objects. All were recovered where they had fallen or been abandoned following the destruction by natural disaster, likely an earthquake, which overtook Building Z3 at the end of the fourth century.

Buildings Z4–Z5 Although considerably less well preserved than their predecessors, Buildings Z4 and Z5 remain important for understanding the history of the structure, with which they form a significant architectural and functional continuum (Fig. 4.5).8 Soon after the destruction of Building Z3, in the early third century, Building Z4 was erected. The plan of the structure, along with that of Building Z5, which succeeded it still in the first half of the third century, shows a marked change. Characterized by few rooms, and these only in the north, east, and perhaps south sides, the greatest area of Buildings Z4 and Z5 was given over to a large central courtyard ringed by a peristyle. Very little of the assemblages of either structure survived: three complete vessels alone were recovered from Building Z4 (993–95), quite reasonably interpreted as a banquet hall. Building Z’s residential phase had come to a close, although its sympotic aspect continued down to the time of its fi nal destruction in 86 BCE.

Figure 4.5. Building Z4–Z5, plan. Drawing by Tina Ross based on Knigge 2005, suppl. 6, plan 6.

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Thereafter, in the later first century BCE and first century CE, the site was home to workshops, of which the most prominent remains are a series of bronze casting pits dug into the ruins of Buildings Z4 and Z5.

The Function(s) of Building Z: “Ein Hetärenhaus am Heiligen Tor?” This overview of Buildings Z1 through Z5 has been necessarily brief and intentionally selective, but its aim has been to convey the development of the complex and the richness of its assemblages over time. Let us return to the question posed by the title of this essay: was Building Z a house, a tavern, an inn, or a brothel? For the excavator, Buildings Z1 and Z2 stand as examples of private residences (Wohnhäuser), as megalē oikia or “noble houses” (cf. Kiderlen 1995: esp. 39–42, 141). Although neither of these latter designations is explicitly applied to either structure, that appears to be the underlying assumption. It is only Building Z3 that possesses elements of plan and types and quantities of artifacts that allow it to be identified with less than salubrious domestic or commercial functions. Wirtshaus, “inn,” and Weberei, “textile mill,” are the terms employed.9 Indeed, the lengthy time span between the destruction of Building Z2 at the end of the fifth century and the erection of Building Z3 in the third quarter of the fourth century could be taken to support a complete break in ownership and function of Buildings Z1/Z2 and Z3, particularly given the presence of the horos inscription recovered in Building Z3 (see note 6). Or it could simply represent a change in ownership and a hiatus in function. With Buildings Z4 and Z5 (early third to early first centuries), the dramatic transformation in plan is apparently accompanied by an increasingly specialized and arguably professionalized function as a banqueting building. The language that is employed to describe the remains of and attribute room function to Buildings Z1 and Z2 tacitly underpins the notion that we should be in the presence of an above-average domicile, since the language is that “formulated” for domestic architecture proper, drawing on the primary sources, particularly Vitruvius (6.7).10 Prostas (Z1), pastas (Z2), oikos (Z1–Z2), andrōnitis (Z1), and gynaikōnitis (Z2) are all terms associated, for better or worse, rightly or wrongly, with houses.11 The seemingly Vitruvian perfection of the plan of Building Z1 is transferred with ease to Z2 due to their rapid succession, one after the other, following the destruction of Building Z1

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ca. 420. But the application of such typology and terminology to actual examples of domestic structures has come under increasing scrutiny of late as being both normative and positivistic, straitjacketing with labels spaces that undoubtedly saw a great deal more flexibility in their actual use and function. This is especially true where gendered space is sought, and where prevailing thought now sees less rigorous separation of male and female areas within many houses.12 So, for example, nowhere in Building Z is there preserved a single stone threshold with cuttings for doors or bolt holes to secure them.13 If this was a wealthy house, security was relatively lax. Similarly, the lack of a tiled roof for Buildings Z1 and Z2, at a time in the fifth century when other domestic structures in Athens possessed them, suggests impermanence, or at least that aspects of the structure’s finish were bound by fiscal constraints. While we may speak in general terms of room function, particularly when elements of their design or finish, or assemblages of artifacts support it, labeling rooms with “ancient” names can be misleading. This is particularly true when it obscures their adaptability to varied usage and especially so when the “domestic” status of the building is in question. Entryways, courtyards, and porches are all clear enough; as can be dining rooms, kitchens, and bathrooms when the circumstances warrant. But in focusing on what may be the admittedly interesting development and progression of house types: from prostas (Building Z1), to pastas (Building Z2), to peristyle (Buildings Z4–Z5), the excavator has neglected the proverbial forest for the trees. Perhaps more useful would be a comparison of the plans of Buildings Z1–Z3 with that of the famed “purpose-built” Lupanar from Pompeii (one of more than forty possible such establishments that have been variously identified at the site, an indication of their density in the plan of a relatively completely recovered urban landscape; cf. McGinn 2004: esp. Appendix 1, 267–90). Here, there are immediately recognizable general similarities, particularly in terms of the grouping of uniform (and door-less?) cubicles around a central hall. In Buildings Z1 and Z2, then, due to their size, plan, assemblages, history, and location, the whole is likely to be more than the sum of its parts. The size of Building Z has already been mentioned as extraordinary for a strictly private residence in the late fifth century. Perhaps not of an Alcibiades, whose “imprisonment” of the painter Agatharchos to decorate his house is well known (Plut. Alc. 16), but certainly “of Aristides or Miltiades, [whose houses] are no more splendid than those of their neighbors” (Dem. 3.25). Th is is particularly true of the vestibule area (G1– G4/5, in Buildings Z1–Z4,

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respectively). Averaging more than 35 m2 over each of its four iterations, and so constituting the single largest room in each phase of the structure, it surely served to accommodate a designated purpose, conceivably assembly as well as reception. One is reminded here of the fragment from Xenarchos’s Pentathlon (Ath. 13.569a– c, cited by Glazebrook), who describes a visit to the brothel where one selects a “companion” from marshaled ranks of available women who range in age and physical attributes.14 Combined with its size, it is the carefully documented assemblages from Buildings Z1 and Z2, and their essential conformity with those recovered from Building Z3, that supports a continuity of function between these three phases of Building Z. Although their assemblages are quantitatively smaller than that from Building Z3 (which yielded ca. 820 objects), Buildings Z1 (ca. 400 objects) and Z2 (ca. 200 objects) show a similar qualitative diversity. More than ample amounts of fine ware pottery, including many figurative pieces, for the consumption of food and drink were recovered from each building. As were numerous pyxides and lekythoi, shapes typically associated with the boudoir, along with other objects such as a bronze mirror (200; from Building Z1, Room O1) and a miniature bronze chest for jewelry and/or cosmetics (259; from Building Z1, Room G1), two identical examples of which were also recovered from Building Z3 (604, 720).15 A quite remarkable object of which not much has been made, recovered from the tiny Room Wb2 in the southern reaches of Building Z2, is an erect terracotta phallus (425). Mea suring 0.133 m in length, handmade, hollow, and unglazed, but carefully burnished with a smooth and compacted surface, it is broken where the dia meter begins to splay toward the proximal end. While it could have functioned as an implement handle (as posited in the catalog entry: Knigge 2005: 163, with plate 96), a votive model, or part of an ithyphallic statue(-tte?), this life-sized anatomical membrum disiectum could also perhaps have served as an erotic plaything.16 Several other categories of artifacts deserve mention here in support of the argument of functional continuity being made for Buildings Z1–Z3. The votive deposits are the first, for they are found in each of the three building phases: as many as nine from Building Z1; three from Building Z2, plus the three partially buried amphoras; and fifteen from Building Z3 (note 4). These suggest a persistent form of devotional ritual by the inhabitants of the structure, one made more manifest and perhaps more conclusively gendered by the time of Building Z3 in the fourth century, when such deposits co-occur with iconic images of Kybele and Artemis-Selene in both statuary and jewelry. The

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latter two goddesses also represent the presence of foreign deities, most likely associated with foreign-born origins (e.g., Thrace, Asia Minor) of at least some of the residents of Building Z, as does the graffito ΝΑΥΚΡΑΤΗΣ mentioned below. And while the lamps recovered from Buildings Z1–Z3 help attest to the structures’ nocturnal use, they do not occur in inordinate numbers, except in Building Z3, where twenty-three were recovered from nine rooms. Building Z1 yielded but a single example (175), coming from Room Ca1, which also possessed a hearth. From Building Z2 only two lamps were recovered from floor levels (319 from Room Aa 2 and 341 from the pastas porch). I make mention of the lamps here also, in part, as a reminder that an example from Building Z3, Room Aa3 (514; which was found along with six others, likely stored together on shelving or in a piece of furniture) was inscribed with the graffito ΝΑΥΚΡΑΤΗΣ, thus providing us with tantalizing prosopographic information not only for the owner’s name, but also for his place of origin, in short, an appellation fitting for a slave or metic engaged in “the oldest profession.”17 A robust feminine presence in Buildings Z1–Z3 is also attested by the loomweights, spindle whorls, and other paraphernalia associated with textile production.18 This includes an ongoing concern with water supply, extending to multiple wells and cisterns, beyond the needs of a single household, that would have been utilized for preparing wool (and perhaps flax; see note 7). The production of textiles as women’s work par excellence is well documented, as is the fact that it was engaged in not only by the domesticated housewife and her retinue, but by prostitutes.19 If, as seems correct, this is the case for Buildings Z1 and Z2, as well as Building Z3, yet another functional rubric is attested for the structure in its first two phases: that of manufactory. Evidence for the mixing of entertainment and commerce is present in all three phases of Buildings Z1–Z3, not only in the copious amount of fine wares again for the serving and consumption of food and drink, but in plain and coarse wares for food preparation and cooking. As regards storage, it is significant that while numerous amphoras (for liquid containment) were recovered, there is far less evidence for pithoi (largely, but not exclusively, for dry storage; cf. the example associated with the cistern from Room E3 in Building Z3; see note 7). So while wine was kept on hand, foodstuffs were likely obtained on a regular basis from the market. There is nothing surprising about such a procurement strategy, for it is the same employed by commercial eateries today. Significant too are other groups of artifacts. The five bone astragaloi (158) recovered in Room B1 of Building Z1 are testimony to gaming, if not outright

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gambling. It will be recalled that they were found along with two cylindrical bronze cups bearing inscriptions indicating their authorized status as volumetric measures (152–53). With probable capacities of one-half kotyle (ca. 126 cc), parallel examples from the Athenian agora served to assess dry contents in small amounts (Lang and Crosby 1964: 40–41 [DM 42–43], 52, plates 14, 33). In a reuse context here, these cups would have been ideal for apportioning out individual servings of unwatered wine.20 The twenty-one astragaloi (539) from Room Aa3 of Building Z3 were in storage, and so spares. They were found in the company of two Thasian amphora stamps (547) that had perhaps been specially cut and retained for use as gaming pieces. A method of exchange for goods and ser vices rendered in such establishments is clear only in Building Z3, where 163 coins were recovered. But for a silver tetradrachm of Alexander III (548; dated 320–317), all were the smallest denomination of chalchoi. The virtual absence of numismatic evidence from Buildings Z1 and Z2 is less problematic, since it was only in the fourth century that bronze coinage became commonplace, than is the remaining question about how transactions were facilitated. Presumably it involved bartered goods or ser vices in kind. In this regard it is worth citing the scene on the shoulder of a red-figured hydria on Rhodes, which appears to depict a man delivering a bag of raw wool to women engaged in spinning.21 Four “official” lead weights from Building Z3 suggest that larger transactions took place as well. Two of these weigh one stater (or 910 g; 521, 916), while the other two are one mna, half-stater, weights (480  g; 605, 707).22 And while evidence for movable furnishings is almost completely lacking from Building Z, the presence of wooden chests for storing valuables is suggested by the multiple iron keys recovered from Building Z3 (608–11 from Room B3; 817 from Room P3; 973 from Room b3; and a possible example from Room Z3, 851), just as their form is indicated by the three miniature bronze examples that served to contain makeup and/or jewelry (259, 604, 720).23 A fragmentary bronze hinge recovered from Building Z2, Room R 2 (294) could well have come from such a receptacle. That the life of Building Z culminates in the banqueting halls of Buildings Z4 and Z5 ultimately provides support for its earlier phases as less formalized variations on this theme, wherein a multiplicity of functions were served, from residential to commercial, accompanied by eating, drinking, weaving, and whoring. This is certainly more compelling than a theory that sees the Kerameikos as a neighborhood in decline, from an upscale residential area in the late fifth century (the period of Buildings Z1–Z2) to a blazing

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center of the Athenian demi-monde in the late fourth (the period of Building Z3). There is little doubt, given the diachronic range of the primary sources, that this district of Athens was always home to similar such enterprises. But that the Kerameikos may have been subject to something of the reverse scenario, with a gentrification over the course of time, may be indicated by the increasingly specialized nature of the buildings that took the place of Buildings Z1–Z3, not only Buildings Z4–Z5, but the Pompeion (dating from the early fourth century and located just north of Building Z; Fig. 1.2), a monumental multipurpose edifice, one of whose main functions was to serve as a banqueting hall (Hoepfner 1976), and whose erection may have begun a transformation of the area.24 Even in this increasingly rarified setting, however, in the shadow of the Pompeion and the Dipylon and Sacred Gates, it was still to some extent business as usual. For evidence of this one need look no further than the more recently excavated fourth-century phase of Building Y, next door to Building Z (Fig. 8.2a; Knigge 1993, esp. 127–40) and also identified as a banqueting building, along the lines of Buildings Z4–Z5, which would succeed it. Scratched into a fragment of wall plaster recovered from Room A, a “dining room,” was the graffito ΒΟΥΒΑΛΙΟΝ ΚΑΛΗ (Fig. 8.2b). Rather like Building Z, this informal scrawl can be variously interpreted “Gazelle is lovely” or “Squirting Cucumber is beautiful.”25 Take your pick. Although the excavator has refrained from identifying Buildings Z1 and Z2 as taverns, inns, or brothels, I think that the plan of the structures as well as their artifacts support it, particularly in light of the overwhelming evidence of Building Z3. So if we agree with the proposition that “the past is a foreign country,” then archaeology can supply us with transit papers for a visit. And while “going native” is not an option, neither is limiting ourselves to reportage alone. We must face the ancient Greeks with eyes open wide.

Appendix: Building Z1–Z3. Inventory of Cataloged Objects by Room The inventories reproduced here are based on the artifact cata log in Knigge 2005 (103–247), and contain only those objects from fills associated with and above the latest floor levels of each room. They do not include the fills of negative features (e.g., wells, cisterns, votive deposits), except in the case of Building Z2, Room L 2, or deposits below floor level. Coins are generally Athenian issues unless other wise specified.

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Building Z1 R1 1 amphora with 108 loomweights 1 oinochoe 1 skyphos 1 dish 1 aryballos 1 terracotta cube 1 marble lid(?) 1 lead weight (14 kg) 1 bronze grater(?) 1 iron obelos 3 bronze fragments 5 amphoras (3 Chian) B1 1 stamnos 1 Kelch krater (fragments) 1 skyphos 1 one-handler 1 stamped dish 1 pelike lid 1 lekanis lid 1 lekane 1 bronze aryballos 2 bronze measuring cups 2 loomweights 4 spindle whorls 2 grinding stones 5 astragaloi 1 bronze needle 1 bronze handle 1 bronze drop handle 1 bronze arrowhead 1 terracotta head (female)

b1 1 small bowl 1 grinding stone Ca 1 1 lekythos 1 one-handler 1 mortar 1 lamp 1 whetstone 1 lead fragment, folded (no inscription) f1 1 small bowl 3 loomweights 1 miniature lamp 1 bone stylus 1 bronze coin (Salamis?) c1 1 terracotta head (female) O 1 (first seven entries from shelf collapse?) 1 kylix 1 kantharos 2 one-handlers 3 pyxides 2 lekanides 1 lekanis lid 4 small bowls 1 dish 1 lekythos 2 two-handled jars 1 two-handled bowl 1 lekane

Building Z in the Athenian Kerameikos

1 spindle whorl 1 bronze mirror 1 bronze palmette (from mirror?)

T1 1 bone needle(?) fragment 1 unfinished statue fragment: foot (marble)

P1 3 amphoras (1 Panathenaic) 1 chous 1 hydriskos 1 skyphos 1 one-handler 3 small bowls 2 small dishes 1 plate 1 amphoriskos 2 cauldrons (fragments) 1 louterion foot 4 loomweights 1 shell ladle 1 bronze spindle 4(?) iron nails

a1 1 two-handled jar 1 stamped dish 1 plate 1 lekythos 1 small bowl 4 loomweights 1 clay antefi x fragment 1 bronze medallion(?) 2 kylix fragments miscellaneous red-figure and black-figure fragments

K1 1 chous 1 one-handler 1 pyxis(?) 3 chytrai 1 lopas 1 mortar 1 sieved drain 1 iron tripod 1 iron handle 1 iron blade 1 iron fragment 1 bone stylus miscellaneous iron fragments

G1 miscellaneous red-figure dinos(?) fragments 1 olpe 1 bolsal fragment 1 bone needle 3 loomweights 3 spindle whorls 1 bronze miniature chest 1 iron knife 1 fluted column fragment (poros) Q1 1 kothon 1 bolsal fragment N1 1 kados

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Building Z2 R2 1 skyphos 1 bowl fragment 1 kylix 1 bolsal 2 handleless bowls 1 lekanis lid 4 bowls 1 small bowl 6 loomweights 1 grinding stone 1 pithos/basin base 1 bronze hinge 1 bronze scraper 1 iron knife 1 fragment worked plaster 1 fragment plastic vase/model 1 bowl skyphos

Ab2 5 loomweights (in trough) 1 grinding stone 1 bronze needle 1 amphora body (Chian)

Aa2 (most from chests) 2 skyphoi 3 bowl skyphoi 1 pelike 1 small bowl 1 small dish 1 askos 6 chytrai 1 lekanis 1 eschara 1 lopas 6 loomweights 1 lamp 1 fragment small rectangular base (marble) 1 amphora, toe removed (votive receptacle?)

F2 1 double-handled jug

B2 2 loomweights 1 bronze nail head 1 iron finger ring 1 terracotta head (male) D2 1 amphora, toe removed (votive receptacle?) Eb2 1 chous

G2 1 amphora, toe removed (votive receptacle?) K2 1 stamped kylix 1 bronze allotment plate 1 bronze fibula 1 bronze shaft 1 unfinished statue fragment: right hand (marble) O2 1 bolsal

Building Z in the Athenian Kerameikos

“Pastas” 1 pyxis lid fragment 1 lamp 1 Submycenaean gold fibula 1 lead floral fitting Court 2 1 mortar 1 bronze nail head 1 lead spoon(?) 1 red-figure krater rim 2 fragments pseudo-Panathenaic amphora L2 (most from large negative feature; many other fragments not cataloged) 2 skyphoi 2 bowl skyphoi 1 kylix 2 stamped dishes 4 bolsals 4 one-handlers 1 miniature one-handler 1 plate 1 dish 1 small bowl 1 miniature pyxis 1 votive(?) vessel 1 kernos 1 thymiaterion(?) 1 plate fragment 1 composite vessel 2 lekanides 1 eschara 3 sieves (1 chytra-form) 1 mortar

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1 kyathos scoop 2 amphoras (Lesbian) 1 stamped amphora handle 1 pithos fragment 1 lamp 1 terracotta model animal paw (dog?) 3 terracotta palmette fragments 1 ridge tile fragment (associated with palmette fragments?) 1 terracotta block 2 terracotta strips 1 marble disc (lid?) 1 bronze needle 1 bronze shaft fragment 1 bronze knife 1 lead fitting Q2 1 skyphos 1 Rheneia dish 2 dishes 1 lidded pan 1 statue fragment: foot (marble) Wb2 1 oinochoe 3 red-figure krater fragments 1 stamped bowl 1 skyphos 1 bowl skyphos 4 one-handlers 2 bolsals 1 dish 2 lekanides 1 exaleiptron 1 red-figure lekythos fragment

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2 squat lekythoi 1 terracotta phallus

Building Z3 Aa3 3 jugs 1 kantharos 1 skyphos 1 one-handler 1 dish 5 small dishes 5 small bowls 8 plates 2 lids 1 askos 1 jug 5 chytrai 3 lekanides 1 lopas 1 mortar 1 flower pot(?) 1 krater foot 1 miniature pyxis 1 miniature pyxis lid 1 thymiaterion(?) 6 miniature kantharoi 1 votive ring 1 miniature plate 1 bronze miniature container 34 loomweights 7 spindle whorls 7 lamps 1 stone weight 1 lead weight (1 stater) 1 lead pestle 1 bronze lance head 1 iron strigil

1 iron knife 1 bronze nail 1 iron ornamental nail 1 marble statuette (Kybele) 1 limestone naiskos 2 terracotta figurines (1 female, 1 Pan) 3 ivory objects 1 marble egg 8 shells 21 astragaloi 8 beads 2 medallions (1 silver, 1 bronze) 1 bronze face plaque 2 amphora stamps (for gaming?) 18 coins (including 1 silver tetradrachm) B3 5 kantharoi 2 one-handlers 9 small bowls 2 plates 1 lekanis lid 2 jugs 4 chytrai 4 lopades 2 pans 1 mortar 1 beehive 1 pithos 1 guttus 2 kernoi 2 votive vessels 27 loomweights 1 spindle whorl

Building Z in the Athenian Kerameikos

1 lamp 1 bronze spoon 1 bronze miniature chest 1 lead weight (1 mna) 2 iron knives 5 iron keys 1 iron handle 1 iron obelos(?) 1 iron tongs 1 iron hoe 1 iron pick head 5 iron nails 3 lead clamps 8 coins C3 1 kantharos 2 small dishes 6 plates 2 jugs 3 lopades 1 lamp 1 grinding stone 1 bronze spatula 1 iron obelos 1 iron fibula(?) fragment 1 terracotta figurine fragment (legs) 19 coins D3 1 chytra 1 beehive 5 coins E3 2 coins

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F3 1 vessel lid 5 kantharoi 3 skyphoi 5 one-handlers 2 bowls 2 small bowls 1 small dish 5 plates (including 2 fi sh plates) 2 pyxides 1 miniature lekanis 1 guttus 1 amphoriskos 4 chytrai 2 lopades 2 lids 1 pan 1 eschara 3 pithos fragments 2 kernoi 1 thymiaterion(?) 14 loomweights 1 lead weight (1 mna) 1 lamp 1 iron axe 1 iron knife 1 iron tongs 1 iron obelos(?) 1 clay mold (fragments) 1 statuette: Kybele (marble) with base (limestone) 1 terracotta head (Pan) 1 silver medallion 1 silver finger ring 1 silver fibula(?) 1 bronze miniature chest

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6 iron nails 16 coins J3 3 kantharoi 1 dish 3 plates 1 small lidded bowl (votive) 1 chytra 1 beehive lid 17 loomweights 1 iron grill 1 lead rosette 1 bone disc K3 4 kantharoi 1 bowl 5 small bowls 6 plates 1 lekanis lid 1 lekanis 2 chytrai 2 lopades 1 lopas lid 1 lekane 17 loomweights 2 spindle whorls 3 lamps 1 iron lamp holder 1 grinding stone 1 lead pestle(?) 1 iron hoe 1 iron obelos fragment 2 iron clamps 1 iron sheet 1 iron fragment 2 iron nails

1 bronze rod 1 bronze spatula 1 bronze chain 1 statuette: dog (basalt) 1 silver medallion 1 miniature naiskos (poros) 1 bone ring 10 coins (3 Aegina, 3 Salamis) O3 1 cooking vessel lid P3 1 bronze jug 2 small bowls 1 fish plate 1 chytra 1 lid 1 charcoal basin (fragments) 1 louterion with stand 1 kernos 25 loomweights 1 iron key 1 miniature terracotta herm 1 glass inset 2 iron nails 4 coins L3 1 loomweight N3 1 oinochoe 1 bowl lid 2 small bowls 2 plates 1 lamp 1 iron tongs

Building Z in the Athenian Kerameikos

1 iron socket 1 eye bead 1 gilt clay plaque 1 coin Q3 3 coins W3 1 lead spoon(?) X3 2 coins Z3 1 iron shaft with ring handle (key?) U3 1 bell krater 4 kantharoi 2 skyphoi 1 lekanis 1 pyxis 1 jug 1 miniature kantharos 1 votive ring(?) 1 thymiaterion(?) foot 9 loomweights V3 1 fish plate 1 small bowl 3 lamps Court a3 5 kantharoi 2 skyphoi

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2 stamped bowls 1 bronze bowl 1 small bowl 1 plate 1 pyxis lid 8 jugs 5 chytrai 3 lopades 2 lopas lids 1 lid 1 unusual three-handled vessel 2 lekanai 1 kernos 8 amphoras (3 Chian, 1 Koan) 2 amphora stamps 1 stand ring 1 shallow basin with lid 8 loomweights 1 lead weight (1 stater) 4 lamps 1 iron knife 1 iron hoe 1 iron sickle blade 1 shell 1 bronze earring 1 bronze finger ring 2 bronze needles 17 coins 1 coin pendant(?) Court b3 2 kantharoi 1 small dish 1 small bowl 3 plates 2 gutti 1 askos

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1 chytra 2 lids 1 louterion(?) foot 1 amphora (Lesbian) 1 miniature pyxis 1 unguentarium

1 kernos 2 lamps 1 terracotta miniature mask 1 iron key 1 iron nail 3 coins (1 Salamis)

chapter 5

Locations of Ill Repute in Late Hellenistic Delos monik a trümper

During the period of its political independence (314–167 BCE), the small Cycladic island Delos was a polis and a regional center of trade and commerce for the surrounding islands. Although foreigners from all over the Mediterranean world started to settle on the island toward the end of the third century BCE, Delos did not develop into a cosmopolitan trade center until after 167/166 BCE when the Romans declared it a free port and handed control of it over to Athens. Merchants from all over the Mediterranean, particularly Italy, arrived on the island to do business. While, according to inscriptions, some lived permanently on Delos (katoikountes), others just stayed temporarily (parepidēmountes). As a consequence the city grew considerably in order to suit its new role, and most of the visible remains belong to this period. This thriving, bustling harbor city with high fluctuations in its multicultural, commerceoriented population certainly provided facilities of ill repute, namely taverns and brothels for activities such as drinking, gambling, and prostitution. This chapter discusses the archaeological evidence of taverns and brothels in Late Hellenistic Delos. Two facilities of ill repute have been identified in Delos so far, namely a taberna vinaria and a brothel or taberna deversoria (Rauh 1993: 206–15; Chatzidakis 1997). In the following, these are discussed first, critically reviewing their identification. In the second part of this chapter I examine where else in Delos such facilities may have been located, following the criteria that recently have been developed for the identification of taverns and brothels

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(McGinn 2002; Ault 2005b: 147–50; Glazebrook 2011a; Glazebrook, this volume [Chapter 8]).

Taberna Vinaria In 1991 Panagiotis Chatzidakis excavated a complex of two rooms with a rich find assemblage that suggested its identification as a tavern for drinking wine (Chatzidakis 1997).1 The complex is centrally located, slightly to the northeast of the Apollo Sanctuary, immediately to the south of the so-called Sanctuary of the Bastion, and to the east of the so-called Agora of the Italians. It consisted of a large room (Room 1; 5.20 × 2.20 m), whose entrance is not preserved, but may have been in the west or north, and a small room (Room 2; 3.20 × 1.80 m), which probably was accessible from the large room (Figs. 5.1a and 5.1b). The published state plan does not show any remains of the northern wall of Room 1 but suggests that this room was subdivided in a north-south direction into two halves of roughly equal size by a row of six amphoras. The published longitudinal section suggests that the last floor level of the eastern part of Room 1 was raised for 0.50 m above that of the western part, concealing a destruction deposit underneath, and was also slightly higher than the floor of Room 2. The six amphoras seem to have leaned against this “destruction deposit platform” or to have been dug into the earth in front of it, forming a kind of retaining wall for the “platform.” This strange arrangement must have had consequences for the accessibility, circulation, and use of the complex, which are, however, not discussed. A third room in the east, excavated already in 1926, is not sufficiently known to safely determine its relationship to the tavern.2 According to stratigraphic evidence, the complex was built in the early first century BCE on undeveloped terrain, suffered during the raids of Mithridates’ troops in 88 BCE, but was immediately restored, and was finally destroyed by fire in 69 BCE, when pirates under Athenodoros sacked the city. The nature and distribution of finds suggest that this final destruction was sudden and unexpected, probably occurring on some chilly night, requiring the use of heating devices. When the Roman legatus Triarius built a wall in 69 BCE to protect Delos from further attacks, the ruined area around the tavern was left outside the wall and exploited for easily available building material. Thus, while only the foundation walls of the tavern were preserved, its find assemblage seems to have survived largely undisturbed, because the area was never inhabited again after 69 BCE.

Figure 5.1a. Delos, taberna vinaria: schematic plan. M. Trümper after Chatzidakis 1997: 292, fig. 1.

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Figure 5.1b. Delos, taberna vinaria: longitudinal section. M. Trümper after Chatzidakis 1997: 293, fig. 2.

After the first destruction in 88 BCE, the broken tableware of the complex was collected and buried in three locations, a pit under the original floor of Room 2, in a kind of platform under the later raised floor in the eastern part of Room 1, and possibly in a third pit to the south of the complex. These deposits and the finds from the use of the building between 88 and  69 BCE confirm that the complex was continuously used as a wine tavern. Furthermore, the distribution of finds suggests that in its last stage of use, Room 1 was equipped with a wooden shelf along its south wall, some wooden furniture in its center (e.g., counter or table), and a wooden mezzanine floor. Finds of the last phase of use comprised mainly ceramic vessels, many of which were found complete or could be largely restored. In Room 1 they included eight amphoras from Apulia and Campania in the western part of the room, and one amphora each from Chios and Kos, containing higher quality wine and stored separately in the raised eastern part of the room; a large pithos for mixing wine; seven jugs of four different sizes for ladling wine from the pithos; a large set of drinking tableware of three different sizes, among them forty large and forty small echinus bowls, forty Megarian bowls, and twenty cups with two handles; thirty-two lamps; six unguentaria that, according to Chatzidakis, may have contained spices for wine (but possibly also oil or perfume); some thin-walled vessels; fragments of a Samian plate; fragments of a brazier; and on the floor 180 much oxidized copper coins, of which the few legible examples represented an Athenian type commonly used in Delos after 167/166 BCE. While some of the vessels and lamps were obviously stored on

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the shelf along the south wall, those discovered in the center of the room seem to have been in use when the catastrophe occurred. Room 2 yielded nine amphoras from Apulia and Campania, and one amphora each from Chios and Kos; two lamps; and fragments of a chytra. Some items had fallen from the mezzanine floor, namely a decorated lagynos, six lamps, a spatula, several thinwalled vessels for making and preserving cosmetics, and an unusually shaped askos that is interpreted as a hot water bottle specifically made for abdominal pains; 120 copper coins that were of higher value than those from the ground floor of Room 1 and came from different cities, such as Ephesos, Bithynia, Colophon, Arados, Seleukeia in Pieria, Antiocheia, Myrina, Kyme, and Rome; fragments of the ivory decoration of a seat; dices and game pieces; and various items of jewelry, which probably came from Alexandria. From this find assemblage Chatzidakis concludes that Room 2 served as a storeroom or cellar and Room 1 as the tavern proper, where customers would have gathered to drink wine. The mezzanine would have been inhabited by a woman, either the owner of the tavern-complex or—more likely— a prostitute who offered her ser vices to the tavern’s customers. The practice of selling wine and sex in the same establishment would find many parallels in Pompeian establishments. Finally, the tavern would have been ideally located and appropriately supplied to serve mainly Italian and Roman customers with wines from their homeland since Greeks would have consumed wine only at home with their guests. While this interpretation is intriguing overall, one must await the final publication for a more comprehensive assessment of this important complex. The architectural context and accessibility may shed more light on the crucial questions of ownership and user spectrum. A detailed examination of the find distribution may yield more information on how Room 1 was actually furnished and used: a surface area of 12.1 m2 seems relatively small and leaves little space for serving and drinking wine—the more so because this room included a raised area in the east (leaving only a surface area of about 2.60 × 2.20 m in the western part for wooden furniture for the sale and consumption of wine), a shelf on the south wall, probably a series of vessels in the center,3 and a staircase to the mezzanine. For comparison, many rooms in Delian houses that most likely served for the reception of guests are considerably larger with sizes up to 68 m2 (Trümper 1998: 52–55, 2004: 560n103), and the nearby so-called Agora of the Italians offered an impressive number of shops with average sizes of about 35 m2.4 The number of 140 drinking vessels seems astonishing for the size of the tavern, and suggests, at best, a high turnover of

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customers during opening hours.5 The restricted space also suggests that customers could not linger here for hours, comfortably seated, but rather would have consumed a quick drink while standing. Finally, the ethnicity of customers cannot be concluded from the drinking customs. Literary sources testify to the existence of taverns in the Greek world, even if they are hard to identify in the archaeological record (KellyBlazeby 2008; Margaritis 2014). Furthermore, while a city such as Pompeii in 79 CE had 158 establishments with masonry ser vice counters for selling food and drink (Ellis 2004: 375) and several other locales that sold wine, the archaeological and literary evidence clearly shows that Romans also entertained guests with wine at their houses. In Delos, houses are surprisingly homogeneous in design and decoration, although they were inhabited by a multiethnic population; thus, Italians and Romans had the same possibilities of receiving guests at home as Greeks (Trümper 1998: 134–37). While it is debated who visited the wine bars in Pompeii, the bars’ location was clearly determined only by economic reasoning (Ellis 2004): high-traffic areas were preferred to maximize visibility, accessibility, and profit. The same applies most likely to the favorably located Delian establishment, but it cannot be determined who—in terms of ethnicity, social status, gender, and age—frequented this tavern, when, and why.

Taberna Deversoria—House of the Lake The House of the Lake is situated in the Skardhana Quarter and has a groundfloor surface area of 395 m2 (Trümper 1998: 212–14). Although it is one of the few freestanding houses in Delos, it was obviously built on unfavorably cut terrain that required some compromises in order to establish this house, which, according to its size, architecture, and decoration, certainly belonged to the highest echelon of local domestic architecture (Fig. 5.2). On the roughly trapezoidal lot, the most important parts of the house—notably a large, four-sided peristyle, an exedra (e), and two suites of lavishly decorated reception and living rooms (f–j)—were given priority and thus an almost rectangular, regular shape, whereas the irregularly cut remaining space was used for rooms of lesser importance, such as ser vice rooms. The house was provided with two wells and a cistern and two clearly differentiated entrances, the lavishly decorated main entrance with porter’s lodge (d) in the east, and the modestly appointed secondary entrance with latrine (b) and kitchen (a) in the west. Although there

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Figure 5.2. Delos, House of the Lake: plan. M. Trümper after Chamonard 1922: plates XIX–XXII.

is evidence for a richly furnished upper story, its access, extension, and design cannot be reconstructed. The hierarchical design employed in the ground floor of this house is typical of Delian houses in general and often resulted in irregular outer shapes particularly of top-notch houses; the external shape, however, was invisible in most cases because these houses were included in larger building complexes (Trümper 1998: 81–87).

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In the House of the Lake, the remaining terrain in the northwest was used for a suite that originally had a courtyard (o), one large room (k), a separate street entrance, and its own well and cistern, and was connected to the main house by two doors (between Rooms h and o and o and m). The façades of the complex were decorated with so-called liturgical paintings (see below) on both sides of the secondary entrance and the entrance to the secondary courtyard (o), as well as with reliefs: a phallus and the club of Herakles on the northeast corner, and two piloi and a shield-like disk of the Dioskouroi on the southwest corner. Finally, the complex yielded several sculptural finds, whose find spots are mostly unknown, among them a male portrait head and a statue of the so-called Small Herculaneum woman type (Kreeb 1988: 162–66). Nicholas Rauh identified this house as “a brothel or as a more refined combination of dining and evening establishment known as taberna deversoria,” drawing on “a combination of its design aspects—the easy accessibility and sumptuousness of its courtyard, the privacy of the interior suites of rooms, the capacity and number of its wells and cisterns, and the ‘gaudiness’ of the exterior wall reliefs calling attention to its doors” (Rauh 1993: 213; McClain and Rauh 2011: 155–56, 168n2). In more detail, according to Rauh, the small annex-rooms (g, i–j) without windows would have been unusually dark and thus most likely designed for particular privacy. One of them would have included two graffiti recording the name of Lucius Aufidus, most likely a celebrated Roman banker active at Delos, who might have been a regular customer or the owner of the establishment and may have resided in the nearby House of the Seals. The two street entrances to the peristyle-courtyard and the abundant water supply, including cisterns with supporting stone arches “similar to those employed in Delian public buildings” (Rauh 1993: 209), would suggest that this was not just a private residence. Since the façade reliefs were positioned at a considerable distance from the doorways of the building and did not look at all threatening, they would not have served as apotropaic devices, as commonly assumed, but would have functioned as directional signposts. This would be supported by several other, similarly located and designed examples in Delos. Such direction indicators would be particularly appropriate in the case of the House of the Lake, which was surrounded by palaistrai and (not more closely identified) men’s clubs and thus would meet “the requirements of an ancient ‘red light district’ ” (Rauh 1993: 214). Within this context, the secondary suite (o–p) could have housed a concierge, permitting access to the establishment after hours when the main doors were closed.

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Although the identification of the House of the Lake as a brothel has already been challenged (Boussac and Moretti 1995: 566–67; Trümper 1998: 214),6 it will be critically reviewed here in more detail. Rauh ignores both the history of this complex and the characteristics of domestic architecture in Delos. While the house overall shows little evidence of remodeling, the peculiar secondary suite was later separated from the main house by blocking the connecting doorways. This suite originally could have accommodated a dependent of the main house’s owner with access to some facilities of the main house, or it may have served as a secondary (ser vice) courtyard with additional working and living space for the main house. When it was disconnected from the main house and equipped with additional amenities (Annex-Room p; Room m and possibly Room l; probably latrine in m; possibly only at this point the liturgical paintings), it could have been profitably rented to outsiders (Trümper 1998: 213–14). The use of this sizeable and—by Delian standards (Trümper 2005b)—well-appointed “apartment” by a (low-status) concierge is, in general, unlikely and, in any case, impossible in the second phase. Several features that Rauh recognizes as unusual for private residences are, in fact, common in Delian houses. First, the presence of two street entrances, whose obvious hierarchy and necessarily differentiated use Rauh fails to notice, is a privilege and status symbol with which seventeen other Delian houses were provided.7 These multiple entrances were usually clearly distinguished in location, size, and decoration, and obviously designed with a view to differentiation in access according to social status (e.g., guests versus servants) and activity (e.g., delivery of goods to the secondary entrance). Thus, the accessibility and openness of houses with multiple entrances was not necessarily increased—the more so, because many of these entrances led to vestibules with two doors (Trümper 1998: 34–36, 2010b). Both vestibules of the House of the Lake were provided with such double doors and thus offered, contra Rauh (1993: 209), no uncontrolled views of the courtyard to “passers-by in both streets.” Finally, the placement of the so-called liturgical paintings for the cult of the Lares Compitales confirms the hierarchy and use of the three entrances of the House of the Lake. This cult was usually performed by slaves and freedmen of Italians or Romans, and accordingly flanked those two entrances most likely used by people of lower social status. Second, the seemingly extraordinary sumptuousness of the courtyard is again a common feature in Delian houses of all different sizes and ranks. Particular efforts were made to embellish this space, which was the most easily accessible and visible part of the house (Trümper 1998: 40–52). While

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the courtyard of the House of the Lake certainly is at the upper end of the spectrum, it is by no means unique but easily finds parallels, such as in the Houses of the Dolphins, of Dionysos, and of the Trident. Third, cisterns (or more generally reservoirs) with supporting stone arches are not a prerogative of public buildings in Delos, but instead are the most commonly used type of cistern in domestic architecture, with seventeen examples alone in the Theater Quarter, in small and large houses alike (Chamonard 1922: 336–39). While this elaborate type of roofing was mostly used for large cisterns, which could not be spanned by simple beams, no safe conclusions can be drawn regarding the cisterns’ capacity, since the depth and the nature of the reservoir (waterproof cistern or permeable reservoir with mixed water supply, drawing on underground and superficial water) have to be taken into account. Both abundance and diversification of water supply (well, cistern, reservoir) were highly desirable in the semiarid climate of the island of Delos, which was not provided with natural springs and thus had to rely entirely on rainfall for its freshwater supply (Desruelles 2001; Cosandey and Desruelles 2005). The number and size of water supply sources depended on the size and geological location (access to aquifers) of houses as well as on the financial means of their owners. A multiplication of water supply devices is the standard privilege of better appointed houses, which are not necessarily the largest examples in Delos. Thus, while the number of expected or intended consumers was, in general, certainly relevant for calculating the amount of necessary water supply, a diversification of water supply sources is not automatically an indicator of household size (Trümper 1998: 29).8 Finally, the duplication of water supply systems in the main house and the secondary suite of the House of the Lake may confirm that these two units, from the beginning, were meant to be used independently, even if connected by doors. Fourth, small, dark annex-rooms that were accessible only from a large room (usually an oecus maior) are a characteristic of Delian houses: of eightynine houses, thirty-nine had large rooms with two annex-rooms in the back, sixteen had large rooms with one annex-room in the back, two had large rooms with two lateral annex-rooms, and twelve had large rooms with one lateral annex-room (Trümper 1998: 30). Thus, sixty-nine of eighty-nine (76%) houses offered rooms seemingly appropriate to grant the particular privacy required for venal sex and thus would potentially qualify as brothels.9 The top-notch houses preferably were built on square lots so that rooms could be distributed evenly on all four sides of the courtyard; these houses— among them, for example, the House of the Comedians—have lateral annex-rooms in the

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unattractive unlit corners of the house. In contrast, houses with an elongated rectangular lot— among them the House of the Lake and the House of Hermes—had to arrange annex-rooms in the back of large rooms. The effect is the same, however, meaning that all of these annex-rooms were equally unfavorably and remotely located and potentially used in a similar way. While the thresholds of annex-rooms rarely survive, seventeen of eighteen preserved examples show cuttings for wooden doors,10 the notable exception being those of the House of the Lake. Therefore, astonishingly and strangely inconveniently the “private brothel rooms” were the only ones that could not be closed by doors—at least not in the way most commonly used in Delos. Fifth, an interpretation of reliefs on Delian façades as general advertisements for venal sex and even direction indicators is highly problematic. While horizontally depicted phalli are interpreted as signs pointing in the direction of brothels, it remains unclear why and how the other depictions— clubs of Herakles, shields, and symbols/caps of the Dioskouroi—would evoke and contribute to the atmosphere of a red-light district or even explicitly refer to venal sex (see esp. McClain and Rauh 2011). Furthermore, in assessing the reliefs, Rauh ignores two crucial features: agency and chronology. The reliefs are protruding from blocks that seem—in cases that were found in situ11—flush with their walls, and therefore the reliefs must have been carved before or at the time when the blocks were inserted into walls. Had the reliefs been designed as direction indicators for brothels, these brothels must necessarily have existed at the time when the reliefs were made. Four of the five reliefs with horizontally shown phalli and clubs found in situ were located at the corners of buildings and, at least originally, at intersections. While the reliefs of the House of the Lake would have been carved at the brothel proper and simply would have directed potential customers to its doors (with the strange redundancy of a phallus and a club on top of each other in the northeast corner), it is unclear whether the other reliefs also were physically attached to brothels, or just would have pointed to a brothel in the vicinity. The latter is much more problematic, suggesting that the patrons of the newly built complexes knew of clearly defined nearby brothels, and were willing to advertise them with some kind of long-term perspective on their own buildings. For example, Shop 49 on the Theater Street was constructed with its neighbor, Shop 47, as a detached building on the intersection of two streets, Theater Street and Street 6 (Trümper 2002: 152, fig. 5) (Fig. 5.3). The terrain to the south, to which the phallus relief seemingly points (clearly away from the shop entrances), was later densely built up and Street 6 was blocked.

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Figure 5.3. Delos, Theater Quarter, phallus at the east wall of shop no. 49, from the northeast. Photo © Jochen Griesbach.

It cannot be determined where exactly the phallus would have pointed to and for which period it would have functioned. A similar situation occurred in the case of the House of Dionysos, whose first phase possibly consisted of a series of shops with the relief of a Herakles’ club on the west façade near the southwest corner, pointing to the south and thus to the secondary entrance of the later house (Trümper 1998: fig. 65). It is again unknown to which brothel the relief would have pointed and why this “compromising” depiction would have been kept when the House of Dionysos was built and several times remodeled—unless the house was precisely built as a brothel, for which there is no evidence. A phallus was carved at the southeast corner of the originally freestanding warehouse Magasin δ (Room 10),12 pointing westward to the coast. Again it is open to debate, however, whether this phallus would have pointed immediately to the close-by entrance of Room 10 or to the main entrance of the complex on the coast, suggesting that the entire complex was some kind of purpose-built brothel; it could hardly have pointed elsewhere because the warehouse was located right on the sea.

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Additional arguments challenge the theory of direction indicators. As mentioned above, depictions of piloi and shields on the southwest corner of the House of the Lake certainly do not point to anything and are therefore inappropriate and useless as potential direction indicators. Rauh concedes (1993: 212; McClain and Rauh 2011) that some phallus reliefs in Delos “possibly functioned apotropaically,” but he gives no clear criteria to safely determine the function of such reliefs. Also, one wonders how ancient viewers would have known how precisely to read these reliefs. For example, Rauh’s (arbitrary) interpretation makes the House of Fourni and House C behind the Establishment of the Poseidoniastes of Berytos brothels. The somewhat bawdy inscription on a phallus relief that would have been displayed over the main entrance of the House of Fourni would have invited customers to come in (Rauh 1993: 212), and in a more recent reading would have marked this building as a site of male prostitution (McClain and Rauh 2011: 162–65).13 This large complex is located remotely and is largely isolated in the south of Delos, however, far from the city center, and thus probably would have attracted only customers who were privy to this “insider tip.” Furthermore, not just one, but as many as four phallus reliefs were found in this complex, together with nine reliefs showing representations of different gods or divine attributes (Bruneau 1970: 633; Marcadé 1973: 329–36, not cited by Rauh). So far, the precise find spots of these reliefs and thus their possible original location are unknown. While the phallus reliefs most likely were inserted into the façade, which was at least 65 m long, it is unlikely that four phallus reliefs would have been needed to assure potential customers that this was their destination (for whatever sexual pleasures). Overall, it seems much more plausible that this complex, which possibly included the clubhouse of an association and several other commercial and residential units (Trümper 1998: 317–18, 2006b: 122–30, 2011b), was particularly well protected. The inscriptions on two of the phallus reliefs (touto emoi kai touto soi; touto soi kai touto emoi) have parallels outside Delos and “sont voeux de bon augure pour l’ami qui vient à la maison” (Marcadé 1973: 334). Interestingly, two other clubhouses of (most likely professional) associations (Trümper 2006b: 129–30, 2011b), which included commercially usable structures, also were provided with several reliefs, notably the Granite Monument, which had a shield and a Herakles’ club, and the House of Diadoumenos, which had a phallus and probably twin piloi. Because of the intriguingly frequent connection of reliefs with commercially usable buildings, one may hypothesize that the patrons of these buildings took particular care to protect them from bad influences and to grant them success and prosperity. While

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clubhouses may very well have offered sexual accommodations for their members, for example during one of their many festivities, it is unlikely that sex was on sale in them on a regular basis, and also to outsiders, as would have justified advertisement on the façades of these buildings. Finally, the phallus was omnipresent in Delian life—as in many other ancient cities—used not only on façades of buildings, but also on walls inside buildings, and as votives, decoration of vessels, and amulets— and an apotropaic function clearly applied to most of these depictions (Deonna 1938: 347–62). To conclude the discussion of façade reliefs, one may cite Philippe Bruneau’s assessment of the three phalli that were found in situ at corners of buildings: “Mais trois cas ne suffisent pas à établir que ce soit là une règle dont la constance doive être expliquée, éventuellement en supposant que ces phallus n’étaient pas apotropaïques, mais signalaient une direction vers laquelle se tendait l’extrémité du membre. C’est sur un recensement dépassant le seul domaine délien qu’on pourrait valablement raisonner.”14 Sixth, the graffito of Lucius Aufidius is difficult to evaluate, first of all because its precise location is nowhere recorded.15 Similar graffiti with names of Italians written in Greek or Latin were found in three other houses of Delos, notably twice in courtyards and once in a small living and reception room (Le Dinahet 2001: 104–6; Ferrary, Hasenohr, and Le Dinahet 2002: 189, 199, 203–4, 219; Trümper 2005a: 355–56n89). In two cases, the names were accompanied by other words, not always understood; in the third, the Latin names are framed by some Greek letters. Greek names and various puns and short phrases are recorded in several more houses (Bruneau 2006: 316–19, 412–13), and there may have been, in general, many more text graffiti in Delian houses, but they were obviously difficult to recognize even immediately after the excavation or may not, if not sufficiently literary, have roused enough interest.16 While a comprehensive study of graffiti in Delos, both textual and graphic, is missing so far, an analysis of text graffiti from Pompeii by Martin Langner shows that names were by far the most popular text type in all different contexts (Langner 2001: 22–24). Furthermore, Langner argues convincingly that nothing can be concluded regarding the author of a graffito, except the fact that he could write; he could just as well have written his own name, but also that of another person. In general, Langner recognizes graffiti, especially those in houses, as a popular means of communication, and not just as scribbles of low-status persons. They must have been well tolerated or even highly appreciated by patrons of houses and may have reflected their reputation as hosts. In sum, the relationship between Lucius Aufidius and the

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author of the two graffiti recording his name and the House of the Lake cannot be determined, and this person or the graffiti reveal nothing about the function of this building.17 To conclude, contextualizing the House of the Lake in Delian domestic architecture shows that there is no evidence to identify this building as an— even purpose-built—taberna deversoria or brothel. The identifying criteria used by Rauh would render up to 76% of all known Delian houses potential purpose-built brothels. While the case of Pompeii has vividly demonstrated that all attempts to calculate the ratio of brothels to inhabitants or houses in ancient cities are futile (McGinn 2002), a Delos largely dominated by the venal sex market is hardly likely. The House of the Lake should once and for all be removed from the list of potential ancient brothels and instead be returned to the group of top-quality houses in Delos. It was most likely built by a wealthy family on “leftover” terrain in a quarter where residential, commercial, religious, and entertainment buildings intermingled (as in all quarters of the city) and which does not visibly qualify as the “red-light district” of the city.

Locations of Ill Repute While the discussion so far has yielded only one relatively safely identified location for activities of ill repute in Delos, it is possible that other known buildings may also have served this function. The criteria used for the identification of such establishments are much debated, for both the Greek and the Roman worlds. A kind of maximum list for the Greek world includes the following features (Glazebrook 2011a; see Ault [Chapter 4] and also Glazebrook [Chapter 8], in this volume): • Conclusive finds, including vessels for the preparation, serving, and consumption of food and drink; coins; “erotic” objects; items for gaming; and finds pointing to female presence such as jewelry, cosmetic items, mirrors, and loomweights. Numbers may count, especially when trying to distinguish between assemblages of individual households versus those of taverns and brothels (cf. Lynch, this volume [Chapter 2]). • Location in conveniently accessible, heavy-traffic areas such as ports, agoras, or areas near city gates.

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• Exceptional size (within the context of local domestic and public architecture). • Regarding design, the organization of a considerable number of rooms (“cubicles,” “cells,” oikēmata) around a central hall or courtyard; existence of several dining rooms and bathing facilities; multiple entrances for easy accessibility. • Water supply beyond the needs of a single household. • Inscriptions, especially graffiti. In isolation, none of these features is conclusive. Instead, the most convincing identifications are based on a combination of several of these features. For example, Building Z in Athens provided, in its third phase, all of these features with the exception of inscriptions (Ault 2005b: 147–50; see Ault [Chapter 4] and also Glazebrook [Chapter 8], in this volume). The identification and especially terminology of taverns, inns, restaurants, and the like in the Roman world is much debated, and cannot be discussed here. Structural features such as masonry ser vice counters provide reliable proof, however, that food or drink was served in a location (Ellis 2004). For the identification of brothels in Pompeii, Andrew Wallace-Hadrill and Thomas McGinn have defined three characteristics: “the structural evidence of a masonry bed set in a small cell of ready access to the public,” “the presence of paintings of explicit sexual scenes,” and “a cluster of graffiti of the hic bene futui type” (Wallace-Hadrill 1995: 52; McGinn 2002: 8). Furthermore, for McGinn a building qualifies as a brothel only if it had sex as its main business and allowed several prostitutes to work simultaneously (McGinn 2002: 11). From a methodological point of view, an additional problem arises because one must clearly differentiate whether structures were purpose-built as brothels (or taverns, etc.); were multifunctional, providing— among other things— facilities for drinking, gambling, and prostitution; or were only later transformed into brothels or taverns. Only one ancient building can be identified as a purpose-built independent brothel so far, notably the Lupanar in Pompeii. All other buildings identified as potential brothels obviously were built for multiple functions, or have no distinctive plans that would clearly discriminate them from other building types, such as shops, workshops, modest commercialresidential complexes, inns, and so forth. It must be clearly emphasized that no building of the Hellenistic period could safely be identified as brothel so far, either purpose-built monofunctional, purpose-built multifunctional, or later transformed for use as brothel. There is no conclusive evidence to suggest

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that brothels looked more or less alike in Greco-Roman antiquity from the Archaic through the Imperial periods, and had the same plans and requirements in the different areas of the Mediterranean. If the criteria that were successfully used to identify brothels in Classical Athens and Early Imperial Pompeii are applied to the archaeological evidence of Late Hellenistic Delos, the following picture emerges. Although Delos had a large Italian-Roman population, none of the features of Pompeian brothels and bars, which partially may date back to the Late Republican period, can be discovered. Masonry beds and ser vice counters are absent. The walls were decorated in the so-called Masonry style that leaves little space for figurative paintings, except for small friezes. While three of the seventeen friezes from Delian houses show erōtes, none depicts obvious erotic-sexual scenes (Kreeb 1988: 55–57, 62). More extended figurative scenes were almost exclusively painted on façades, in connection with the cult of the Lares Compitales (Hasenohr 2003). No erotic graffiti—texts or images— could be recognized, but they seem, in general, to have been rarely found outside Pompeii (Langner 2001: 22–24, 61–62). Turning to the criteria used for the Greek world, comprehensive, conclusive find assemblages were rarely preserved and sufficiently published in Delos.18 While water supply was crucial on the island, the capacity alone cannot serve to identify the function of a building, as demonstrated in the case of the House of the Lake. The numerous inscriptions of Delos do not record a porneion. Other words, however, that, according to Glazebrook (2011a), may denominate a brothel in a specific context are attested, notably ergastērion and oikēma (Hellmann 1992: 138–40, 288–90). The real estate property of Apollo’s sanctuary included both rentable ergastēria and oikēmata. Ergastēria seem to have been ground-floor rooms that were mostly attached to houses and used as workshops. Oikēmata were included in houses, civic, and religious buildings and served various purposes, such as storage, drinking, and accommodation, but obviously were mostly exploited as shops and workshops. They were often rented in groups and could be either part of a larger structure or independent buildings. Ergastēria and especially oikēmata may well have been used for drinking, gambling, and prostitution, but this is naturally not recorded in Apollo’s counts. Furthermore, none of them can be identified in the archaeological record. This leaves location, size, and design as criteria for the identification of potential houses of pleasure. Location is probably not as important in Delos as in large cities such as Athens. Most of the buildings currently excavated are

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close to the main harbor or at least to a secondary harbor (at the eastern side of the island), and while a placement at the harbor or coast could have been particularly convenient for people who just passed quickly through Delos, to reach buildings in the Skardhana and Theater Quarters would not have taken more than a five- to ten-minute walk.19 Unusually remote buildings, however, such as the above-mentioned House of Fourni, would have been unfavorably located for a business of ill repute. High-traffic areas are clearly marked by the number of shops and often the pavement of streets and squares, and they include the quays on the coast; streets adjacent to the Apollo Sanctuary; the Theater Street and Street 5 in the Theater Quarter; and the Lions’ Terrace and the area to the north and east of the Sacred Lake (Trümper 2003: figs. 1–4; Karvonis 2008). Most promising are architectural criteria, which allow, in a kind of exclusion process, for the distinction of buildings that were not private residences, but had some commercial function. Delos provides evidence of several buildings with a series of rooms organized around a central courtyard. This is, however, a rational plan that was used in many different cultures for multiple purposes such as storage, accommodation of many people (often temporary), and sale of goods. Such buildings are variously called inns, hostelries, khans, caravanserais, fondachi, and warehouses, but the plan was also used for other buildings such as barracks, monasteries, and educational institutions. Consequently, determining the one single or at least predominating function of such buildings is often difficult. This also applies to the Delian examples, which are briefly discussed here.

The Granite Palaistra The so-called Granite Palaistra is located in the Skardhana Quarter. It has a roughly rectangular plan and a ground-floor surface area of 1,887 m2 (Fig. 5.4). The main entrance was in the west on the crossing of two secondary streets and led to a large vestibule (A) with a staircase to an upper story (a). A secondary entrance (F) in the east opened to an area that was limited by the retaining wall of the city’s hippodrome. The large central peristyle-courtyard includes a large reservoir with four chambers and is surrounded by a portico with two lateral rooms (D, E) in the north and sixteen rooms on the other three sides: four rooms of roughly equal size in the east (F–I), of which F served as secondary entrance and I had a well; in the south, four small rooms of roughly

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Figure  5.4. Delos, Granite Palaistra: plan. Bruneau and Ducat 2005: 241, fig. 69. © École française d’Athènes.

equal size (K–N) and an elongated corner room ( J); in the west, two large rooms (B and S with annex R), the vestibule (A), and a small room (C); and in the southwest corner, a suite of small ser vice rooms, among them a latrine (O– Q). The rooms on the courtyard can be subdivided by size into three different groups: 75 to 79 m2 (B, S), 44 m2 (E, G, H, I), and 17 to 25 m2 (C, K–N).20 Most of the rooms were entirely independent, opening to the courtyard with a door (none of which has preserved a threshold) and often also with one or two windows (B, G, H, I, S). With the exception of Latrine O and Room N, no ground-floor room has preserved remains of pavement or wall painting. Marble door and window frames, of which some fragments were found, may originally have adorned the ground-floor rooms. The upper story, whose precise extension and plan is unknown, was much better appointed, with marble porticoes (versus largely granite equivalents on

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the ground floor); at least one exedra with Ionic marble architecture; lavish wall paintings including figurative friezes; mosaics; and possibly marble furniture (benches) (Delorme 1961: 23–24; Bruno 1985: 46–49, plates X–XIII; Bruneau and Ducat 2005: 120, fig. 26). Hardly any finds are mentioned in the publication: • elements of benches in F and G (possibly from the upper story) • two marble cippi in G; two large amphoras dug into the earth and “des produits qui donnent à penser que cette salle a été, une fois le bâtiment désaffecté, remployée à des fins commerciales” in J, which also had some kind of storage shelf along the north wall • “domestic” objects such as tables, mortars, and oil presses, without mention of their find spot • three sekomata for measuring liquids “à l’intérieur des chambres” • a bronze portrait head in S • a statue base for Triarius in G • a dedication of the lampadarch Diodotos for Hermes in N, in the debris a bit above floor level (IG XI, 4, 1455; third century BCE) • a stele with a decree and ephebic graffiti in F (IG XI, 4, 686; third century BCE) • the base of a Herm with graffiti from an unknown findspot (Avezou and Picard 1913: 8–12; Delorme 1961: 30–31, 64, 67, 72) Three bases of marble statuettes with some kind of support, today situated in three different, not precisely mentioned spots of the building, were published later (Bruneau 2006: 417–19). No obvious places were found in the building though, such as built socles or large niches, for the display of sculpture and other items.21 The history of this building is not entirely clear. It was built after 167/166 BCE over earlier structures. According to Jean Delorme, the peristyle, whose stylobate was elevated about 0.80 m above the level of the porticoes, and the cistern, whose roofing was at the same level as the stylobate, as well as the upper-story rooms, would have been added later. No date is given, however, nor is this crucial remodeling linked to Delorme’s reconstruction of the building’s use. Given the overall clearly organized plan of the building, the enormous size of the courtyard (960 m2), and the necessity of water supply from the beginning, it is much more likely that peristyle and cistern belonged to the original plan or had at least predecessors.

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Discussing the possible function of this building, Delorme (1961: 68–69) excludes several possibilities: domestic because of the size and overall design; hostelry because equivalents in Olympia (Leonideion) and Epidauros (“Katagogeion”) are much larger and differently organized; commercial or industrial use because of the considerable distance from the port, insufficient accessibility, and existence of a portico and upper story; and clubhouse of an association because the safely identified clubhouse of the Poseidoniasts of Berytos with its (wrongly identified) three courtyards and large assembly room had a different plan. He votes for use as a palaistra, although the plan would be in many aspects unusual and the astonishingly few finds pointing to this function could well have been deposited in this building after its abandonment. The attribution of these finds to the building is indeed questionable because of the early date of the datable inscriptions (third century BCE), the find spot in debris above floor level, and finally the fact that agonistic texts were found somewhat dispersed in the entire island (Avezou and Picard 1913: 8–9; Delorme 1961: 68; Moretti 1996: 627–39, 634–35). The “domestic” and “commercial” objects, which do not agree well with Delorme’s interpretation, are assigned by him to a later, not precisely dated phase when the palaistra would have been diverted from its intended use to serve as some commercial or industrial building (while obviously some of the palaistra furniture would have been maintained). In its final period of use after 69 BCE the building would have served as barracks for Triarius’s soldiers, who set up here a statue in his honor (ID 1856). In these last two phases of use, the bathing facilities of the palaistra, identified in Rooms Q and R, would have been destroyed. A large furnace in the northwestern corner of Room S most likely belonged to a very late, not closely datable use of the building, possibly serving as a lime kiln. Although a comprehensive list of finds with their find spots and a detailed discussion of their possible relation to the building’s use cannot be provided here, some critical remarks are possible, mainly based on the architectural evidence. First of all, it is strange that the Delians would have built a second palaistra immediately next to the Sea Palaistra, which had been constructed in the third century and completely remodeled in the second century BCE. More impor tant, the plan with its many barely distinguished, fully closed rooms of equal size is without parallel among the safely identified palaistrae of the Greek world. Instead, it suggests that the Granite Palaistra may well have been some kind of multifunctional inn-hostelry, which also could have served for activities of ill repute on an elevated level.22 The northern portico may have been used for agreeable sojourns, strolls, or “outdoor” banquets,

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while Rooms B and S (with its attached Ser vice Room R) could have accommodated large groups for drinking and dining parties. The middle-sized and smallest rooms around the courtyard may also have served for assemblies of differently sized groups or for accommodation (with the exception of I with its well); the dark, unfavorably cut Room J obviously was a storage room. If bathing facilities ever existed—which is highly questionable (Trümper 2008: 252–53)— they were located in Room Q, conveniently grouped with the latrine.23 The upper story provided additional rooms—some of them apparently lavishly decorated, intricately designed, and well-lit through large colonnaded doorways—and could have served basically the same functions as the ground floor, albeit probably for a wealthier and more pretentious clientele. Accessibility and water supply also seem appropriate for a hostelry. Figurative friezes are overall rare in Delian wall painting and a sign of luxury, wealth, and social aspirations (Bruneau and Ducat 2005: 123–24). Since they are not yet fully published, the topics chosen in the Granite Palaistra can be only preliminarily assessed. The fragments were found in two different places, notably in the northwestern corner of the courtyard and the northwestern “exterior” room. Those from the courtyard show on a black background a running figure with remains of a panther and other figures, interpreted cautiously as a Dionysiac scene. The others depict on a red-brown background a tree, panther, and nude warriors; round altar; figures seated on rocks; a pair of nude fighters; a sacrificial ram; and a quadriga; and on a black background persons reclining and running, a horse, and wheels of a cart; and a person holding a caduceus (Delorme 1961: 23–24; Bruno 1985: 46–49, plates X–XIII). Recently, these different scenes were summarized as follows, but without further explanation: “La Palestre de granit était décorée de sujets relatifs aux compétitions sportives: lutteurs à la palestre, courses de chars, scènes de conversation, de chasse et de nature cérémonielle” (Bruneau and Ducat 2005: 120, fig. 26). The broad thematic variety may astonish, but the frieze fragments obviously belonged to at least two and probably even more different ensembles, and the topics seem to fit well into the general Delian decorative repertoire (Kreeb 1988). Even the allusion to the athletic world is not necessarily conclusive for the building’s function, but finds parallels in mosaics of several houses and club buildings (Bruneau 1972: 73–76, 106–9). While it must be emphasized that finds, and particularly their attribution to this building, currently cannot be comprehensively evaluated, the mundane “domestic” and “commercial” finds (which, in general, tend not to be displaced as much after the abandonment of a building as more valu-

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able, reusable items) fit intriguingly well to the hostelry theory. They suggest that food and drink were processed, stored, “officially” measured, served, and consumed here. Finally, if the Granite Palaistra ever really served as a barracks,24 a hostelry could more easily be used as such than a palaistra, requiring no significant changes in the plan. As a comparison one may cite the Quadriportico behind the Large Theater of Pompeii, whose transformation into gladiatorial barracks after 62 CE necessitated the addition of a series of small rooms on all four sides (Poehler and Ellis 2013). In contrast, Triarius’s soldiers would have found the Granite Palaistra ideally designed and equipped for their needs.

Warehouses The coast to the south of the main harbor was lined with warehouses, five of which have been excavated (Magasins α–γ: 550–600 m 2; Magasin δ/à la baignoire: 900 m2; Magasin des colonnes: 1900 m2; Jardé 1905: 6–40, 1906; Duchêne 2001: 107–12; Trümper 2003: 138–40, 2011b: 63–65; Karvonis 2008: 198–209; Hasenohr 2012). It is usually assumed that the warehouses were not constructed before 167/166 BC, but more precise dates cannot be given. Alterations within the buildings were usually minor. The warehouses have a uniform layout, but are of different size. They were entered by long corridors that were integrated into rows of independent shops opening off to the western quay (Fig. 5.5). The buildings themselves centered around a courtyard that served rooms on the northern, eastern, and southern sides, and comprised a simple peristyle (only of wood in the Magasins α and δ; the Magasin des colonnes had two additional secondary courtyards). The rooms had doors that could be locked, but their earthen floors and simple stucco suggest that they were used as storerooms or magazines. Four warehouses had a second row of shops opening in the east onto Street 5, one of city’s main commercial roads.25 None of the warehouses was provided with a fresh water supply; however, at the northeast corner of Magasin δ was an independent room with three street entrances that most likely served as the public water supply for the area, including the warehouse. All the warehouses had an upper story, which was always accessible independently: by stairs next to the ground-floor entrance; by entrances from Street 5, which was situated on the level of the upper stories; or by staircases in independent rooms. According to finds from Magasin δ and Magasin des colonnes, the upper rooms were decorated much more lavishly than the

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Figure 5.5. Delos, Magasins α–γ: plan. Hasenohr 2012: 251, fig. 3. © Claire Hasenohr and Jean-Charles Moretti.

ground-floor equivalents with polychrome figurative wall paintings and mosaics ( Jardé 1905: 25–32, 1906: 656). Sculpture finds from Magasins β and γ include the fragment of a tree trunk, four marble female statuettes, among them one Aphrodite “nouant sa chevelure,” and the limestone statuette of a Satyr; the statuettes are not attributed to the ground or upper floor in the publication, however (Jardé 1905: 16). The upper rooms most probably served not as simple storerooms, but rather as offices or temporary lodgings for merchants who had stored their goods on the ground floor or were trading in the products dealt in the given warehouse. Evidence of cultic space was found on the ground floor of the Magasin des colonnes, in the form of simple niches with liturgical paintings in the main and the northern courtyard. Magasin δ also had a niche in the courtyard that was lavishly framed by stucco columns and could have housed a (divine?) statue, and an altar and liturgical paintings on its north façade, framing the entrance to an independent room that possibly housed a staircase to the upper story (Jardé 1905: 24–25, fig. 3, 1906: 657–58, Hasenohr 2003: 220).

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The warehouses were never published beyond brief preliminary reports, which barely mention any finds, and it is unclear whether any conclusive assemblages could be reconstructed today. Finds include one uninscribed sekoma (from Magasin β, Room 2) and several inscribed sekomata, among them each one from Magasins α–γ (ID 1827–1828; third example unpublished, found 2006; Hasenohr 2012: 250–57), which had been dedicated by Ariarathes, epimeletes of the emporion. A fourth sekoma dedicated by him was found reused to the south of the sanctuary of Apollo. And a fifth inscribed sekoma dedicated by the proconsul C. Iulius C. f. Caesar was discovered in a room of the northern neighbor of Magasin α (ID 1847). The latter was honored by the olearii on a circular marble base, which was found near Magasins β and γ and could originally have been placed in a warehouse (ID 1712). The sekomata show that officially sanctioned negotiations took place in the warehouses. The inscription of the olearii suggests that professional groups did their business in specific warehouses, and it cannot be excluded that they also owned and managed warehouses. These warehouses were obviously intended for long- distance wholesale trade, and provided the necessary amenities like storerooms, salesrooms, business offices, and temporary accommodations for traveling merchants. The best typological comparisons are khans, caravanserais, or funduqs: multistoried buildings with a central courtyard and space for the storage, trading, and sale of goods as well as lodgings. Many of these also offered entertainment of all sorts in the evenings, including venal sex. Because of the convenient location on the coast and the design— a series of roughly equally sized rooms around a central courtyard—the Delian warehouses, notably their better appointed upper stories, would well qualify as taverns-inns-brothels, serving a quickly changing clientele of sailors and merchants. It must be emphasized, however, that these warehouses lack one of the most important features for housing and entertaining people on a larger scale and regular basis, namely, water supply— and also other convenient amenities such as latrines, which were common in Delian houses, clubhouses, and possible inns (Trümper 2011a), and bathing facilities, although these were rather rare in Delos (Trümper 2008: 250–58, 2010a). On the other hand, the liturgical paintings may indicate that at least some warehouses were inhabited on a more permanent basis. Thus, until a comprehensive study of these buildings possibly allows for a reconstruction of more conclusive find assemblages, the function of the “warehouses” cannot fully be assessed. It seems questionable, however, that Magasin α was, from the beginning, built to accommodate a regular and

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important prostitution business that had to be advertised by a phallus on its southwest corner.

Conclusion The critical analysis of archaeological evidence for locations of ill repute in Delos has shown that only one single complex can be identified with some certainty as a place for the sale and consumption of wine. In contrast, systematically contextualizing the House of the Lake within local domestic and public architecture has shown that its identification as a purpose-built brothel or taberna deversoria cannot be maintained. Delos provides numerous tabernae and small complexes that may well have functioned as taverns or small brothels, but in the absence of any conclusive features such as built structures, decoration, or fi nd assemblages, no examples can be determined with any confidence. Because of specific architectural features, notably size and design, however, several buildings such as the Granite Palaistra and the warehouses on the coast may qualify as multifunctional commercial-residential buildings that could be used by many people, including possibly for activities of ill repute. Other buildings in Delos may have been appropriate and popular places for gambling, drinking, and prostitution, such as the so-called Hôtellerie and the single public (or semipublic) bath in the Theater Quarter, which included strangely few bathing facilities, a reception room, a latrine, and upstairs quarters (Trümper 2006a). Ultimately, however, it must remain unknown for now where the permanent residents and visitors of Delos went to enjoy activities of ill repute.

chapter 6

Dining and the Cult of Aphrodite: The Function of the South Stoa at Corinth david scahill

The South Stoa at Corinth is a monumental building with a lengthy and complicated history, which begins in the early Hellenistic period and continues through the Roman period with extensive refurbishments, before the stoa’s abandonment in the fourth or fifth century CE. The function of the stoa in its Hellenistic incarnation has remained unclear, despite attempts to interpret the architecture of the building and the archaeological information provided by excavations in and around it. Th is chapter discusses the problems of identifying the function of the stoa and concentrates on the specific problem of its use during its first incarnation in the Hellenistic period. A dining function related to magistrates and a possible association with the cult of Aphrodite, and by inference so-called sacred prostitution, were first suggested by Oscar Broneer, albeit in a brief mention without discussion as to the significance of these ideas.1 The idea of sacred prostitution and the cult of Aphrodite at Corinth is already a controversial topic. The inference of prostitution by evidence from the South Stoa is thus doubly problematic. In this chapter, I do not resolve the question of the existence of sacred prostitution at Corinth as an institution or of its operation. Rather, I parse the architectural and archaeological evidence from the South Stoa, which may relate to possible civic and/or religious cult associations attributable to Aphrodite and prostitution. The questions I address here run the risk of blurring the lines between sacred, secular, and civic activities with regard to cult, although this ambiguity derives from the many functions of Greek stoas.

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According to Strabo, large-scale, institutionalized prostitution related to the cult of Aphrodite did exist at Corinth.2 Current scholarly consensus seems to lean toward discrediting his remarks.3 The archaeological record for the cult of Aphrodite at Corinth is meager and certainly falls short of providing support for Strabo’s comments.4 The placement of prostitution in the city and with the cult of Aphrodite specifically on Acrocorinth is problematic for a number of reasons, outlined first by Williams and on religious grounds by PirenneDelforge.5 The temple of Aphrodite on Acrocorinth and the surrounding area was not a possible location for a large congregation of prostitutes. Leaving aside the association of prostitution with the cult of Aphrodite for a moment, I would hesitate to completely dismiss the possibility that prostitution in a city such as Corinth could have been put under city control in some form. If this is a possibility, is it not then possible to read Strabo’s remarks as reflecting an institutional control of a profession that by inference was related to Aphrodite? If we look elsewhere in the city for a logical location for prostitution, we must first assess the criteria for a building or building type that could support such activities. As Trümper has pointed out in this volume (Chapter 5), no single building type exists, nor can we say that any building was a purposebuilt brothel, although a list of features has been assembled to identify potential locations for prostitution in the Greek period.6 I would also argue the import of privacy, provided by rooms, or “cubicles,” but possibly including spaces not typically thought of as private, though secluded during certain periods of the day and night. Th is leaves a number of possibilities open for consideration. Since we are possibly speaking about a large-scale institutionalized form of prostitution at Corinth, the picture changes somewhat. In this case, the building would have to be large enough to handle and control traffic. Therefore, could a stoa with rooms have been used as a brothel? The function of stoas often proves difficult to interpret beyond generalizations. The use of architectural space can and does change over time, often by extending the initial intended function of a building. One reason for extension is the amount of time during which buildings were in use. Another reason is the expedient function of buildings for any number of activities. The identification of function is often tenuously based on circumstantial evidence, as when one or more functions are designated by small finds in primary and secondary contexts, or on architectural design. Both avenues, however, only hint at the full potential of possibilities. Designation of building function falls into four broad categories: public, domestic, ritual, and commercial (or a combination of these). In monumental architecture, stoas are among the most

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adaptable buildings and without a singular function. Stoas certainly are public buildings and therefore different from domestic buildings, although many domestic activities are witnessed in them. They have a prolonged period of occupation, so that any occupational debris that accumulates in earlier periods of the building’s life has long since been discarded, often somewhere off-site.7 Stoas are also multifunctional due to the inherent nature of their design, essentially a colonnade that may be backed by rooms used for any number of functions. Their multifunction potential increases in relation to the number of the rooms available and is limited only by the location of the building, whether in a domestic, public, or sanctuary context. The opportunistic use of a stoa becomes especially relevant when analyzing its possible use by a profession as opportunistic as prostitution. With a footprint of approximately 165 meters, the South Stoa at Corinth occupied the entire southern length of the open valley located to the south of Temple Hill. The building was initially designed with thirty-three rooms, with an annex-room behind each, fronted by a Doric colonnade and an interior Ionic colonnade (Fig. 6.1). An upper story, evidenced by a staircase at the west end of the building, also existed, and all but two of the lower-floor rooms were equipped with a well. In a volume on his excavation results within the building, Broneer dated the construction of the South Stoa to the second half of the fourth century BCE, and he linked a series of kantharoi and other dining material found in the wells to drinking parties within the stoa.8 He also suggested that the rooms of the stoa on the lower floor served as a kind of tavern and that the wells inside the rooms were for chilling wine, while the upperfloor rooms served as sleeping compartments.9 By virtue of the date and the association of dining and drinking, he further suggested that the stoa was built to house the delegates of the Corinthian League initiated by Philip after the Battle of Chaeronea in 337 BCE.10 The exact nature of the function of the rooms, however, has remained unknown since Broneer’s publication. Recent analysis of pottery recovered from a deposit beneath the stoa terrace by McPhee and Pemberton, together with my research on the design and function of the South Stoa, have made it necessary to modify several of Broneer’s conclusions. The initial plans for the construction of the stoa may have begun under Philip II, but the completion of the building should be amended to ca. 300 BCE, based on the closing date of a drain deposit beneath the terrace in front of the building. This deposit provides a terminus post quem for the construction of the terrace and subsequent construction of the front of the stoa.11 Based on analysis of the architecture, I conclude that a date from

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Figure 6.1. Plan of the South Stoa, third c. BCE. Drawing by author.

the end of the fourth century BCE to the beginning of the third century BCE is likely on stylistic grounds, while the architectural details of the building do not allow a date much later than the beginning of the third century BCE.12 The stoa thus cannot have been completed for the Corinthian League, founded by Philip several decades prior and dissolved in 322 BCE. Rather, the stoa may have been completed for a refounding of the league by Demetrios in 302 BCE.13 The reasoning for such an assumption is circumstantial, although the construction date is in accord with Demetrios’s activity at Corinth. The stoa is also an extremely well-designed building, which rivals the most advanced contemporary temple architecture in the Peloponnese.14 This advanced design, together with signs of use for dining and ample space for a hostel in the stoa, raises the probability of its use for official purposes other than commercial. Beginning in the Classical period and continuing into the early Hellenistic period, stoas of special importance were given extra care in design, with the South Stoa certainly fitting into this category.15 The building also is situated in a conspicuous and open public space, on the southern edge of the later Roman forum of Corinth. From the Classical to (at least) the Roman period, this open space was occupied by several cult installations, as well as a running track possibly used for torch races.16 In addition to the use of the stoa by magistrates, the association of cults in the area raises another possibility for use of the stoa that demands further investigation, as we shall see.

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If the South Stoa was constructed for a refounding of the league by Demetrios, it would have been an ideal location for serving and housing delegations in attendance. Th is scenario is problematic, since the meeting place of the delegation of magistrates and the particulars of the meetings are unknown. Furthermore, the first meeting of the league was convened at the Isthmus during the Isthmian Games, not at Corinth, although Corinth became the de facto headquarters of the Antigonids in the Peloponnese and a plausible site for delegates to convene in subsequent meetings. Even if the stoa was built for the league, the convening of delegates would have been intermittent and would have allowed for other purposes during periods when magistrates did not meet. In any event, the league was short lived, as after the mid-third century BCE the Antigonids began to lose their hold over Corinth. The city was eventually turned over to the Achaean League in 243 BCE, at which point the stoa was available for other activities. Granted, I do not wish to overly credit this hypothesis, but it is possible that an impetus arose with Philip II and continued to the mid-third century BCE in Corinth for building activity subsidized or initiated by the Macedonians (and particularly the Antigonids) that may have included the South Stoa.17 The material recovered from the wells in the stoa includes household coarse wares, as well as kitchen wares, amphoras, wine kraters, and pitchers, all of which were both necessary for dining and typical of household assemblages. With this material were several kantharoi inscribed with names of deities connected to Dionysos.18 These drinking cups especially suggest that the rooms were used for drinking parties. Astragaloi, fragments of gaming tables, and bone and ivory flutes also were found, further bolstering this claim.19 While these objects provide tantalizing evidence for banqueting in the stoa, I question the attribution of all material from the wells to the function of the rooms, although I cannot fully reject it. The pottery and other material can be dated from the late fourth to early second centuries BCE, with a large portion as debris dumped into the wells after the stoa went out of use following Mummius’s destruction of Corinth in 146 BCE.20 This destruction debris includes many broken architectural elements of the superstructure from the initial phase of the stoa, while other material could have been in use within the rooms prior to destruction and disuse of the wells. The debris in the wells, however, does include material not just from the stoa but also from the general vicinity.21 Moreover, there is also a long chronological span of material accumulated in the wells, while the filling of the wells likely occurred relatively rapidly. It remains unclear how much of this material was in use in the rooms

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or how it was deposited in the wells. The excavators were clear that the material was deposited not in discrete stratified dumps over a long period, but rather during a major cleanup effort in the early Roman period, therefore possibly incorporating material from a wider area. If some of this material represents activity in the rooms, then any question of drinking or dining in the stoa must address such activity as would have occurred there. I have elsewhere discussed the criteria for assigning dining functions to buildings and the need for a new conceptual framework for this identification to take account of size, building type, and location.22 These identifiers can be found in very different types of buildings and in a variety of settings, including private, public and sacred spaces. I reiterate the key factors: 1. Rooms with evidence for klinai and often off-center doorways 2. Material remains that suggest dining associated with the use of rooms (pottery, etc.) 3. Rooms, especially in or near sanctuaries, that other wise do not have a clear function The size of the lower story rooms in the South Stoa (ca. 5 × 5 m) is not ideal for a standard dining arrangement of couches and tables around the perimeter (Fig. 6.2). As a proviso, I am not convinced that a standard couch size existed in the ancient Greek world, although typical rooms with klinai tend to be larger.23 The rooms do have ample space for benches, even though wells block part of the foot traffic space. As for private activities, the rooms of the lower level appear to be too spacious for intimacy. Less evidence exists concerning the upper-floor arrangement of the stoa, although the wall lines should basically follow the lower story for structural stability.24 Partition walls could have been installed, in which case any arrangement of upper-floor space allowed further division of rooms and provided possible private areas for intimacy. Access to the upper story was by way of a staircase at the west end and (perhaps) another at the east end, the only means through which one likely reached the upperfloor rooms of the stoa from the ground floor in the Hellenistic period. This arrangement is typical in stoa design (e.g., the Stoa of Attalos in Athens) and does not necessarily identify upper-floor space as private, even though it raises the possibility. In the rooms of the lower story, no direct evidence for klinai exists. The off-center doorways suggest a couch arrangement around the perimeter, although modified from the usual layout due to room size and forced closer

Figure 6.2. Back rooms of the South Stoa at the west end, with principal dimensions for the interior space of the rooms. Drawing by author.

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Figure 6.3. Perspective of the backrooms showing room layout with possible bench and couch arrangements. View from south. Drawing by author.

together by the wells.25 While the couches possibly were made of wood and arranged in a different way within the rooms, another type of accommodation (e.g., benches) is also possible (Fig. 6.3). As for the placement of a dining facility or hostel near an open public space, the question remains what kind of dining may have occurred. Broneer cited the inscribed kantharoi discussed above as a clear connection to Dionysos. Williams further cited the possibility of technitai related to Dionysos and of other cults celebrated with banqueting.26 This idea makes sense because the valley in front of the stoa was delegated as space for various cults at least from the Classical period extending into the Hellenistic period. If rooms were for cult-related dining, how might we explain the abundance of wells? Each of the rooms (save two) has a well, and no logical reason for such an amount of water has been postulated. I am aware of only two other stoas from the Greek world with a series of wells inside their rooms, with neither having as many. These are the Hellenistic stoa at Kameiros on Rhodes and the very early Hellenistic stoa in the agora of Pella.27 The stoa at

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Kameiros, on the edge of an agora, has been assigned a probable commercial function due to its location. The stoa in the agora at Pella has been assigned a commercial function related to pottery production, as many rooms contained stacked pots ready for market. At Pella, while the wells perhaps were needed for industrial activity related to pottery production or other industry, production seemingly was done off-site. Although the rooms here may have been used as shops for storage and distribution, the purpose of the wells remains a mystery. Regarding Broneer’s proposal for the use of the South Stoa wells, while a tavern would need water, Broneer went further in suggesting that the wells primarily chilled wine (Fig. 6.4). While refrigeration was one possible use of the wells, their primary function likely was to supply fresh water for other uses. Under the stoa, a broad channel, which ran the full length of the building, brought fresh water from the Peirene spring into the wells by way of feeder channels (Fig. 6.5). Th is enormous engineering feat required connection to an underground channel that ran from the Peirene spring at the northeast diagonally across the open area in front of the stoa. The wells were clearly designed to provide fresh water, not a necessary component for cooling, since a deep pit or underground storage vessel would suffice. If  the wells also provided refrigeration, I would argue that this use was secondary. The wells thus still are problematic, as no obvious need exists for so many in such close proximity. Given the cult aspect of the area, and such an abundant amount of fresh water, it would seem necessary to address the possibility of purification or ritual cleansing in separate rooms of the stoa. Consistent with this reading, at the back of the stoa, a drainage channel with basins, interpreted tentatively as a series of latrines, is situated behind each room. These basins, however, could also remove general wastewater.28 This particular type of drainage installation behind the stoa is not paralleled elsewhere during this period to my knowledge, and latrines are of a distinctly different character in the Roman period. Both the wells and the so-called latrines associated with the stoa were constructed at the same time or shortly after the construction of the stoa, either for its initial function or as an alteration of the room function in the early third century BCE. In addition, both installations show a high degree of engineering in their construction, as they brought an abundance of fresh water into the stoa, while simultaneously providing a large amount of waste removal

Figure  6.4. Section through stoa showing well and underground channel connection to the Peirene water system. Drawing by author.

Figure  6.5. Plan view of the wells and underground water channels connected to the Peirene water system. Drawing by author.

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behind the stoa. These installations served either an industrial function, for which no corroborating evidence exists, or possibly a civic cult function, for which we do have some circumstantial evidence related to the aforementioned drinking and entertainment.29 The use of wells in rooms for ritual purification on such a large scale remains to be addressed, but I believe that this evidence supports a ritual or cultic function for the South Stoa. The possibility of cult activity related to Aphrodite being practiced in the South Stoa is perhaps bolstered by reinterpreting the use of the wells, if they were for ritual purification and if her cult was celebrated in the area. Keeping in mind the problems of associating material from the wells with activity in the stoa, I support Broneer’s original interpretation of the building with modifications. I suggest that if the stoa was a public building with no obvious commercial function, the possibility exists of its use for dining or entertaining magistrates, given its design, location, and date. Furthermore, the wells could have supplied fresh water not only for large-scale drinking and entertainment, but also for purification associated with cult activity related to Dionysos as well as Aphrodite, among other deities. In support of this dual function, I cite a passage in Xenophon, who refers to a fourth-century festival at Thebes, during which outgoing magistrates celebrated a farewell banquet in honor of Aphrodite.30 Is it possible that a similar event occurred at Corinth related to the goddess, whose temple was on Acrocorinth, but whose civic cult identity could have been celebrated in the South Stoa, an appropriate building initially constructed for magistrates and with all accoutrements necessary for such activity? Additional evidence that links the South Stoa to cult activity in the area was recovered from a deep level in the foundations of Room 3. Under the floor level in this room was found a votive deposit that includes terracotta shields, plaques, and female figurines.31 The figurines are a generic type. The first of two types of scenes on the plaques represents a generic scene of a horse and rider. The second series depicts a reclining banqueter (hero?), with some plaques showing a female attendant at the foot of the bed, an extremely interesting scene in light of the ritual associations already mentioned. Both types of scenes are represented in fairly large numbers from excavations around the area. Their placement deep in the foundations of the stoa has not been definitively explained. The find spot of this deposit has been cited as problematic for dating the building, as the votive material may date into the mid-third century BCE. Broneer believed that the floors in some rooms may not have been finished until much later, after the building was constructed.32 Another possibility is

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that a disturbance in the original clay floor was caused by gradual repairs in the room, with the deposit inserted during reflooring. Do the reclining banqueter scenes reflect the activity taking place within the building? Do these finds imply that this room was used for storage and distribution of these cultrelated items? The suggestion that this material represents a ritual deposit may overreach, but it is located inside a building with much circumstantial evidence of use for banqueting and cult activities. Regardless, these scenes have been taken to represent a hero cult.33 Concerning the original problem of the association of prostitution in the South Stoa, the building does possess many elements necessary for such activity: individual rooms with controlled access, a large quantity of fresh water, latrines, and even a back alley.34 The association of symposia and banqueting by magistrates in the stoa and a plausible relation to cult activity in the immediate area lend credence to a connection with the famous cult of Aphrodite at Corinth and, by association, prostitution. The tenuous nature of linking Aphrodite with cult activity in the area of the South Stoa, rather than on Acrocorinth, where her temple was located, is strengthened if the stoa hosted a multitude of cults at any given time for banqueting related to cult.35 Furthermore, if Aphrodite is worshipped in the South Stoa alongside reveling banqueters, one may easily envision more salacious activities in the proceedings, but this raises the question of appropriate behavior vis-à-vis cult practice. We would have to reconcile banqueting, symposia, and the like, related to religious cult activity, with the idea of pollution. Perhaps, since we are dealing with a building in a public area and not in a sanctuary space, this is possible. If banqueting occurred in the stoa regardless of the god or goddess honored (as the evidence suggests), ample evidence for bawdy behavior in literature and inscribed on symposium pots suggests that circumstances were ripe for the business of prostitution.36 The issue of prostitution as an institution controlled by the city remains a question. The placement of prostitution in a public building like the South Stoa would have facilitated its regulation by the city, but there is virtually no evidence that connects such an enterprise directly to the building. An additional problem is the location of this activity in relation to public or religious space, which requires further study of the architectural spaces in which prostitution could have occurred. Aeschines’ placement of oikēmata for prostitution close to the agora begs this question: how close is close?37 Should we not see a need for distancing places of prostitution from open public spaces with cult activity?

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Although one may expect that brothels were in lower-class establishments or less well-appointed buildings, Xenophon’s Memorabilia depicts the brothel of Theodote as well appointed with good furnishings.38 Thus, on the basis of this passage, a monumental building like the South Stoa could have housed such activity. While scholars have pointed to certain buildings identified as taverns and hostels as possible places for prostitution,39 I would argue that we should be careful in combining these buildings under one rubric of function based on shared features, as they differ in size, design, and location. Nevertheless, if these structures did function as dining and lodging spaces, they would certainly have been capable of supporting an atmosphere with more intimate activities of entertainment. With regard to the possible uses of these multiroomed structures, I first and foremost agree with Ault in identifying them as multifunctional.40 As to the location of prostitution in the South Stoa at Corinth, which has evidence for possible dining connected to several cults in the area, might such activity be an opportunistic enterprise, dependent on special circumstances that ultimately are related to banqueting but often more inviting for such activities, rather than attached specifically to the cult of Aphrodite? While this suggestion leaves the answer elusive, it may best reflect the reality of the situation, given the present evidence. Broneer’s original proposal for the use of the South Stoa by prostitutes is provocative, and as we have seen, the building fits the requirements in terms of amenities. Yet the stoa most probably served a number of different cults and banqueting needs. Moreover, the proximity of cult, even possibly one to Aphrodite, may have precluded such salacious activities. In a wider chronological context, the location of cult practice and dining before the construction of the South Stoa remains unknown. Evidence from buildings under and prior to the construction of the stoa does not suggest its placement in this area, and no other building at Corinth can be definitively identified as supporting activity on such a large scale. The building previously identified as a Tavern of Aphrodite, now designated simply Building III, does not have evidence for such identification and certainly would not seem to have supported dining or prostitution in any case. Although Building III does have a courtyard and rooms around it, the immediate area underlying the stoa terrace prior to the late fourth century BCE was perhaps industrial and the finds associated with Building III do not support an association with Aphrodite.41 With the sack of Corinth in 146 BC, the South Stoa sat in disrepair, with at least part of its roof destroyed. With the Roman refounding of the city in 44 BCE, the stoa

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underwent large repairs and refurbishment, including a gradual redesign of many of its rooms. Its use in the Roman period appears to have been official and related to imperial cult practices. The cult of Aphrodite Hoplismene continued into the Roman period at Corinth, by which time institutionalized prostitution, even if it existed in some earlier form in the city, had ceased to exist.42

chapter 7

Looking Inside on the Outside of a Pot amy c. smith

What evidence do vases provide of the appearance and use of nonpublic interior space in ancient Athens? To be sure, the lively figural images, both in black- and red-figure, that decorate Athenian wares provide ample illustrations of home and work life in ancient Athens, ca. 550–350 BCE,1 which scholars and their publishers are happy to use for book covers and the like (e.g., Garland 2013). Yet the evidence, namely the images on these vases, must be considered carefully (Nevett 1999: 34–52) both because the Greeks rarely drew a line between public and private and because ancient Greek painters (not just vase painters) rarely depicted any space at all. In the absence of landscape and still life (Bérard and Bron 1989: 30) they even resorted to symbolic figures or personifications to indicate local spaces or places (Smith 2011b: 27–39; Shapiro 1988). Might we also look for clues in the things that surround these people, or actors, on the vases? Indeed the actors on this stage, namely the people figured on the vases, are surrounded by items that regularly occurred in interior space. Activities and items that characterize interior space, however, might just as easily characterize exterior space: altars, for example, could be public, in open-air precincts, or private, in domestic settings. Jean-Louis Durand and François Lissarrague have already explored this issue with regard to the loutērion (basin) (Durand and Lissarrague 1980). Ancient houses, moreover, blurred the division between interior and exterior, insofar as they included and even enclosed courtyards and porticoes, in which commercial as well as domestic activities might occur. How then are we to discern nonpublic interior spaces from the myriad of spaces depicted or implied in ancient scenes on vases? When do these actors on the outside of Greek pots seem to go inside?

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To answer these questions I investigate the individual elements that hint at interior space, whether these elements build a picture of social space (activities and objects) or of architectural space (columns, doors, windows, and ladders). In my conclusion I consider under what circumstances several such elements together constitute an interior space, how that space is clarified as interior as opposed to exterior, and finally whether the interior space is real as opposed to symbolic and thus imagined. In this work I employ the broadly structuralist approach adopted for Greek vase iconography by a variety of scholars since Carl Robert (1881), as clarified by Gloria Ferrari: “As signs, images are subject to two forms of organization: syntagmatic association or a chain of signs; and paradigmatic associations, which take effect in the consciousness of the viewers, connecting a given sign with certain others on the basis of similarity, dissimilarity, or equivalence” (Ferrari 2002: 5).

Defining the House Let us begin with a drawing of the house. When a child in nursery is given the task of drawing a house, he or she invariably starts or is taught to start with a square (the exterior wall) that encloses further squares (windows) and a rectangle (door), perhaps crowned with a triangle (gabled roof ). Such a house (minus the windows) we have on an unusual and very small Greek vase, namely a red-figure salt cellar in Bonn (Fig. 7.1). The interceding horse and cart (at right), however, convey to us that the procession of individuals is outside the house (at left). The house here merely contextualizes the veiled woman, in particular, as the bride, being led by her groom away from her maternal home (Deubner 1936; on marriage processions, see also Smith 2011a and 2005). Despite Ruth Westgate’s apt reminder of the relative importance in Classical Athens of the decoration of the interior rather than the exterior of a home (Westgate 2007), in the visual arts it is far easier to articulate the outside rather than the inside of a house. In any case, the Classical house would have been quite simple and standardized. “The blank public façade presented by Classical houses may also have indicated the owner’s willingness to conform to an ethos of egalitarianism” (Westgate 2007: 236). So we should hardly expect Athenian artists to lavish much attention on illustrating exteriors of houses. And indeed house exteriors are rarely seen in toto, as on the Bonn salt cellar. Where embellishments, such as lion-headed spouts and columns, are shown,

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Figure 7.1. Drawing of the exterior of an Attic red-figure salt cellar, ca. 420 BCE, showing a bride leaving home. Bonn, Akademisches Kunstmuseum 994. Drawing by Tina Ross after F. Winter in CVA Deutschland 1, Bonn 1, p. 30.

rather, they are more likely to evoke interior spaces, as evidenced by even the rich houses excavated at Eretria (Reber 1998: 125). What, besides architectural embellishments, might we find inside the house? From an anthropological perspective, “fire is the clearest visible symbol of the place of residence” (Douglas 1973: 95). Fire, in the context of either an altar or a hearth, does indeed figure in Greek thought and iconography, but is displayed in a symbolic role at rites of passage, such as weddings and funerals. The scene of a wedding party on a white-ground pyxis attributed to the Splanchnopt Painter, ca. 440 (Fig. 7.2), shows them dancing around an altar, which here serves as an idealized version of the family hearth (Tsakirgis 2007: 230; Oakley and Sinos 1993: 34–35, fig. 98). Likewise the perideipnon or funeral banquet at the hearth of the deceased followed his or her translocation to the cemetery (Alexiou 2002: 10). Yet built-in hearths would have characterized only the most elite houses. For others, portable braziers or the like would have sufficed (Tsakirgis 2007: 230). Such household elements were as movable then as the feasts that they enhanced, so that the physical evidence of them eludes us in archaeologically attested houses, just as their appearances on the surfaces of pots do not confirm one way or another whether they were used in interior or exterior spaces, or even sanctuary or private house. A picture

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Figure 7.2. Exterior of an Attic white-ground pyxis attributed to the Splanchnopt Painter, ca. 440 BCE, showing a wedding party around an altar. London, BM 1894,0719.1 (D 11) (ARV 2 889.146; BAD 211904). © Trustees of the British Museum.

of running and seated women and even a flying female (Nike?) in a colonnaded space with a front door wraps around a pyxis in Paris.2 The women busy themselves with an altar and a loutērion. Are they in a sanctuary or a private house? The door looks remarkably like those used for private homes (as I discuss below), but the Nike might be more appropriate to a public context. Rooms are just as elusive on pots as in archaeological sites because of the wide range of uses to which each of them might be put. That is, scholars identify rooms according to functional and decorative features that might be ascribed to a particular activity. In struggling to identify the andrōn, or site of the symposium, for example, Kathleen Lynch clarifies the minimal required elements: “guests, wine, water, a mixing-bowl, a serving utensil, individual drinking cups, and a gathering place large enough to accommodate about six to fourteen guests” (Lynch 2007: 243; see also Lynch’s efforts to use ceramic evidence in distinguishing a brothel from a tavern or house in Chapter 2 of

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Figure 7.3. Interior of an Attic black-figure cup, ca. 530 BCE, showing symposiasts. Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1974.344 (BAD 396). Photo courtesy museum. © Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford.

this volume). Decorative features such as mosaic floors and colored walls might help in identification (Westgate 1997–98: 100), and one might imagine that armor and other symbols of andreia might be seen to hang on andrōn walls. Alas, half of Lynch’s required elements are not archaeologically recoverable and the vessels are rather generic, found more easily in grave sites than house sites. Finally, one did not need an architecturally defined andrōn to host an event (see Corner 2011 and Goldberg 1999: 152). Unsurprisingly, the vase images are no more specific. “Painters sometimes eliminate the legs of the klinai in symposium scenes in the interest of space. Thus, it is difficult to determine whether the viewer understood the figures to be reclining on klinai or on pillows directly on the ground” (Lynch 2007: 244). Such an image is found on the interior of a black-figure cup in Oxford (Fig. 7.3). Bert Kaeser might interpret this sympotic scene, as others—on account of pillows on the bare ground—as an evocation of outdoor drinking (Kaeser 1992: 309), but I agree with Lynch that it is ambiguous. I would argue further that even the vines overhead might not be taken literally: they evoke the feeling of being transported

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to nature that the symposiasts might have experienced, even if located indoors. After all, musical instruments are also suspended, as if hanging from walls, above the reclining men.

Social Space Scholars of household archaeology have long argued that houses are better defined by their social space rather than by rooms or even activities that occurred therein. “It is a pattern of space, governed by intricate conventions about what spaces there are, how they are connected together and sequenced, which activities go together and which are separated out, how the interior is decorated, and even what kinds of household objects should be displayed in the different parts of the home” (Hanson 1998: 2). As it turns out the vase paintings give a sense of interior decoration only in terms of the display of household objects, suspended from walls. Surely these suspended objects, however, inform us more about the individuals shown and/or their activities than about styles of interior decoration. Just as the illustration in Figure 7.3 shows musical instruments—which might be useful at a symposium—suspended in the andrōn, some vases show female musicians surrounded by musical instruments. On the Niobid Painter’s hydria, ca. 460, in New York, for example, a lyre hangs above the head of a barbitos player, seated between two other females (Fig. 7.4; for a similar scene on an amphora attributed to the Niobid Painter, see Reeder 1994–95, No. 44). One of them, perhaps a maid, holds a scroll from which the central musician reads as she plays, while the second figure looks on, holding a lyre and a small chest. The hanging object helps to set the scene, at least in terms of a “conceptual area” (Sourvinou-Inwood 1991: 110). How does it define this conceptual area? The suspended lyre, which is hardly needed to prove the central figure is a musician, at least suggests a musical space. The placement, seemingly hanging from a wall, might suggest an inside area; this concept is enhanced by the door, which is taken by some also to signal female space (Lissarrague 1998: 170–71, fig. 22; see more on doors below). Anna Vazaki optimistically suggests that the lyre and phormiskos are referents to a girl’s upbringing and therefore signal an anticipated wedding (Vazaki 2003: 100, fig.  29, with discussion of many comparable images of female musicians). Does the dais serve to formalize the event or emphasize the barbitos player? François Lissarrague suggests a compositional reason: it allows the artist to raise the level of the seated musician close to those of her companions (Lissarrague 1998: 170).

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Figure 7.4. The scene on an Attic red-figure hydria attributed to the Niobid Painter, ca. 460 BCE, showing female musicians. New York, Solow Art & Architecture Foundation. Drawing by Tina Ross based on BAD 11020.

The presence of musical instruments in both male and female scenes noted above (Figs. 7.3–7.4) warns us against a gendered reading of the suspended objects and the spaces that they might occupy. “Women on vases are often shown seated or standing in space, usually assumed to be the women’s quarters, surrounded with typical women’s possessions like chairs and wool baskets and mirrors and boxes” (Goldberg 1999: 149). Such images alas substantiate the traditional (mis)conception of the separation of men’s and women’s spaces within the Athenian home (Goldberg 1999: 142), which is not well attested by the archaeological evidence (Nevett 1995). Sheramy Bundrick has argued recently that they are part of the larger category of oikos scenes, on vases increasingly targeted at an Athenian market (Bundrick 2008). These images are a manifestation of a growth in the second half of the fifth century in the representation of women and weddings on vases, perhaps as a response to Periklean citizenship legislation of 451/450, privileging the children of Athenian mothers (AthPol 26.4 for the legislation; for scholarly commentary on the connection with art see Sutton 1981: 463–64; Oakley and Sinos 1993: 46; Osborne 1997).

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Figure 7.5. Drawing of the exterior of an Attic red-figure pyxis attributed to the Leningrad Painter, ca. 470 BCE, showing a domestic scene. Athens, National Museum 1623A (T.E. 1623) (Para 391.88BIS; BAD 275745). Drawing by François Lissarrague (1998: 162 fig. 17), reproduced with his permission.

Some of these oikos scenes emphasize the female contribution to the household through textile production, which in Greece has long been connected to and therefore symbolic of marriage and family. Bundrick even goes so far as to suggest that, at least in the second half of the fifth century, textile production images and other homey images (e.g., departing warriors) on vases “depict Athenian economic prosperity as a by-product of the democratic system” (Bundrick 2008: 329). The images are thus idealizing, yet provide a glimpse of what some women might have done inside. On the exterior of a red-figure pyxis attributed to the Leningrad Painter, ca. 470, in Athens (Fig. 7.5), for example, the columns and hanging objects (mirrors) conspire to suggest that the women are in an inside space. Their attributes— spindles and kalathoi (wool baskets) and companions (babies)—further suggest their engagement in domestic pursuits (Lissarrague 1998: 162–63, fig. 17). The lone man at the far left, perhaps a mere spectator (Lissarrague 1998: 163), complicates our interpretation. While this “conceptual area” of “women at home”—usually without any men—is particularly prevalent on Attic vases from ca. 450 (Bazant 1990: 105– 7), there are few that show the women hard at work. That is, Athenian vases are famously bereft of images of actual domestic labor. As Lewis aptly notes (Lewis 2002: 65), only one example (Figs. 7.6–7.7) seems to reflect the role of the wife as keeping order in the house, storing provisions and managing foodstuffs, as the writers of ancient texts might have us believe (cf. Xen. Oec. 7.21). One side of this red-figure skyphos (Fig.  7.6) shows the storeroom, with amphoras and chest and even a barred window on the wall, while the other (Fig. 7.7) shows a woman, presumably the housewife, drinking furtively from

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Figure 7.6. Side B of an Attic red-figure skyphos, ca. 460 BCE, showing a storeroom. J. Paul Getty Museum, Villa Collection, Malibu, CA 86.AE.265 (BAD 10146). Photo courtesy museum.

a skyphos, while she is followed by a slave girl, carrying a wineskin, bag, and hydria (Kelly-Blazeby 2011). The action of the housewife of course recalls Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousai 14–15 (Mitchell 2012: 75; see also Oakley 2000: 240). Th is example of the slave girl emerging from the storeroom is unique. Slaves, servants, and artisans are usually shown engaged in their tasks in unspecified locations, perhaps exterior, but sometimes clearly interior, as in the famous case of the Foundry Painter’s name vase, a cup in Berlin, ca. 480, whose walls are literally fi lled with suspended items.3 Some female workers may be understood, on account of their activities, to be on the interior, for example, the Pan Painter’s launderers (Smith 2013: 107–9) or bread makers (Tsoukala 2009; Ashmead 1990); one would hope that the actual baking— shown only once on the fragment of an Attic black-figure cup in Paris4 —would have occurred outside, perhaps in the courtyard (Sparkes 1981; Tsoukala 2009: 389).

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Figure 7.7. Side A of an Attic red-figure skyphos, ca. 460 BCE, showing a woman drinking from a skyphos and a servant girl. J. Paul Getty Museum, Villa Collection, Malibu, CA 86.AE.265 (BAD 10146). Photo courtesy museum.

Even the scenes depicting the family members of citizens—parents, wives, and children—are merely understood to occur within interior nonpublic space, although they might as well occur at or just outside the front door. The locus of departure of warrior scenes is usually unspecified, for example, although their domestic context is inferred in that they depict the warrior’s departure from home (see Matheson 2005 on this theme). Neither activities nor participants, therefore, prove whether the occupied space is interior. Even the presence of animals is ambiguous: domestic animals, which included all manner of birds, together with women, are understood to have occupied the central courtyard of a house (Lamberton and Rotroff 1985: 5–6). It is usually the suspended objects, rather, that bring us, the viewers, along with the viewed, inside, when we might other wise think we are outside. The locus of the female musicians on the Solow hydria (Fig. 7.4) is a classic example. Likewise, alabastra, lekythoi, and fillets suspended in the background of so-called mistress and maid scenes on white-ground lekythoi

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encourage us to understand these not as tomb scenes—like the vast majority of images on white-ground lekythoi—but rather as glimpses of mourners in domestic interiors. A lekythos attributed to the Achilles Painter, ca. 450, in London (Fig. 7.8), shows a woman approaching a seated woman, seemingly to hand her a basket filled with fillets and other funerary offerings. (Such a basket is sometimes incorrectly referred to as a liknon, which, however, is a special item used for winnowing grain. Most scholarship on the liknon, however, concerns its role in ritual [see, e.g., Bérard 1976: 101–4].) Similar scenes depict transferral of textiles and wreath making (Oakley 1997: 63; contra Reilly 1989: 424–26, who sees wreath making as a wedding motif ). The mirror and lekythos that hang above the seated woman on the London lekythos, as if suspended either from the wall or ceiling (less likely), suggest these women are busying themselves with funeral preparations within the house. Other such objects that hang in the background and thus indicate indoor settings are vases (oinochoai and kantharoi) and textiles (sakkoi) (Oakley 1997: 62). The chair itself is likewise an indicator of interior space, but more ambiguous, as is the case with all movable furniture. Other funerary activity might also occur in interior spaces. The funerary bier, other wise indistinguishable from the sympotic klinē (couch) or the nuptial lechos (marriage bed), is the centerpiece of a prothesis, frequently depicted on Athenian ceramics from the Middle Geometric period (Ahlberg-Cornell 1971; Oakley 2004). The interior nature of mourning scenes on Archaic blackfigure pinakes is indicated by the fillets hanging from the ceiling or wall above the mourners (Oakley 2004; Lewis 2002: 22–23).5 It is unsurprising that funerary activity is shown to occur in both interior and exterior settings, because it is an essential aspect of domestic religious life.

Architectural Space As I have noted above in discussion of domestic religion, it is difficult to distinguish domestic and private from public activity. Images of altars on vases, for example, cannot be interpreted as domestic in the absence of other domestic indicators. Household religion, vis-à-vis marriage and death, is made public through outdoor processions. For more hints at interior space, therefore, we turn to the architectural features— columns, sometimes with architraves, doors, and, to a much lesser extent, windows and ladders—that indicate the built environment.

Figure  7.8. An Attic white-ground lekythos attributed to the Achilles Painter, ca. 450 BCE, showing two women exchanging a basket of funerary gifts. London, British Museum 1892,0718.8 (D 50) (ARV 2 995.123, 1595, 1677; BAD 213945). © Trustees of the British Museum.

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A column combines with a chair to suggest a private space as the locus for an intimate pederastic scene in the tondo of a red-figure cup in Paris attributed to the Briseis Painter, ca. 480 (Fig. 7.9). The fact that this kiss takes place outside, perhaps in a courtyard, however, is suggested by the end of the architrave, which protrudes slightly over the top of the column’s echinus. A famously clear evocation of a column supporting architrave is shown on a redfigure hydria attributed to the Harrow Painter, ca. 470, in Tampa (Fig. 7.10). While the seated woman at left can be construed as being inside, because she is sheltered by the architectural space that encloses her, the approaching men are understood to be outside. Yet the nature of this architectural space is not clear. The absence of a door suggests she is on view to the public, in either a stoa or portico of a semiprivate space; the fact that she is on view is emphasized by the fact that all three male participants in the scene look at her. The sense of a public viewing together with the older man’s money pouch encourage the reading that he is purchasing something from her (Reden 1995: 206–8). That the “product” is the woman herself (i.e., that she is a prostitute) is inferred by the absence of other wares in this image (Corner 2011: 65; Williams 1983: 97; contra Keuls 1993: 260). I agree with Sheramy Bundrick, however, that “instead of asking whether the [pictured] woman . . . is a hetaira or housewife, perhaps we need to accept that she can be both—and other things besides” (Bundrick 2012: 30). This image also warns us not to rely on suspended items to indicate walls, however, as there are suspended items above both pairs of figures: while the woman and boy have an alabastron, for perfumed oil, between them, the men have a sponge and strigil, for preening in the palaistra. These suspended objects seem to serve, rather, a symbolic purpose here, contrasting the “enclosed world of the female . . . and the outside world of the male” (Neils 2000: 211). As we have seen (e.g., in Fig. 7.5), painters of long friezes, such as those that wrapped around pyxides, might use multiple columns, perhaps to break up the monotony of the scene. The mirrors on the walls of this image encourage our interpretation of this colonnade as an interior space, presumably, although not necessarily, domestic, on account of the presence of babies. Do several columns suggest a different sort of household interior than individual columns? Probably not, because rarely does a column stand alone in the archaeological record. As noted above, in discussion of single columns, multiple columns are not in and of themselves indicators of interior space, let alone nonpublic space. A comparison of two scenes of women bathing within colonnaded spaces also forces us to reconsider hanging objects, seemingly suspended from walls.6

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Figure 7.9. Tondo of an Attic red-figure cup attributed to the Briseis Painter, ca. 480 BCE, showing a pederastic couple. Paris, Musée du Louvre G 278 (ARV 2 407.16; BAD 204415). Photo © M.-L. Nguyen/Wikimedia Commons.

In the scene of women bathing at a loutērion, on an Attic red-figure krater akin to the Göttingen Painter in Bari, ca. 490, the adjacent column seems to support the upper decorative frieze (Bari, Museo Civico 4979: ARV 2 236.4; BAD 202270). The lekythos hanging above the loutērion itself suggests that the space is interior, but of course a courtyard is interior, as it too has enclosing walls (for an exploration of loutērion locations, see Durand and Lissarrague 1980). These women are probably in the room of a bath house (Kotera-Feyer 1993: 6) that they have visited as a group (Petersen 1997: 54, fig. 8). A slight

Figure 7.10. Attic red-figure hydria attributed to the Harrow Painter, ca. 470 BCE, showing a seated woman and boy within an architectural space, approached by two men. Tampa, Museum of Art 1986.070 (ARV 2 276.70; BAD 202666). Photo courtesy museum.

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Figure 7.11. Drawing of the scene on an Attic black-figure neck-amphora, ca. 490 BCE, showing women bathing at a fountain house. Once Berlin, Staatliche Museen F1843 (ABV 478; BAD 303376). Drawing by Tina Ross after Pfuhl 1923: fig. 295.

problem with this interpretation is that the archaeological evidence for actual bath houses in Attika is rare (Stroszeck 2014) so that we cannot be sure of their presence let alone their appearance. An alternative bathing establishment is exemplified on a black-figure neck-amphora once in Berlin (now lost), ca. 490, decorated with women who are understood to be bathing in a public fountain, which itself is suggested by a handsome architrave over three columns (Fig. 7.11). Here the multiple columns are less persuasive than the suspended items in convincing us that these women are outside, at a public fountain house. Their clothes hang from a rail that is provided for that purpose, so no walls need be inferred. The architrave is, however, more commonly found in fountain house scenes than in domestic settings. Roofs are even more rarely found: a unique example appears in combination with a (front) door, on an Attic red-figure oinochoe in New York (Fig. 7.12), sheltering the woman (inside), as the aggressive man bangs on the door (see below). Columns, architraves, and roofs are at least fi xed and relatively immovable. Our other architectural features— doors, windows, and ladders— are, however, as movable as braziers and furniture. Thucydides’ story of the flight of rural Attica to Athens in the time of the Peloponnesian War reminds us

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Figure  7.12. Attic red-figure oinochoe, ca. 420 BCE, showing a man approaching a woman, inside, at night. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 37.11.19 (BAD 539). Vectorized drawing by Alexandre  G. Mitchell, in Mitchell 2015: 166, fig. 9.1.

that, along with other wooden furniture, doors were movable and valuable, and thus taken by these people when they fled their homes (Thuc. 2.14.1). This might explain why doors are so poorly attested in the archaeological record. As with windows, however, at least their frames are well evidenced (Cahill 2001: 76–78; Reber 1998: 125). The front door is the defining element of the façade of a house, as in the image on the salt cellar (Fig. 7.1). It is also the most important architectural feature vis-à-vis the demarcation of private space (Goldberg 1999: 154, following Sanders 1990: 65). A particularly explicit example is the slanted door (shown in sideways perspective) on the New York oinochoe (Fig. 7.12), which divides a woman from an approaching man. The lamp in her left hand shows us that this is a nighttime visit and the roof slanting over her head indicates she is inside. The stick (unlit torch) with which he bangs on the door suggests his aggression, and his sympotic attire and barbitos reveal he has been carousing.

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Who is the tentative woman? She might be an anxious wife (Mitchell 2012: 64–65). In consideration of the note in Theophrastus’s Characters (28.3) that only courtesans could open the door themselves (whereas wives and daughters would have older women to attend to this task), Jenifer Neils and others have identified her as a prostitute (Neils 2000: 211). Bundrick’s focus on the komast, that is, the man, exposes this image as a social comment. She reads the man’s infibulated state as (ironic) evidence of his social status and his girth as a suggestion of his gluttony: thus, especially considering his attack on the door/home/woman, he is the very picture of excess or hubris (Bundrick 2009). I agree with Sean Corner, however, that the woman’s status, and therefore the overall reading of the vase, is ambiguous (Corner 2011: 65). In any case, the door symbolizes the security of the interior/home space that is under attack. The image on the New York oinochoe presents us with an unusual use of the door in Attic vase painting. Its combination with the image of the roof suggests that it is the front door to the house. The front door might have been the only door in a humble home, although vase painters are of course at liberty to use doors as if opening onto courtyards, as on the tondo of a redfigure cup in Florence (Fig. 7.13), depicting a woman who holds a rope that is connected to the bucket presumably in the well.7 The thatched (sundried) brick wall and fruit tree that surround her conspire to suggest a bucolic environment, but this activity presumably occurred within the courtyard of a house (Richter and Milne 1935). Doors, whether or not reflective of the lived experience of Athenians, still serve as symbols of transition into private space. The most important inside door is that which opens into the thalamos or marriage chamber, which itself is signaled by an elegantly covered bed (Oakley and Sinos 1993: 35–37). Its importance in the marriage ritual gives reason for its appearance on wedding vases (Smith 2011a and 2005). While the thalamos door would not be expected to open up directly from the street, in images of wedding processions the space outside this door is indeed shown as if public space, constituting the city space between the home of the bride and her new home, provided by her groom. Sometimes the evocation of this space belies architectural logic, as on the black-figure amphora attributed to the Castellani Painter, ca. 550, in St. Petersburg (Figs. 7.14a–b). Here the wedding procession approaches the house, delineated by a column (standing for colonnade), which itself stands ahead of the door to the bed being prepared by a woman. Similar constructions are reasonably common on red-figure scenes of women occupying interior space, for example, a pyxis in Paris (Fig. 7.15), on which the interior space, to the right of the marriage bed, is further elabo-

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Figure  7.13. Tondo of an Attic red-figure cup attributed to the Brygos Painter, ca 490 BCE, showing a woman at a well. Florence, Museo Archaeologico 76103 (ARV 2 379.142; BAD 204039). Drawing after  Z. Green, in Lewis 2002: fig. 2.17.

rated by a vignette of women, some seated, busying themselves with textiles and ointment vessels. A double door is suggested on the Amasis Painter’s lekythos, ca. 550, in New York.8 This of course is a clever and convenient way for the artist to emphasize the thalamos as some sort of inner sanctum. The archaeological evidence suggests more often than not, however, that the courtyard would have had an off-center entrance, thus enhancing privacy (Nevett 1995). A simpler approach is to show a single door, seemingly the front door but metaphorically the thalamos door. Such is the case with the earliest image of a door, namely that of Peleus’s palace, at which he receives the divine guests to celebrate his wedding to Thetis, on Sophilos’s dinos in London (Fig. 7.16). Likewise, the door to the thalamos (as shown on Fig. 7.15) had great symbolic value and stood for the entire house (Sourvinou-Inwood 1991: 71).

Figure  7.14a–b. Attic black-figure amphora attributed to the Castellani Painter, ca. 550 BCE, showing a wedding procession approaching the house/ thalamos. State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg. Inv. no. GR-4328 (B.1403). (ABV 98.34; BAD 310034). Photograph © State Hermitage Museum/photo by Svetlana Suetova.

Figure 7.15. The exterior of a pyxis attributed to the Painter of the Louvre Centauromachy, ca. 450 BCE, showing a domestic scene. Paris, Musée du Louvre CA 587 (ARV 2 1094.104, 1682; BAD 216046). Drawing by François Lissarrague (1998: 162 fig. 16b), reproduced with his permission.

Figure 7.16. Attic black-figure dinos by Sophilos, ca. 570 BCE, showing the wedding of Peleus and Thetis. London, British Museum 1971.11–1.1 (Para 19.16BIS, BAD 350099). © Trustees of the British Museum.

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This symbolic manipulation of the door leaves us with something of a conundrum in reading the images: are we viewing the door from the outside (Goldberg 1999: 154) or from the inside? Clearly from the outside, when cart or chariot processions depart (Fig. 7.1) or arrive (Fig. 7.14a–b). But painters are careful to suggest inside space in other instances. The amorous couple on the tondo of a an Attic red-figure cup, ca. 480, in Christchurch, for example, must be indoors, because they are shown between bed and door.9 Whether or not the viewer’s perspective is inside, however, the semantic role of the door is always to bring our attention to what is inside. It symbolizes the home, whether or not a palace, in the images of wedding processions (Figs. 7.1 and 7.14b). In some bridal scenes (e.g., Figs. 7.14b and 7.16) we even get a glimpse of the richly bedecked thalamos and its lechos within. The image of the door therefore, both in its own appearance—normally imposing double doors, opened or ajar— and for its symbolic value, draws the viewer inside. The appearance of some doors on Greek vases varies from the imposing double doors seen above. On a skyphos attributed to the circle of the Penelope Painter, in Oxford, for example, we see a woman sitting in front of a single door, with a thin column supporting a portico roof.10 The portico, which may or may not be sheltering her, in any case indicates that she is outside. Perhaps the painter intended to contrast this outside woman with the (servant?) girl running inside, on the other side of the skyphos (Reeder 1995: 203, no. 42). A similar portico and door construction (in reverse) is found on a bell krater attributed to the Dinos Painter, in London (Fig. 7.17). Here a top panel of the door is opened, in the manner of a “Dutch” door, out of which a woman leans, so without looking any further we have an inkling that she is important, perhaps the most impor tant character, because she is inside. Outside stands a man, on the porch. Together they watch one boy about to mount the other, as if to engage in intercourse. The outside characters—the boys and man— are all revelers, like the man on the New York oinochoe (Fig. 7.12). By identifying the spiky headbands of the two boys and the man with headdresses worn by figures celebrating Dionysiac rites, especially the Anthestēria, Peter Von Blanckenhagen has interpreted this scene as a comic parody of the return of Dionysos to the Boukoleion, where the Basilinna awaits him (Blanckenhagen 1976; Bieber 1949).11 The woman standing inside the Dutch door is, therefore, the parody of the Basilinna, playing the role of the wife waiting to receive the drunken god of wine. The top half the Dutch door in this “comic” scene serves as a window on Dionysos’s “prize.” Windows are rare in ancient Greek depictions, as in other

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Figure  7.17. Attic red-figure bell krater attributed to the Dinos Painter, ca. 420 BCE, London, British Museum 1772,0320.154 (F 65). © Trustees of the British Museum.

archaeological contexts, and we have already seen a unique example of the window of a storeroom (Fig. 7.6). Windows become more common in South Italian vase painting, where, like doors, they are usually related to theatrical settings (Schauenburg 1972: 4, 6). Small windows appear in mythic scenes on two Kertsch vases in St. Petersburg, one a mere fragment (UKV 132.159) and another a pelike (St. Petersburg St. 1928 [ARV 2 1477.2; BAD 230435]). Kertsch vases are late Athenian red-figure, from ca. 390, so these windows reflect stylistic and thematic influences from their South Italian predecessors (Schauenburg 1972: 10). In both of these images the window reveals the bust of a veiled woman whose garment also covers her mouth. This motif, which is other wise known in late Attic vases (cf. Smith 2011b: 87–89), suggests an element of secrecy, which of course extends the symbolic meaning of the window, like the door, as hiding or revealing the secrets of interior space. Similarly, the archaeological evidence for upper stories is relatively elusive, both on sites and on vases. Roofs and, more importantly, ladders reaching to

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Figure 7.18. Attic red-figure squat lekythos, ca. 390 BCE, showing Eros with Aphrodite on a ladder. Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesmuseum 361. Drawing by Tina Ross after G. Hafner in CVA Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesmuseum 1, 32–33, plate (325) 27.1–4.

them, do figure, however, in the series of images that have been related to the “Gardens of Adonis” ritual (for which the most exhaustive treatment remains Edwards 1984; see also Ar. Lys. 388–83; Oakley and Reitzammer 2005 includes some more recent bibliography). The best glimpse of this ritual is in an epiphany of Aphrodite (Ourania) on a squat lekythos, ca. 390, in Karlsruhe (Fig.  7.18). Aphrodite has descended from a ladder to receive from Eros an upended broken amphora, from which sprouts emerge.12 On account of the characters, this is neither interior nor exterior space, but rather a mythic zone with, however, a piece of movable furniture (the ladder) that was an essential interior feature of some elite homes.13 As Marilyn Goldberg reminds us, “The

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vase painter was ‘setting the stage’ for a play about wealthier Athenians . . . who had colonnaded entryways or courtyards in their houses and had fine chairs and jewellery boxes and well-dressed servants” (Goldberg 1999: 151). Other mythic images occupy interior space, as suggested by the presence of doors and columns. Bringing the gods into a homey space is central to the ancient Greek tendency to humanize their gods.

Inside or Outside/Private or Public By way of conclusion, I answer the two main questions I posed in the introduction in reverse order. When do these actors on the outside of Greek pots seem to go inside? The actors on the stage set on Athenian vases are seen to move inside when they pass beyond a door or a column into a walled space that is evidenced by the presence of a window or, more commonly, suspended objects. Th is interior space is normally understood to be roofed, yet could consist of a portico or courtyard because the roofs are almost never illustrated. It follows then that “outside” activities might occur in this inside space, just as “outside” people—including but not restricted to artisans, servants, and slaves—as well as animals might also occupy this inside space. How then are we to discern nonpublic interior spaces from the myriad of spaces depicted or implied in ancient scenes on vases? As noted in the answer to the previous question, we are practically unable to distinguish interior from exterior space, especially if we consider the open-air parts of the Greek home, such as porticoes and courtyards, as “outside.” The nonpublic part of the question is more complicated because, as we have seen, nonpublic activities, whether laborious, mercantile, or domestic in nature, frequently invaded the public arena: laborers and craftsmen (e.g., launderers, bread makers, and smiths) might work at home or in an interior space, but complete their labors in the outdoors for practical reasons; sellers (of sex or material goods) might hawk their wares in private, semiprivate, or public spaces; domestic religion, in the form of nuptial and funerary ceremonies, for example, spilled out from the home into the streets and sanctuaries. Sean Corner has recently argued that the boundaries of “inside” and “outside” were blurred, especially in the context of the symposium (Corner 2011). On a functional level, therefore, it is of little concern to us whether the actors occupy interior or exterior space, or whether they engaged in public or private activities.

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Why then did vase painters go to the effort to articulate or at least suggest interior spaces? As with all aspects of iconography, an image is the sum of its constituent elements, or symbols. The social spaces— enclosures or rooms—indicated by items suspended on (inferred) walls provide conceptual areas in which people might gather, interact, and perform activity. It is far simpler to articulate the people and things that filled these spaces than the social interaction and activities of these people, with the result that the actors who represent these people on the vases, as well as their things, serve as symbols, indicators of social activity. The image on the Solow hydria (Fig. 7.4) shows a musical event; the gender of its actors conveys to the viewer that it is a musical event in which women participate; and the fact that at least one of the instruments is suspended informs us that it occurs inside. The simplicity of the surrounds might lead us to infer that the actors are inside a home, but this conclusion remains open to speculation. The architectural features— columns, doors, windows, and ladders— likewise serve as symbols of private or semiprivate spaces. More importantly, the movement of actors beyond these architectural features into the spaces that they suggest informs the viewer that the actors are passing into, between, or even out of restricted spaces, whether or not domestic in nature. As with all art, no such envisioned spaces are real, but are the sum of realistic elements of social or architectural space. We must keep reminding ourselves of both of these points: that real life is not shown on ancient Greek vases, but that the vases allow us a glimpse at some elements that constituted reality for the ancient Greeks. I have articulated here a basic level on which these elements serve as pictorial symbols. In a more complex reading we might discover that each of these symbols serves on multiple levels, suggesting connections with a variety of cultures, religious rituals and figures, other social phenomena, and even historical events and personages. When the actors are clearly identified as mythic or allegorical, we refrain from wondering whether they occupy interior and/or nonpublic space. The elements of social and architectural space persist, however, whether in a human, heroic, or divine frame.

chapter 8

Is There an Archaeology of Prostitution? allison glazebrook

Terrible, terrible and insufferable acts do the young men commit in the city, when there are especially comely babes in the brothels (porneia). It is possible to see them . . . with their breasts exposed, fully naked in a row, drawn up in battle line. From these, anyone can find a pleasing one—thin, fat, round, tall, short, young, old, middle-aged, quite ripe—without setting up a ladder to scale in secret, without crawling through a chimney below the roof, without being craftily carried in in a chaff-heap. For the same girls drag men in by force, calling old men “Pops,” and younger ones, “Laddie.” It is possible to have sex with each one of these without fear, cheaply, by day, by night and in all ways imaginable. —Xenarchos, The Pentathlon

The ancient sources tease us with references to prostitutes in brothels throughout the city of Athens. But while the term porneion suggests a very specific type of space that should include room to both display prostitutes and ser vice customers, the sources hint that such space had no specific indicators. According to Aeschines, it is not the particular physical space but the occupants that identify a porneion: For where many men inhabit one house, having rented it and divided it up among themselves, we call it a rooming house (sunoikia), but where one man lives, a single dwelling (oikia). And

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if a doctor (iatros) settles into one of the workshops facing onto the street, it is called an iatreion. But if he vacates it and a metal worker (chalkeus) takes over this same workshop, it is called a chalkeion; if a fuller (knapheus), a knapheion; if a wood worker (tektōn), a tektoneion; and if a pimp ( pornoboskos) and his whores ( pornai), because of their business it is immediately called a porneion. (1.124) If Aeschines is accurate, how are we able to distinguish between porneia and other businesses and even houses? It is my intention here not to suggest a surefire way of identifying a porneion, but to discuss criteria that suggest meretricious activity and to consider whether or not there is an archaeology of prostitution among the physical remains of the ancient Greek world. Such remains have the potential to inform scholars about the daily life and working conditions of prostitutes. The literal meaning of porneion is the “place of the prostitute,” and the term thus refers to where one goes to find prostitutes. Porneion is most typically rendered into English as “brothel.” But this term can be misleading. It suggests a space where the primary activity is prostitution. Although Greek comic poets describe commercial places focusing on access to prostitutes, archaeological evidence suggests instead that places of prostitution were multipurpose with access to prostitutes being only one commodity of many. In ancient Greece many different types of spaces included prostitutes: taverns, inns, festival spaces, and sympotic spaces in private homes. In such places, prostitution was only a secondary function of the space and thus not a necessary presence. Spaces termed purpose-built brothels, places built specifically for prostitution, appear rare for the ancient world. The “most certain example” of an ancient brothel is the “Purpose-built brothel” of Pompeii (McGinn 2002: 13), also known as the Lupanar.1 It is located on a back street not far from the ancient forum. It has five small rooms on the ground floor and another five on a second story, accessed through a second entrance.2 Each room on the lower level has a masonry bed with a masonry pillow and erotic decoration (Fig. 8.1). A titulus above or beside the door indicates the price of a particular sexual position or activity (Sen. Contr. 1.2.1, 5, 7; Mart. 11.45.1; Iuv. 6.123). Erotic graffiti appear on the hallway walls, around the building, and in the latrine under the stairs.3 It is a unique structure, in both form and use, and not helpful in generalizing about places of prostitution even for the Roman world (McGinn 2002: 14).

Figure 8.1. Interior of Pompeiian brothel. House of the Lupanare, Pompeii, Italy. Photo: Fotografica Foglia © Scala/Art Resource, NY.

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While it may be difficult to identify meretricious activity in the archaeological record, it seems even grimmer to hope to distinguish between spaces in which prostitution performed a primary or secondary function.4 My search for evidence of the porneion is most accurately a search for nondomestic structures in which prostitutes gathered and worked. My focus is on where prostitutes performed sexual ser vices and may have lived, not simply where they solicited customers. Solicitation might occur at a kapēleion with the actual act of sex occurring elsewhere, while some kapēleia might have also included facilities for prostitutes and their customers.

Archaeology and Porneia Based on the literary sources, prostitution was common in Greek cities. They suggest easily accessible places housing multiple prostitutes from whom a customer might choose (Ath. 13.568f–569a, 569a– c, e–f; Isae. 6.19). Based on Xenarchos and Euboulos, the prostitutes appear to line up, much like in modern brothels in Nevada, and display themselves to customers. The use of the perfect passive participle of tassō, “drawn up in order,”5 to describe the prostitutes suggests a formal lineup for a particular client (Ath. 13.569b, 568f ). Such a lineup requires special space. The customer most likely chose a prostitute from the line and went off with her for sex somewhere else in the building. The sources also describe prostitutes as kathēsto en oikēmati (Isae. 6.19) or epi tōn oikēmatōn kathēmenous (Aeschin. 1.74), “sitting in a little room.” Oikēma can also appear on its own, where the context makes the meaning of a place of prostitution clear (Xen. Mem. 2.2.4). Oikēma, referring to a small room, suggests that prostitutes took customers to private cubicles. According to James Davidson, oikēmata are single rooms opening directly onto the street (1997: 90–91), much like Roman cribs at Pompeii.6 Such an arrangement may be what Aeschines refers to when he points to male prostitutes working close to the agora (1.74). But the fact that oikēma is plural here suggests the rooms are perhaps part of a common establishment easily accessible from the street. While the reference in Isaeus indicates Alke sitting in a single room, the context makes clear that Alke’s oikēma is in a sunoikia, a tenement house, managed by a freedwoman, who had purchased a number of girls at once for work in this same building. These plural uses of oikēma suggest that little rooms were a possible feature of porneia. Sources further indicate that places of prostitution were of various grades. Sokrates, for example, visits Theodote’s

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brothel, a wealthy establishment that is generously furnished (Xen. Mem. 3.11.4).7 To sum up, these passages suggest establishments of ample size with small cubicles easily accessible from the street. They also hint at some variability between such establishments in terms of the wealth of the furnishings and the physical shape of the space. While Theodote’s porneion appears to be a single structure, Alke worked in a place that housed more than prostitutes. How does this description compare with the physical evidence? Despite the multiple references to brothels in the literary sources, there has been little discussion among Hellenists concerning the material remains of Greek prostitution. Indeed, archaeologists are often cautious in associating a structure with prostitution. Ursula Knigge comments that prostitutes worked at Building Z, located in the Kerameikos, but refrains from naming it a porneion (2005: 78; 1991: 93). In contrast, Roman archaeologists and historians have identified up to thirty-five places of prostitution at Pompeii based on physical remains (Laurence 1994: 73).8 These include the Purpose-built brothel discussed above, cribs (dubbed cellae meretriciae), described as single rooms, small in size, opening directly onto the street or located in the back of a bar, and multiple rooms at the back or upstairs in a caupona or popina.9 According to Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, three important criteria identify spaces of prostitution: a masonry bed in a small cell, erotic paintings, and erotic graffiti (1995: 52). While accepting Wallace-Hadrill’s criteria in general, Thomas McGinn recognizes their limitations: erotic painting is common in many Pompeian contexts, not just brothels, and wooden beds likely substituted for a masonry bed (2002: 10).10 Although McGinn does not argue in favor of official zoning practices around prostitution, he does suggest location as a criterion in identifying places of prostitution, suggesting that places of entertainment tend to cluster (2002: 33). He further suggests small rooms off a common corridor as a fifth criterion (2004: 198–204). Are these criteria helpful in thinking about brothels in ancient Greece? Some scholars argue that brothels of the Greek world are likely to be similar to Roman brothels. For example, Paul Brandt, writing under the pseudonym Hans Licht, comments, “Greek writers have not told us much about the arrangement of the brothels, their equipment, or their internal management, but we may assume that they did not differ much from Roman and Italian brothels, as to which we are well informed” (1931: 335).11 The physical evidence, however, suggests other wise: there are no physical remains comparable to the Purpose-built brothel or Roman crib. The inn or tavern-type brothel is perhaps the most helpful model for thinking about prostitution in the Greek

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world,12 but the definitive identification of such structures is problematic. Aside from the fact that there are no physical remains of masonry beds in the Greek world, wall paintings and graffiti are less well preserved at Greek sites than at Pompeii, a most rich site on account of its destruction by volcano in 79 CE. Furthermore, we should expect the physical remains for spaces of prostitution in the Greek world, even under Roman rule, to differ, since the Greeks and Romans had quite different attitudes toward prostitution and prostitutes. The ancient Athenians more readily accepted associations with prostitutes, having them in their homes for symposia and only discouraging associations that became a financial drain on a household. Porneia in the ancient cities of mainland Greece do not appear to have been restricted to the nonelite and were visited by more than elite youths (Glazebrook 2011a). The wealthy Athenian Euktemon frequented the brothel in his sunoikia (Isae. 6.19–21), the orator Lysias visited Nikarete’s porneion in Corinth ([Dem]. 59.18–21), Stephanos stayed with Neaira in her oikia in Megara ([Dem.] 59.36–37), and Sokrates visited Theodote’s establishment in Athens with his followers (Xen. Mem. 3.11.1).13 The Roman elite, however, appear to have avoided places of prostitution and looked down upon the presence of prostitutes as participants at private cenae.14 Graffiti at the Purpose-built brothel suggest the customers were lower-class males (Clarke 1998: 199). Roman prostitutes suffered greater social stigma from their profession, acquiring the status of infames.15 Such differences suggest a greater variety in the quality of prostitutes and spaces for prostitutes in the Greek world.16 Despite the absence of discussion surrounding criteria for identifying Greek brothels, some scholars have associated structures in the archaeological record with meretricious activity. Ursula Knigge associated Building Z3 (last quarter of the fourth century BCE) located near the Sacred Gate in the Kerameikos with prostitution (see also Ault, this volume [Chapter 4]). The presence of a large number of loomweights indicated a female population, small cult statues of the non-Greek gods Kybele and Astarte-Aphrodite hinted that the women were non-Greek, and a silver pendant depicting Aphrodite on a goat suggested a special connection with this goddess as well. The architectural features (including multiple andrōnes), the presence of cisterns and wells, and drinking and dining ware suggested Building Z3 was a bar rather than a single household (Knigge 1991, 2005). Knigge reconstructed the building as a tavern in which women served food and drink, were available as prostitutes (hetärendeinste), and in the off hours worked at the looms, but she makes clear that the association with prostitution is based on her knowledge of ancient

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culture rather than the finds (Knigge 2005: 78). Other scholars, including Hermann Lind (1988) and James Davidson (1997: 85), associate Building Z more strongly with prostitution, referring to it as a hetärenhaus and a brothel, respectively, thereby making its primary function prostitution. Lind suggests that the small rooms on the east side of the courtyard may be the oikēmata referred to in the ancient literary sources (1988: 167).17 Bradley Ault even goes as far as to suggest Building Z is a porneion in all of its first three phases (fifth to fourth century BCE) or a katagōgion (hostelry) that developed into a porneion in its third phase (2005b: 150). Knigge excavated a second structure, Building Y (fourth century BCE), just to the southeast of Building Z. Although this location is less well known among scholars, Knigge also suggested the presence of prostitutes here, this time based on a graffito (1993: 139) (Fig. 8.2b).18 A third structure in Attica associated with prostitution, but far from the Kerameikos, is the so-called Aphrodiseion (fourth century BCE) in the ancient deme of Myrrhinous. The excavators, Michael Scklavos and Olga Kakavogianni, found an inscription that links the structure to prostitution (Kakavogianni 2009: 68–70; Kakavogianni et  al. 2009: 114–17; Kakavogianni and Dovinou 2003). These three structures represent the extent of sites in Attica associated with prostitution.19 For more sites of prostitution in the Greek world we move outside Attica and the Classical period to Delos and Thessaloniki in the Hellenistic/Roman periods. I include these sites on the understanding that even under the Romans spaces of prostitution might be more Greek than Roman when in the Greek part of the world.20 Panagiotis Chatzidakis excavated a structure south of the Sanctuary of the Bastion on Delos (first century BCE) and identified it as a tavern based on a large deposit of ceramic ware (Chatzidakis 1997; see also Trümper, this volume [Chapter 5] and Fig. 5.1a). Once again object finds are the primary indicator of prostitution. In the course of excavation, Chatzidakis uncovered a deposit of jewelry, which he identified as being Alexandrian in style and manufacture and thus belonging to a foreign women living at the tavern. He also uncovered a spatula and thin-walled vessels used to make and store cosmetics. These items had fallen from the mezzanine level of the structure. In his interpretation of the remains, Chatzidakis concluded that the tavern owner was a woman and/or prostitute, who lived and worked in the tavern (Chatzidakis 1997: 294, 304, 307). In a more controversial example, Nicholas Rauh has reinterpreted the Maison du Lac (second century BCE), originally excavated by the École Française d’Athènes, as a brothel or a taberna deversoria that included prostitutes (1993: 213–14) (Fig. 5.2). Unique design

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aspects, rather than object finds, suggested to Rauh that the building was more than a private residence. The structure’s doors provided easy access into the courtyard from two streets. External wall reliefs, which Rauh describes as “gaudy,” point to these doorways and encourage a passer-by to look into the building’s courtyard and perhaps enter. Rauh also notes the elaborate decoration of the courtyard along with the privacy of some of the structure’s interior rooms and the unusually ample supply of water from wells and cisterns. The combination of all of these design features led Rauh to conclude that the structure had a commercial function that likely included prostitution. In a final example, Polyxeni Adam-Veleni associates the bath complex near the agora in Thessolaniki (first century CE) with prostitution based on the presence of erotic objects and sympotic ware (1999: 360–61, figs. 9, 11, 13a– b, and 14).21 While these structures are not purpose-built for prostitution, prostitution is considered an original use. Surprisingly, there is no structure yet identified with prostitution in ancient Corinth despite the reputation of this city as a place where prostitutes were readily available. Aside from its possible association with sacred prostitution, Apollodoros sets the early career of the prostitute Neaira in ancient Corinth ([Dem.] 59).22 She is one of a number of girls trained and pimped by the pornoboskousa Nikarete. The famous prostitute Lais was also from Corinth (Ath. 13.570e). Nevertheless, the issue of prostitution has not been far from the minds of excavators of this site. Charles Morgan dubbed Building III the “Tavern of Aphrodite” and suggested that the building was a place to go to enjoy the pleasures associated with this goddess (1953). His interpretation was based on what he saw as the unusual architecture of the structure, which included small cubicles, and the amount of drinking ware and figurines relating to Aphrodite. Charles Williams conducted further excavations in 1971 and 1972, correcting the plan of the structure and the interpretation of various rooms (Williams and Fisher 1973: 23). The new excavations revealed that one of the cubicle rooms was actually a corridor and that the walls of the second cubicle were indeterminate. The area, however, likely had an industrial or cult function because of evidence of burning. The function of the building is in fact still unclear (Charles Williams, pers. comm. March 2011).23 There is also the case of the South Stoa (see also Scahill, this volume [Chapter 6]). Oscar Broneer hinted in 1954 that it may have included access to prostitutes. In his final publication of the building, Broneer suggested that the South Stoa was originally planned as a hostelry to house delegates of the Corinthian League, established by Philip after the Battle of Chaeronea (1954:

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98). The majority of scholars still accept the stoa’s function as shops, but the overall purpose of such a grand structure is still elusive.24 In all but two of the shops, Broneer found wells approximately 12 m deep and ser viced by a freshwater channel. He interpreted them as coolers for wine and foodstuffs rather than for regularly obtaining water (59–61). These wells produced some household coarse ware and kitchen ware, suggesting food consumption, although the food appears to have been prepared off the premises.25 Ample drinking ware is also in evidence: amphoras, wine kraters, serving pitchers, and an abundance of cups inscribed with the names of deities, such as Dionysos, Eros and Philia, which Broneer comments on as being appropriate for the symposium.26 The fi nds also include astragaloi (popularly called knuckle bones), bone counters, possibly gaming tables, and fragments of flutes of bone and ivory (64).27 Based on this assemblage Broneer suggested that the downstairs was a series of shops, mostly taverns and bars. The majority of these shops had two rooms with double doors and a window making the back room visible and easily accessible (55–56). The front rooms mea sure approximately 5 × 4.5 m, and almost all have off-center doors (8). He reconstructed the second story as a hostelry. The fact that the majority of the remains of pottery dates to the third and second centuries BCE led Broneer to suggest a second use for the structure: “the Stoa may well at that time have been the principal locale of the celebrated entertainers, whose activities received religious sanction by their intimate association with the cult of Aphrodite on Acrocorinth” (99).28 The association of the structure with drinking (possibly the drinking party) and the remains of flutes seem to support this idea. Nevertheless, Broneer’s suggestion is merely a passing comment, and the association with prostitution has never been fully considered.29 This brief survey of possible sites of prostitution demonstrates the varied evidence with which archaeologists identify spaces of prostitution in the material record as well as the difficulty of interpretation. The archaeologists of these sites focus primarily on finds suggesting a female presence in connection with activities associated with pleasure. The list of objects includes loomweights, inscriptions, erotic graffiti, erotic objects, and foreign items such as jewelry and cult objects. In general, these items gain significance only because they are present in a structure identified with leisure, such as a tavern or bathhouse. Rauh is unique in that he makes his identification based on location and design features of the structure alone (1993). He points in particular to evidence of ample water use, the presence of multiple entrances into the structure, direct visibility from the street into the structure, and the level of privacy

Table 8.1. Summary of Brothel Sites

Structure Date (BCE) Finds Tableware Erotic object Loomweight Linking inscription Erotic graffiti Jewelry Cooking items Storage Vessels Toilet items (female) Leisure items (gaming pieces) Architectural Features Courtyard Garden Multiple entrances Visibility Possible oikēmata Andrōnes

Kerameikos

Kerameikos

Myrrhinous

Delos

Delos

Thessaloniki

Building Z3 Mid-/late fourth cent.

Building Y Fourth cent.

Aphrodiseion Fourth cent.

Maison du Lac Second/first cent.

Taberna Vinaria First cent.

Bath complex First cent. (CE)

✓ ✓ ✓

✓

✓

✓

✓ ✓

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ? ✓ ✓

✓

✓ ✓

✓

✓

✓ ? ✓

✓ ✓

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

?

Structure Date (BCE) Erotic decoration Room decoration Water Features Wells Cisterns Bathing facilities Location Port Agora City gate

Kerameikos

Kerameikos

Myrrhinous

Delos

Delos

Thessaloniki

Building Z3 Mid-/late fourth cent.

Building Y Fourth cent.

Aphrodiseion Fourth cent.

Maison du Lac Second/first cent.

Taberna Vinaria First cent.

Bath complex First cent. (CE)

✓

✓

✓ ✓ ✓

✓ ✓

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

✓

✓

✓ ✓

✓ ✓ ✓

✓

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associated with a number of the rooms. He also uses the decorative reliefs near to and drawing attention to the entrances as another signifier of the structure’s function and association with prostitution. Lind points to the presence of multiple small rooms in Building Z3 as an indicator of the sex trade. My primary purpose is to consider all these criteria together as well as other criteria not previously emphasized in the identification of places of prostitution in the Greek world. These additional criteria are gleaned from references to porneia in the ancient literary sources and comparanda from the archaeological remains of brothels in the nineteenth-century United States.30 Historical archaeologists find an abundance of dining ware, items for food preparation and storage, and gendered objects like grooming and toilet items in parlor houses in nineteenth-century New York and Washington as well as less affluent brothels compared to the artifact assemblage of domestic structures. Their research suggests a model for determining places of prostitution in the archaeological record. By discussing all of the sites identified with Greek prostitution in a single publication, I highlight the similarities between Greek sites of prostitution that may help in future identifications of porneia. Courtyards, wall and floor decoration, gardens, and multiple andrōnes are dominant features of the majority of these structures and suggest that much of the difficulty in identifying porneia is due to the fact that they resemble Greek and Greco-Roman houses from the Classical period onward. Th is last observation demonstrates just how thorny is the practice of identifying places of prostitution in the archaeological record. It is for this very reason that a careful and systematic examination of criteria in relation to porneia is necessary.

A Typology for Porneia? Let me note at the outset that I am not attempting to establish definitively whether or not the identifications for past structures or their association with prostitution are correct.31 Instead, I offer a systematic examination of the criteria used in such identifications for Greek sites or that could be used to classify such sites. Table 8.1 is a summary of the material remains and urban context for the sites under consideration. I have divided the data into four categories: finds, architectural features, water features, and location. As Table 8.1 shows, structures associated with prostitution are commonly located near a port, agora, or city gate, and ancient sources corroborate the

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location of such structures. Hesychius (s.v. kerameikos) points to the Kerameikos, a region of Athens by the city wall, as a place where prostitutes gathered. Building Z and Y are right by the Sacred and Postern Gate by which a traveler enters and leaves the city. The orator Isaeus alludes to a brothel close to this same gate (6.20). Aeschines can point to spaces of prostitution from the law courts (1.74). His use of the deictic iota in toutousi (these here) introduced by the imperative horate (Behold!) suggests Classical Athens had brothels in or at least easily visible from the agora.32 The complex at Thessaloniki appears near the agora, and the tavern on Delos is by the “Agora” of the Italians.33 Aristophanes and Isaeus reference prostitution in the Athenian port of Piraeus (Pax 164–65; Isae. 6.19). The location of a possible Aphrodiseion similar in layout to the one near Merenda is located here.34 The Aphrodiseion of Merenda is located on the road leading to the ancient port of Prasiae. While the most substantial evidence points to ports and the entrances to cities as places ripe for prostitution and structures to accommodate it, we should be cautious about looking for a specific area of the city for physical evidence of prostitution. The city of Athens, for example, appears to have had no zoning restrictions for business of any kind, as the quote from Aeschines 1 above suggests (Glazebrook 2011a, 2011b). Xenophon indicates the streets of Athens were full of prostitutes and that brothels were common (Mem. 2.2.4). Philemon refers to brothels in “various quarters” (Ath. 13.569e).35 Sites of business in turn were not segregated from residential areas as they are in North America today. Workshop and home could coexist in the same space.36 The possibility thus exists that a citizen might easily find his house next to a brothel. Renters may also have found themselves in the same situation. The sunoikia in Piraeus, already mentioned, functioned as a rooming house while also keeping working prostitutes (Isae. 6.19). Ease of access for locals and nonlocals alike, however, and thus economic reasons ensured that brothels clustered in ports, near city gates and close to city centers. Nicholas Rauh highlights ample access to water as evidence for commercial prostitution in the Maison du Lac (see Fig. 5.2), which had wells in Rooms c and o and the courtyard, and two cisterns of such a size that the architects had to use stone arches to support the floor above (Rauh 1993: 209; but see Trümper, this volume [Chapter 5]). Water use may be a useful indicator of spaces of prostitution because washing and sexual intercourse were connected in ancient Greece. According to Herodotus, it was necessary for Greeks to wash after intercourse before entering a sanctuary (Hdt. 2.64; also Ar. Lys. 912– 13 on the requirement for women). One rids oneself of pollution by bathing,

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the cleansing passage of time, or special rituals. For intercourse, bathing was frequently enough (Parker 1983: 75). While sexual morality is not behind the requirement to bathe (Parker 1983: 74–77), the practice does suggest a commonly held concern for hygiene after intercourse. Although there is no evidence of a general aversion to the actual activity of sex, there is some abhorrence of bodily fluids. Hesiod comments, “Don’t display your genitals defiled with semen near the hearth within the house, but avoid it” (Op. 733). In Aristophanes’ Knights, Ariphrades is accused of staining/sullying his beard in brothels (1285–86). While the reference makes clear that cunnilingus is unseemly for a citizen male, referring to it as aischrai hēdonai (shameful pleasures), the use of molunein (to sully or defile) suggests contact with vaginal fluid, rendered apoptustos drosos (detested dew), is what makes the practice polluting. Both passages hint that washing after intercourse was desirable. Water is certainly connected to prostitution and brothels in later historical periods. At Rome, the aquariolus was a slave whose primary responsibility was to bring washing water to prostitutes (Butrica 1999a, 1999b). There is evidence of brothel owners in the 50s BCE illegally tapping the Roman water supply for the running of their businesses (Bruun 1997). While only Rauh comments on water supply as a necessary feature of spaces supporting prostitution (2003: 213), the other structures identified with prostitution in the Greek world do have easy access to water. Building Z3 includes three large cisterns, a tile-lined well, a complex of drains, as well as a loutērion and a basin, possibly for washing, as suggested by Ault in this volume (Chapter 4; see Fig. 4.4). Building Y also has multiple cisterns and good drainage (Fig. 8.2a). The Aphrodiseion at Merenda includes a cistern at the south end of the courtyard (Fig. 8.3) It also had a bath near the entrance to the structure. Finally, the tavern on Delos is near a drain and has a private well, located within its walls (Fig. 5.1a). The supply of water in some of these structures appears to be greater than what would be necessary for use by a single household. Building Z and the Maison du Lac in particular seem to have large supplies of water. Activities in the household involving water would presumably include bathing, household cleaning, cooking, and drinking for a single family. Water would also be necessary for any industrial activity carried out in the house. Multiple cisterns and wells may suggest a use other than domestic for a structure and should be taken into consideration when identifying any structure’s function. While taverns, inns, and factories likely require an above average supply of water, it is also worth considering that such a structure is a porneion or at least includes prostitution as a secondary function.

Figure  8.2a. Phase plan of Building  Y. Drawing by Tina Ross based on Knigge 1993: 128, fig. 3.

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Figure 8.2b. Fragment of wall plaster from Building Y, Room A, with graffito. Drawing by Tina Ross based on Knigge 1993: 140, fig. 120.

The courtyard, common to Greek houses, is also a possible feature of porneia judging from references in the literary sources. The fourth-century BCE comic poet Xenarchos comments in his play Pentathlon (Ath. 13.569a–b) that “it is possible to see [comely babes] warmed by the sun with their breasts exposed, fully naked in a row, drawn up in battle line. From these, anyone can find a pleasing one.” Euboulos (or Alexis) in his comic play, Nannion (Ath. 13.568f–569a), expresses the same sentiment: “it is possible, in broad daylight (pros ton hēlion), to gaze upon naked girls, one after another, drawn up in battle line.” Ephexēs (in a row, one after another) and epi kerōs tetagmenas (drawn up in battle line) used in both passages suggest a brothel lineup from which customers choose a girl. Xenarchos makes clear that this row of girls occurs in the open air. While prostitutes could make a line on the street outside the brothel, it is more likely that such a lineup occurred once a customer entered the brothel and made clear his desire to purchase a girl. A courtyard could have provided the space for such a display. It is open to the sunlight and offers ample room for multiple girls and customers. Building Z3 (Fig. 4.4) has two courtyards and the Aphrodiseion at Merenda (Fig. 8.3) has a single courtyard. Building Y has a peristyle courtyard, unusual for a nonpublic building in this

Figure 8.3. Plan of Aphrodiseion. Merenda, Athens. Courtesy of Olga Kakavogianni.

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period (Knigge 1993, 138). A peristyle courtyard is also a feature of the Maison du Lac (Fig. 5.2). If a courtyard is a common feature of porneia, then brothels and other spaces of prostitution may not have been so different from Greek or later Greco-Roman houses for which the courtyard was the standard feature. Lynn Kraynak previously pointed to the courtyard as a crucial feature of hostelries, along with prytaneia and gymnasia, making the courtyard not simply the marker of a house (1984: 37). These sites suggest they were likely also a central feature of taverns and porneia. In terms of design, sites previously identified with prostitution further resemble domestic structures in that they often have andrōnes (rooms lined with couches used for the male drinking party). The presence of multiple andrōnes, however, might suggest something more than simply a single household. The function of the domestic symposium was both social and political.37 A citizen invited other citizens to his home as a way to develop social networks and form political allies. It was a very personal affair: the activity of the participants and even the strength of the wine were decided upon by the group. It seems unlikely, at least in the Classical period, and counter to the function of the symposium for a citizen to host more than one drinking party at a time and so difficult to justify two andrōnes in a single-family dwelling. Of the sites discussed here, Building Z3 (Fig. 4.4) and Y2 have more than one andrōn. As in the case of domestic structures, such andrōnes and other areas of the structure may be elaborately decorated. Building Z3 has room decoration of red plaster (Rooms O and P) and part of a mosaic floor in Room Q. A simple mosaic also links the courtyards of the structure. The peristyle courtyard of Building Y indicates an elaborate and expensive construction for this building. The banquet rooms have polished pebble mosaic floors and walls decorated with red plaster. The courtyard of Y2 was paved with marble chips (Knigge, Löringhoff, and Kuhn 1995: 627). Rauh points out the elaborateness of the walls and floor of the courtyard of the Maison du Lac and notes the presence of a female statue in an exedra (1993: 209). While andrōnes and room decoration may be present, they are not common to all the structures under consideration, suggesting that brothels and their clientele varied. Significantly, none of the structures have evidence of erotic painting, such as that found at the Purpose-built brothel in Pompeii, despite visible decoration, suggesting that, in contrast to Roman painting, erotic painting is not a criterion of Greek brothels.38 Two design features of these structures may be unique to places offering prostitution: multiple entrances and small rooms, called oikēmata in the

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ancient sources. Multiple entrances provide easy access to a structure and might attract customers from more than one street. Another possible function of multiple entrances may have been to enhance traffic flow. Patrons can enter and leave via separate exits. Building Z3 and Building Y2 and Y3, separated only by a narrow lane and immediately south of the Sacred Gate, have two entrances each, with one easily accessible from the Sacred Way, an important artery into and out of the city. Building Y was accessed almost directly from the Sacred Way just before the gate. Building Z was easily accessible from the Sacred Way by turning down a lane running alongside the Sacred Gate and leading to the Postern Gate. This entrance led into its main courtyard. A second entrance to Building Z, added in its third phase, was off the narrow laneway between Building Z and Y and gave access to the small rooms running along the southwest wall. The Maison du Lac (Fig. 5.2) has three entrances: two into the courtyard and one at the northern end of the structure. Th is northwestern entrance gives the closest access to some peculiar rooms (p, k, j, i, and g) that had no windows despite the remains of walls reaching three feet high. These rooms were also distant and cut off from the central courtyard, another source of light. Furthermore, they are accessed through a large antechamber. Rauh comments on what appears to be the purposeful privacy of these rooms (1993: 207), and if this is a brothel, perhaps these are the rooms in which prostitutes worked. These rooms do not appear easily accessible, however, since their entrance is through another room. As mentioned, during the reconstruction of Building Z in phase 3, the phase associated with prostitution, a second entrance off a laneway was added on the southeast corner. It led directly into a corridor lined with small rooms. The rooms range in size from 2 × 3 m (W, X, Y) to 2.20 × 4 m (U, V) and appear large enough for only one or perhaps two couches. The location of the new doorway makes these rooms directly accessible from the street. Such rooms may be what the term oikēmata indicates in phrases such as kathēsto en oikēmati (Isae. 6.19) or epi tōn oikēmatōn kathēmenous (Aeschin. 1.74). Although oikēma can refer to various types of rooms, such as a chamber in a dwelling, a storage room or a workshop, the collocation of kathēmai (to be seated) and oikēma, as above, is used in reference to prostitutes specifically. A collection of small and/or private rooms in any structure may thus indicate a space for prostitution. An expected find in places offering prostitutes is drinking ware: cups, wine jugs, mixing kraters, and amphoras. But dining ware might also be present. Cooking ware, two hearths, and an iron grill indicate cooking activity in Building Z3. Drinking, eating, and intercourse went hand in hand in the

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Figure 8.4. Attic black-figure lekythos, ca. 500–475 BCE. Artist unknown. Kerameikos Museum, Athens, A15418. Drawing by Tina Ross based on Kavvadias 2000: 289, 299.

ancient Greek world. Hired women entertained at symposia, and prostitutes dined and drank with guests. Philoneos’s slave pallakē was present as a wine pourer when Philoneos entertained a friend at his home in Piraeus (Antiph. 1.17–19). The pornoboskousa Nikarete brings Neaira to private drinking parties ([Dem.] 59.24). Even after Neaira is freed, she accompanies Phrynion to various dinner parties ([Dem.] 59.33).39 Euktemon dines in one of his sunoikia with Alke, who has become his personal sexual companion (Isae. 6.21). Scenes of group sex in Attic vase painting include drinking ware and sometimes tables of food. A black-figure lekythos (for holding perfumed oil), currently housed in the Kerameikos Museum in Athens (Fig. 8.4), portrays three

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Figure 8.5. Red-figure cup by the Pedieus Painter, 510–500 BCE. Louvre, Paris G13. Photo: Les frères Chuzeville. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY.

male/female couples on a single large couch engaged in various positions of intercourse, either standing, seated, or reclining.40 A second couch has three more couples engaged in similar activities. Tables with strips of meat stand beside each couch.41 Even the most violent of orgy scenes on the exterior of a drinking cup, depicting older women coerced into sexual relations with men, shows one young man holding a drinking rhyton while enjoying fellatio (Fig.  8.5).42 Drinking ware in particular and usually in ample amounts is common at the sites for which the finds are carefully reported: Building Z3, Building Y2 and Y3, the Aphrodiseion at Merenda, the complex at Thessaloniki, and the tavern on Delos. Although the finds in the back rooms of Building Z3 are few, they include drinking cups and a krater, but also saucers and plates (Rooms V, U, W, Z) (Knigge 2005), finds that do not contradict the interpretation of these rooms as the actual oikēmata in which the prostitutes attended to customers. In such structures, the quantity of drinking cups found overall may prove useful to the interpretation of the structure, if they exist in quantities that could accommodate more than a single household

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(but see the caution of Lynch, this volume [Chapter 2]).43 Although examining a different historical context, Meyer, Gibson, and Costello determined that 66% of dining ware in an excavated parlor house (nineteenth-century Los Angeles) was glassware, compared to an average of only 30% for residences (2005: 116). At the very least, the presence of large quantities merits careful consideration of a structure’s use. Gender-specific items are another category of objects that may be useful in identifying brothels. In historical archaeology, Catherine Spude (2005) has argued that gender-related objects can help to distinguish between a brothel and a saloon. She reconstructs an assemblage for the female gender that includes such personal items as clothing, including fancy buttons and corset stays, combs, hairpins, hatpins, jewelry, cosmetics, cosmetic containers, sewing implements, parts of curling irons, and so forth. She then compares this assemblage to items predominately associated with the male gender, such as pocketknives and suspender buckles and shaving cream tubes (Spude 2005: 94).44 In her study of brothels and saloons in the American West, items for females were eight times more frequent in brothels than in saloons, in which prostitutes did not live. Male-specific items were also much fewer in brothels than in saloons (98). Her findings suggest that female-specific items can be important for identifying brothels in the archaeological record. In a related study, Meyer, Gibson, and Costello found that female-specific items constituted a higher percentage of the artifact assemblage of brothels than of family residences (2005: 119–20). Such items represent 34% of the objects, as opposed to only 20% of the objects for residences. These results indicate that the quantity of female-specific objects is significant in distinguishing between a brothel and a private residence, since brothels commonly have a higher percentage of female occupants. The majority of these female-specific items relate to physical appearance, personal grooming, and adornment. In ancient Greece, such objects were also important to the prostitute trade. Since prostitutes depended on their looks to attract customers, they augmented their appearances with various items. In descriptions of prostitutes, it is the purposeful manipulation of their bodies that the sources emphasize. Prostitutes might augment their breast size with padding, their hip size with a bustle, and their height with platform shoes (Ath. 13.568b– c). Cosmetics were a common feature of a prostitute’s attire (Ath. 13.557f and 568a– d). Prostitutes drew attention to their eyes by painting their eyebrows and around their eyes with asbolos, lamp-black. The statesman Alcibiades envisions himself wearing the dress of his hetaira in a dream. He

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also paints his face and outlines his eyes with makeup (Plut. Alc. 39). Prostitutes of course also used psimuthion (white lead) for their complexion and some sort of blush, normally anchousa (from alkanet root). Euboulos mentions sukaminos (mulberry juice) on the lips (Ath. 13.557f ). While all women likely wore psimuthion and anchousa, it is likely that only prostitutes wore asbolos.45 Cosmetics around the eyes would easily draw attention to this part of the face and shatter the deportment of female modesty necessary for married and marriageable Athenian women. Bronze mirrors and miniature bronze chests for jewelry or cosmetics were unearthed in Building Z1 and Building Z3. The excavators found pyxides, also used for jewelry and cosmetics, as well as lekythoi for perfumed oil, “shapes typically associated with the boudoir,” as commented by Ault this volume (Chapter 4). During his excavation of the taberna vinaria, Chatzidakis uncovered a spatula and thin-walled vessels used to make and store cosmetics, suggesting the permanent presence of a woman in this first century BCE tavern (1997: 294 and 307). Jewelry from Alexandria was also found, indicating again a female presence and hinting at the possibility of a foreign origin for her (1997: 294). Similarly, a silver pendant with an image of Astarte was found in Building Z3, suggesting the woman who possessed it was also foreign (Knigge 2005: 78). It is necessary to take a careful inventory of such gendered items, since an excess of female-specific objects might indicate a dominant female presence and help to distinguish between a house, a tavern, and a porneion. Finally, miscellaneous items can also be helpful in interpreting a structure and identifying its residents. Excavators used erotic objects, combined with the presence of sympotic ware, to suggest prostitution at the bath complex at Thessaloniki (Adam-Veleni 1999, cited above). In addition to sympotic and dining ware, an erect phallus measuring 0.133 m was found in Building Z3. While Knigge interpreted it to be a handle off a vessel, Ault in this volume playfully suggests its function as a dildo, noting the smooth surface of the object produced by careful burnishing. Cult objects were also found in Building Z3, supporting the suggestion of live-in prostitutes in that structure. The cult associations of a medallion, naiskos, and statuette with Astarte and Kybele suggest that the women were foreign, but also that the women lived and worked in the same space. Large quantities of loomweights were found in Building Z3 as well and have been used to support the view that prostitutes doubled as weavers (Knigge 2005; Davidson 1997).46 Excavators found a reused rectangular slab (50 × 35  cm) inscribed with the name Nannion (Nnn{n}ion) just outside a bathing area on the exterior of the Aphrodiseion

Figure 8.6. Inscription with detail from the Aphrodiseion. Merenda, Athens. Drawing by Tina Ross based on photo courtesy of Olga Kakavogianni.

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at Merenda (SEG LIII 223) (Fig.  8.6). They use the inscription to link the structure to sacred prostitution (Kakavogianni and Dovinou 2003: 35), since Nannion was a well-known hetaira in the mid-fourth century BCE.47 Euboulos even wrote a play titled Nannion in which the pornai were paraded out and put on display for customers.48 Just below the name are a series of markings, like dots, shaped into a triangle. Kakavogianni suggests the triangular shape evokes the pubis and interprets the markings as another indicator of prostitution at the site. Also of interest are four letters in a vertical line in the top left edge of the inscription (Olga Kakavogianni, pers. comm. March 2011). Building Y2 and 3 have been identified as a banquet house or tavern based on a graffito on the wall plaster from Room A: BOUBALION KALÊ (Boubalion is beautiful) (Knigge 1993: 139) (Fig. 8.2b). While the female name Boubalion is uncommon, making it unclear whether the name is that of a citizen or a metic, its collocation with kalē supports the name as that of a prostitute and suggests the presence of working prostitutes.49 Such kalos/kalē inscriptions are found on Attic vases used at the symposium and indicate a favorite youth or hetaira.50 At only one site, the Maison du Lac on Delos, was erotic graffiti found. It is difficult to use single finds, particularly erotic objects, as a criterion for identifying spaces of prostitution, but in combination with other finds and features, such inscriptions and objects give support to a structure’s identification as a porneion.

Conclusion My chapter demonstrates how spaces of prostitution, the bath complex excepted, and their objects have much in common with domestic structures: courtyards, wells, sympotic ware, and loomweights are familiar finds for both contexts. Andrōnes and courtyard gardens are also present in more than domestic structures.51 Since prostitutes frequently lived in the spaces where they worked, typical household items are present in porneia: for example the prostitute Alke lived and worked in a porneion run by a freedwoman of Euktemon (Isae. 6.19). Furthermore, it is not always helpful to talk about oikoi versus porneia. There is the possibility that ser vice industries were actually run out of houses, and thus living and sexual labor shared the same physical space (Morgan 2010: 101).52 Ancient references hint at this for the practice of prostitution as well. Apollodoros comments that Stephanos was using his oikos as a brothel ([Dem.] 59), and the well-to-do prostitute Theodote receives customers into

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her oikia (Xen. Mem. 3.11.4). It is therefore impossible to establish a successful formula for always identifying brothels and other spaces of prostitution, since it does not appear from the physical remains or the literary sources that such spaces had a unique architectural design or special features (unless actual oikēmata), or a specific artifact signature. Structures near city gates, in ports, and in other commercial areas have the potential for meretricious activity, but spaces of prostitution do not appear to have been restricted to particular areas of the ancient city. Excavators thus need to think carefully when identifying any nonpublic structure in the urban landscape and do careful comparisons of assemblages for nonpublic structures. What combination of objects and features can we expect to indicate meretricious activity and indicate a site type? The presence of erotic objects seems least helpful, since such objects were common throughout Greek culture in all periods. The amount of water use, sympotic ware, and even dining ware in a structure appears most helpful in determining between domestic structures and structures of business, like brothels and taverns, since the assemblages of houses versus brothels and/or taverns will likely differ in quantity. To this list, I add items for food preparation and storage that might suggest more than a single-family occupancy. These objects should be more carefully looked for and their numbers analyzed. Such assemblages may also differ in terms of the quantity of gendered objects: the number of adornment items, like jewelry, and toilet items, such as vessels for cosmetics and also mirrors, as well as high concentrations of loomweights should merit special attention as well. Such gendered items in particular might suggest a concentration of female inhabitants and thus a space where female prostitutes lived and worked. In terms of design, a collection of oikēmata on an easily accessible corridor may be unique to porneia. Multiple andrōnes and entrances along with an ample water supply may be additional features that can help distinguish between a porneion and a house. If a model for porneia is helpful, the physical remains do suggest that places with prostitution in the Greek world, while very different to the Purposebuilt brothel and cribs of Pompeii, share some affinity with the taverns/lodging houses of the Roman world. McGinn has discussed the connection between prostitution and such places in depth and has recently suggested this type as a useful model for places of Greek prostitution (2011: 258).53 Taverns/inns offered food and drink, but frequently had a small room or rooms at the back or on a second story for prostitution. In some cases, a masonry bed is still visible. The tavern-type brothel (taberna, caupona, and popina) is in fact the

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most common type of brothel in Roman Italy (McGinn 2004: 290). These spaces can be quite large and might include a garden, courtyard, and dining room.54 According to McGinn, the tavern-type brothel (like the brothel in general) catered to the lower classes. It is not clear that this was the case for the Greek world, however, since the wealthy seem to have visited such places as well (Isae. 6.19–21; Xen. Mem. 3.11.1) and the construction quality and decorative features of structures like Building Y suggest more affluent customers (Glazebrook 2011a). Variable quality between brothels was likely a feature of the Athenian sex trade. The situation may have been similar to nineteenthcentury America, where the quality of brothels varied with the clientele (Meyer, Gibson, and Costello 2005: 113; O’Brien 2005: 49). At the top were so-called parlor houses frequented by the middle and upper-middle classes and modeled on the domestic residence, even in some cases cultivating a high-class image (Ketz, Abel, and Schmidt 2005: 84; Yamin 2005: 11–16).55 While their primary function was access to prostitutes, the client enjoyed much more than sex. Archaeological evidence attests to other leisure activities such as smoking, the drinking of tea and wine, and the eating of small delicacies, including oysters.56 Prostitutes and clients mixed in a space reminiscent of the upperclass drawing room with the girls adorned in upper-class finery. At some point in the evening a prostitute and her client could slip away to a private room for sex. Other grades of brothel might offer food and drink, but the serving vessels and the foodstuff s were of a lower quality (Meyer, Gibson, and Costello 2005). While the material evidence for ancient Greece appears to fit in well with such models, which offer some helpful ideas for thinking about Greek brothels and their assemblages, the Greek sources are frustratingly silent on the association of prostitutes with kapēleia (taverns) and pandokeia (hostelries). Although kapēleia were well known for their offering of wine, and sometimes included food and lodging, only a single curse tablet suggests the availability of prostitutes.57 Only post- Classical sources connect the pandokeion, where guests could lodge and dine, with prostitution specifically (Strabo 12.18.17; Luc. Phil. 9).58 Scholars generally assume, however, that prostitutes frequented such places.59 While I do not dispute that prostitutes might be found at both locations, since prostitutes likely profited from the atmosphere created by wine drinking, there does appear to be a difference between these places and porneia. After all, in Aristophanes’ Frogs, Dionysos asks Herakles to recommend places on route to Kerberos, listing porneia and pandokeutriai (female innkeepers) separately. The difference, I suggest, lies in the availability of prostitutes

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rather than a specific architectural form. A porneion is a place occupied by a pornoboskos or pornoboskousa and thus a place where you were guaranteed to find prostitutes. A pandokeion or even a kapēleion might become a porneion when a pornoboskos and his girls arrive for a stay, as Strabo describes,60 but a porneion can also refer to a place where prostitutes both live and work semipermanently. While one might find prostitutes at kapēleia and pandokeia, one is guaranteed to find them at porneia. To be sure, the Roman debate concerning how to identify spaces of prostitution and brothels is heated, even for the site of Pompeii (Wallace-Hadrill 1995; Laurence 1994; McGinn 2002). In fact, even for more recent times, like nineteenth-century America, there is difficulty in identifying a brothel from only the material remains, since these brothels were similar to and modeled on contemporary domestic spaces.61 It is thus naïve to expect the identification of spaces of prostitution in the Greek world to be an easy matter or to find a unique building type for the brothel. The ancient sources discussed above confirm as much. My intention is to encourage archaeologists to consider prostitution when excavating ancient sites and when analyzing archaeological remains and assemblages and even to rethink the data from previously published sites. An increase of awareness has the potential to bring to light new evidence for the various types of prostitutes and venues of prostitution that existed in the Greek world.

Notes

chapter 1. what is a house? 1. Corbusier was particularly interested in creating housing in the large and increasingly dehumanized urban centers of the twentieth century, a project somewhat analogous to the task of the house builder in the newly founded Greek colonies or in the large urban agglomeration of Classical Athens. His ideas differed from those of the Greeks in that he advocated the use of techniques and materials developed by modern industry for the construction of his house designs, rather than the readily available and naturally occurring materials used by ancient builders.

chapter 2. can pottery help distinguish a brothel from a tavern or house? 1. Ault and Nevett (1999) discuss this issue and offer some solutions; Ault (2005a: n12) provides a bibliography for studies of houses in the Greek world. 2. Schiffer (1987: 89–97) calls cultural materials abandoned while still useable “de facto refuse.” 3. For an archaeological perspective on the life history of a house, see LaMotta and Schiffer 1999. 4. LaMotta and Schiffer 1999: 20. Small artifacts found in nooks and crannies are most likely to have come from primary activities: see discussion of the “McKellar Principle” in Schiffer 1987: 62–64. Ault (1994: 76n24) notes that Schiffer does not consider thoroughly the role of floor maintenance in introducing artifacts, although this activity is comparable to Schiffer’s discussion of roof mud packings in the American Southwest (Schiffer 1987: 111–13). 5. For example, fi ll could be moved from a refuse location shared by several households or even with commercial operations. See Schiffer 1987: 58–62, who distinguishes these discard sites as “secondary deposits.” Removing fill from the secondary discard area constitutes reclamation and reuse (Schiffer 1987: 113–14; Peña 2007: 283). 6. For example, the koprōn in Halieis House D contained only 4 complete or nearly complete vessels out of at least 144 vessels represented (Ault 2005a: 46).

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7. Reoccupation occurred mainly in the Northwest Quarter (Cahill 2002: 49–61). 8. Dema House: Jones, Sackett, and Graham 1962; Vari House: Jones, Graham, and Sackett 1973. The rate of abandonment can affect the quantity and quality of artifacts left behind; see Schiffer 1987: 89–93. 9. Even within Attica, Nevett (2005a) recognizes differences in house types between the urban and rural deme centers, and logic allows that rural houses would need different types and amounts of pottery for agricultural activities. 10. On the potential of this variability to enhance—not hinder— our understanding of the ancient Greek house, see Ault and Nevett 2005b: 172–73. 11. For well-studied sites outside Attica, see Ault 1994, 1999, 2005a (Halieis) and Cahill 2002 (Olynthos). 12. Persian destruction debris also occurs as stratigraphic layers of fills: see Shear 1993: 472–77. These strata tend to be more fragmentary and disturbed by later building activities, and thus are not considered in Lynch 2011b. 13. Note that the levels as preliminarily described by Camp (1996: 244–46) are revised in Lynch 1999 and Lynch 2011b. Fig. 2.2 presents the revised stratigraphy. 14. On the potential meaning of abrasion, see Schiffer and Skibo 1989. 15. See Orton 1993 for a discussion of various approaches to MNV calculations. The estimates are meant to relate to a “parent” population, of which the deposit is a sample (Orton 1993: 177–78). 16. Normally, MNV calculations offer a diachronic characterization of a population of pottery. See Ault 2005a: 9. 17. For an alternative approach that uses both rims and bases, see Ault 2005a: 8–9. 18. The implications of multiple sets of drinking cups are discussed in Lynch 2011b. 19. The present author generated MNV data from the published cata logue of pottery and fragments in Jones, Sackett, and Graham 1962. Thus, it is possible that unpublished diagnostic pottery exists and would alter the results presented in Fig. 2.5. On the other hand, the excavators paid close attention to utilitarian pottery, so it is likely that the data for these normally discarded wares are accurate. For a similar assessment of pottery from the Dema House, the Vari House, and Agora Deposit N 7:3, see Rotroff 1999: 68 and table 2. 20. Lawall (2000: 78–79): “It seems likely that some of the amphora graffiti appeared as part of the process of ‘selling by the kotyle.’ As each kotyle was dispensed from the kapēleion’s jar into the customer’s container, the kapēlos may have jotted a note on the jar—perhaps under the suspicious eye of the customer. Such action would result in some of the smaller volumetric notations seen in the Agora collection. Graffiti using larger units (1- or 5-chous units instead of kotylai) might have resulted from customers buying wine in smaller jugs for home consumption or for drinking and dining by a larger group at the kapēleion.” On kapēleia, see Kelly-Blazeby 2001. 21. On characterizing a kapēleion by its ceramic and archaeobotanical remains, see Margaritis 2014. 22. The name “olpe” introduces much confusion. The term is used by ancient authors for both wine and oil jugs (Richter and Milne 1935: 19; Roebuck and Roebuck 1955:

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162), but archaeologists use the term for two different shapes. Black-figured olpai are pouring vessel variants of oinochoai (cf. the Corinthian Chigi Vase), but plain or blackgloss olpai have a different profile and a smaller volume (cf. Sparkes and Talcott 1970: 76– 78). Some of these plain “olpai” from Athens were official measures (Sparkes and Talcott 1970: 78). The intended purpose and original name of the plain versions are unknown, but it is likely to have been a flexible, multiuse vessel. 23. For capacity of plain olpai and other shapes, see Lynch 2011b, appendix B. 24. For “tins” as units, see Lawall et al. 2001: 163. The loss of the loomweights seems particularly regrettable considering their importance for the identification of Building Z in the Kerameikos as a brothel. See Ault, this volume (Chapter 4). 25. Full publication: Knigge 2005; summary discussions: Knigge 1991: 93; Ault 2005b: 149–50. On identification, see also Ault, this volume (Chapter 4). The present author has not studied the pottery from Building Z personally, so comments here are preliminary. 26. Quantification arrived at using Knigge 2005: 72, 175–230. 27. The amulets and figurines have been used as evidence that the building was a brothel, but votive figurines and vessels were also found in houses: see Shear 1993: 438 (D 17:10), 453–54 (H 12:15), 468 (Q 21:3); Camp 1996: 251, no. 35, plate 75 (J 2:4). 28. Rotroff (1999: 68) comes to the same conclusion that “vessels earmarked for use with wine are remarkably common.” She goes on to strengthen the picture of how extraordinary the Greek emphasis on wine ser vice vessels was by offering an informal statistical comparison to pottery from ten non-Western communities in which serving vessels are rare, if present at all.

chapter 3. patterns of amphora discard from houses, shops, taverns, and brothels 1. The same speech, at sections 81–84, also includes a possible reference to the destruction of abandoned houses, the debris from which may have been used in the construction of the third version of the Pnyx. 2. The parenthetical note in the heading and this paragraph refer to the fact that some of the wells or other such pits appear in the courtyard of the building in question. But such discard differs substantially from the deposition of amphoras or amphora fragments on the living areas of the building where they were still accessible when the building or building phase was abandoned. 3. I deliberately exclude the taberna vinaria from this discussion, not because I reject the possibility of it having some function in prostitution, but because its preserved remains and ceramic assemblage seem best explained in terms of a primary function as a place to buy and drink wine. It could well have been a place where one would be sure of finding a pornē. It is also necessary to exclude the South Stoa at Corinth from this discussion. I have examined the surviving pottery from those excavations, and there is simply too little amphora material retained to draw any conclusions.

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4. Other contemporary structures proposed to have served as brothels (to one extent or another) include the Tavern of Aphrodite, where the only amphora material known to me comes from one early sixth-century well deposit (Brann 1956; Morgan 1953 on the excavations; Kelly-Blazeby 2008: 156 on the building as brothel); the Villa of Good Fortune at Olynthos is suggested by Kelly-Blazeby (2008: 148) to have included prostitution alongside its other public functions as gambling den and tavern, but the storage containers there are dominated by pithoi instead of amphoras.

chapter 4. building z in the athenian ker ameikos I would like to thank numerous individuals for their assistance with this project. Allison Glazebrook and Barbara Tsakirgis have been particularly helpful, as have Jeff rey Henderson, Kenneth Lapatin, Kathleen Lynch, Lisa Nevett, Jutta Stroszeck, Robert F. Sutton, and Monika Trümper. Unfortunately, I was unable to consult the new edition of the Kerameikos guide (Stroszeck 2014) for detailed inclusion here. Translations from the primary sources follow those of the standard Loeb editions.

1. Only twice is prostitution mentioned by name in the text: the first is a refutation of other scholars’ attempts (e.g., Lind 1988) to identify its presence in Buildings Z1 and Z2 (Knigge 2005: 31n73); while the second concerns its modest admission into Building Z3 (ibid.: 78). 2. Ursula Knigge 2005: 6–27, 96–97, 124–45; plates 4.1, 5–11, 58–79; folding plans 1, 3. Bold numbers in the text refer to the running series of cata log entries in Knigge 2005: 103–247. 3. Knigge 2005: 28–48, 96–97, 146–67; plates 4.2, 12–20, 80–98; folding plans 1, 4. 4. Knigge 2005: 6–7, 124–25 (Z1: 112–20); 29, 146–47 (Z2: 275–77); 50, 168–75 (Z3: 446–60). As such, these bear a strong resemblance to the so-called pyre deposits long known from the Athenian agora and environs, as well as numerous other locations including the Kerameikos, which have been subject to a variety of interpretations (e.g., Young 1951b: 110–34). Rotroff (2014) presents the first detailed study, but appeared too late for full consideration here. 5. Knigge 2005: 49–79, 96–97, 168–230; plates 21–33, 99–141; folding plans 1, 5. 6. It is from a “votive deposit” in the northwestern corner of the courtyard of Building Z3 that was recovered an inscribed horos stone (446) offering the lease of a plot for 450 drachmas. Since the inscription has been dated to the middle of the fourth century, at a time when Building Z lay in ruins, it is not unreasonable to suppose that the horos refers to this very parcel. 7. The excavators take the association of two of the three cisterns with paved areas, and perhaps the basin located just north of the southernmost cistern, as evidence for the washing of wool or flax, as part of the textile production taking place in Building Z3 (Knigge 2005: 69–71). The pithos that stood next to the northernmost cistern (in Room E3) likely held water for just such use. Similarly “industrial” functions might also have been served by those features in Building Z2 (the two basins associated with Room J2,

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and the cutting in the floor of Room Ab2, the latter of which contained five loomweights), suggested above to be lustral in nature. 8. Building Z4: Knigge 2005: 80–83, 96–97, 231–36; plates 34–36, 142; folding plans 1, 6. Building Z5: ibid.: 84–87, 96–97, 237–39; plates 34–36, 147; folding plans 1, 6. 9. In early preliminary reports, Building Z2 was identified as a Wirtshaus as well (cf. Knigge and Kovacsovics 1983: 212). 10. Cf. Raeder 1988 and Reber 1988, for treatments explicitly focused on Vitruvius’s consideration of the Greek house. While both are cited in support of arguments identifying Buildings Z1 and Z2 as private residences, each takes pains to emphasize that Vitruvius’s discussion must be an amalgam of information based on significantly later (i.e., Hellenistic) manifestations of Greek domestic structures. 11. Cf. the “Testimonia Selecta ad Domum Graecam Pertinentia” and “Reference List of Some Greek Words Concerned with the House” in Robinson 1946: 399–452, 453– 71, as well as the discussions on the history of house nomenclature and typology by Nevett 2005b, 2007, and Ault and Nevett 2005a. 12. All of these criticisms have been made repeatedly in the more recent literature cited above in notes 10–11. 13. Cf. the comments already made above about the unusual entryways to Building Z. The partial exceptions here are Rooms Ab1 and T1 in Building Z1. In both instances a line of three holes was discerned in the earthen floor just within the doorway. While these are admittedly good evidence for the pivots and bolt of double-winged doors closing the rooms, and may be indicative of the ephemeral nature of similar remains elsewhere in the structure, taking the example from Room Ab1 as evidence for the “conjugal bedroom” (Knigge 2005: 11) because of its proximity to Room Aa 1, interpreted as a bath, “which according to Lysias (1.9) and Vitruvius were integrated within the gynaikonitis” (ibid.), is hardly necessary. It should be noted that the sole artifact recovered from the two rooms Ab1 and T1 consisted of the distal fragment of a decorative bone implement (237) from Room T1. For the seven iron keys recovered from Building Z3, which are too small and of the wrong type to have been used for doors, see above, with note 23. 14. Such displays of or advertisement for prostitution, albeit in a more public fashion, have been identified as lying behind lines 30–35 of the so-called Harbor Stele from Thasos (SEG xlii.735), which forbade women looking out or showing themselves from rooftops and windows (Graham 1998). From showroom parlors in brothels to street corner gatherings and online menus, the same devices are employed today. 15. Recall here Ischomachos’s admonition to his nameless young wife about wearing makeup (Xen., Oec. 10.1–13; cf. Glazebrook 2009 for an extended analysis of the episode). 16. Among the various available considerations of the Greek dildo (ancient olisbos or baubon), typically believed to have been made of padded leather, and so associated with the shoemaker’s craft, see Brulé 2003: 107–10. The deliberate burnishing of 425 as part of its manufacture (not mentioned in the cata log entry, but clearly visible in the photograph), which took place prior to firing and radically transformed its surface texture, lends particular support to its identification as a dildo.

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17. Regarding this latter adage, see McGinn 2004: v. In a personal communication (October 2009), Jeffrey Henderson notes, “Naukrates is a pretty common male name, and Naukrate is attested as a slave name; it would make a good hetaera name, perhaps suggesting the woman-on-top posture, frequently mentioned in comedy.” For more on names, see note 25 below. 18. The following synopsis of loomweights from Building Z should suffice to make the point. Building Z1 yielded 124 loomweights from six rooms (including the cache of 108 [126–30] from Room R 1); Building Z2, 19 loomweights from four rooms; and Building Z3, 153 loomweights from nine rooms. Sixteen of the loomweights from Building Z3 also bore inscribed stamps, proclaiming ΝΟΗΜΑ (509, from Room Aa 3), ΓΛΥΚ (509, from Room Aa 3; 774, from Room K 3; and 815, from Room P3), and ΜΕΛΙΣ (774, from Room K 3; and 815, from Room P3): “swift,” “sweet,” and “industrious” (like a bee). Among the likely weaving equipment, special mention should be made again of what appears to be a particularly fine bronze spindle with decorative weight disc from Building Z1 (221, Room P1; Knigge 2005: 139, with fig. 20, plate 74). 19. Hyperbolic interpretations aside, see Keuls 1983, as well as Davidson 1997: 86– 90, and the fundamental piece by Rodenwaldt 1932. Although the associations between prostitution and textile production in ancient Greece have hitherto been based largely on iconographic evidence (but cf. Strabo 8.6.20), ample ethnographic parallels exist from other cultures. And the recent study of the Attic Manumission inscriptions by Wrenhaven 2009 shows that fifty-one of the sixty-three women listed there are identified by profession as “wool-workers.” Given the high price of purchasing one’s freedom (i.e., payment of a phiale worth one hundred drachmas and further unspecified fees), Wrenhaven argues that the designation of “wool-worker” is a whitewashing code for “prostitute.” She also goes on to address the iconography of and arguments surrounding the “spinning hetaera,” and considers Building Z among the archaeological evidence lending support to her overall thesis. 20. I would like to thank Kenneth Lapatin for making this observation (pers. comm., January 2009). The presence of these official mea sures could also be taken as an indication of state interest or involvement in establishments like Building Z, for which there is some, albeit controversial, supporting evidence (cf. Ault 2005b: 156n12). 21. Rhodes 13261, illustrated in Keuls 1983: 227, fig. 14.37. 22. For comparable lead weights, see Lang and Crosby 1964: 27, with plates  2–4; along with their discussion on weight standards and legends, 4–21. 23. Averaging 0.105 m in length, these keys are not for doors, which tend to be larger, and of the L-shaped, “latch lifter” variety (cf. Kaltsas and Shapiro 2008: 214, no. 91). Among the furniture and furnishings we should expect, but of which no traces remain, are couches/ beds, seats, tables, curtains (for doorways), and floor coverings (cf. Andrianou 2009). Other miniature bronze chests are known as sanctuary dedications as well as domestic utensils (Kaltsas and Shapiro 2008: 332n150). Cf. similar examples from the Artemis sanctuary at Lusoi, in Arcadia (Mitsopoulos-Leon 1990) and House IV at Eretria (Reber 1998: 84, with fig. 134).

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24. Davidson 1997: 330n40 makes a similar observation, citing Xenophon’s Poroi (2.6), where the author refers to the great many “vacant sites for houses within the city walls,” and how they should be developed, in order to encourage “a larger and better class of persons desiring to live in Athens.” 25. Prostitutes named after animals are not uncommon, while those with epithets inspired by vegetables are. I would like to thank Jeffrey Henderson (pers. comm., October 2009) for his thoughts about the name “Boubalion” (see also Glazebrook, in this volume [Chapter 8]). For prostitutes’ names in general, see Schneider 1913: 1362–71; Licht 1932: 408–10; McClure 2003: 59–78; and Wrenhaven 2009: 380–81.

chapter 5. locations of ill repute in l ate hellenistic delos I would like to thank the editors for giving me the opportunity to contribute to this volume. Furthermore, I am greatly indebted to Bradley Ault, Christina Leypold, Caroline Rödel, and especially Jean-Charles Moretti for critical, perceptive comments and information, and to Elizabeth Wolfram-Th ill for improving my English text.

1. This is not included in Karvonis’s comprehensive overview of commercial facilities in Delos; Karvonis 2008. 2. This complex is published in a preliminary paper that focuses on the ceramic finds and includes no plan giving the precise location of this complex. The state plan, Chatzidakis 1997, fig. 1, lacks levels and a legend and thus is not easy to understand. 3. This arrangement cannot be fully evaluated, but seems highly unusual. One would also like to know where exactly the large pithos was located. 4. Cf. Karvonis 2008: 184: surface area of pièces polyvalentes (“shops”) in Delos ranges from 4 m 2 to 72 m2, with an average of about 23 m2. 5. For a quantitative assessment of find assemblages that critically discusses the potential identification of average household/tavern/brothel assemblages in Athens, see Lynch, this volume (Chapter 2). Such an assessment is currently not possible for Delos because no sufficient number of conclusive assemblages is known and published; see below, note 18. 6. Without reacting in due detail to critical voices, Rauh repeats his identification in later publications: Rauh, Dillon, and McClain 2008: 197–208; McClain and Rauh 2011: 155–56, 168n2. Since discussion of the Maison du Lac is most detailed in Rauh 1993, the later publications will not always be referred to in the following. 7. The ninety- one houses examined in Trümper 1998 include the House of the Diadoumenos and the House of Fourni, which were most likely clubhouses (Trümper 2003: 137, 2011b). They are excluded from the list of houses here, which requires some modifications in the statistics given in Trümper 1998. 8. An interdisciplinary research project on water management in Delos includes a comprehensive examination of domestic water supply (Brunet et al. 2001; Brunet et al. 2003; Desruelles 2001). The final publication probably will allow for calculating the capacity of cisterns and reservoirs and thus for better assessing the House of the Lake’s water supply. Household sizes cannot be safely determined in Delos.

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9. This number was even higher because several houses lost their original annexrooms in later remodeling processes; Trümper 1998. 10. Trümper 1998, XXI, houses 18–19, 21, 34–35, 40, 43, 46, 48, 53–54, 55–56, 67–68, 89–90. 11. Chamonard 1922: 105–7, 214, figs. 46–48, 94; Bruneau 1970: 633, 643–45, plate XVI; Marcadé 1973: 329–35, figs. 1–5; and Bruneau 2006: 23–30, figs. 1–12, 494–95, fig. 6 have compiled: • first, blocks originally integrated into walls, of which nine show phalli (three in situ: House of the Lake, NE corner; Theater quarter, shop 49, west façade; Magasin α, SE corner; six not in situ: House of Skardhana; four reliefs from the House of Fourni; block on the hill of Ghlastrophi); one symbols of the Dioskouroi flanking a shield found in situ (House of the Lake); one a shield (Granite Monument, SE corner, but not found in situ); and four clubs of Herakles (two in situ: House of the Lake, NE corner; House of Dionysos, west façade; not in situ: Granite Monument; block in the street to the north of the Établissement of the Poseidoniasts of Berytos); • second, reliefs originally inserted into walls or niches, of which one shows symbols of the Dioskouroi (House of Diadoumenos), one a phallus-animal and eye (Inopos House A, Room l), one Hermes with a gigantic phallus (in situ in the niche of a shop no. 41 on the Theater street), and one a nude person with two gigantic phalli and a third winged phallus in his right hand (found to the north of the Agora of Theophrastos); • third, a phallus relief molded in stucco on a gneiss block in situ (House of Diadoumenos, south façade; no longer preserved today); • fourth, architectural elements: marble door jambs with phallus (north) and man with knife (south) (House C to the west of the Établissement of the Poseidoniasts); voussoirs of an arch found near the Hypostyle Hall with symbols of the Dioskouroi flanking a shield. • thus, in total twenty-two depictions, of which nine were found in situ. The schematic small map, McClain and Rauh 2011: 151, fig. 7.1, showing the distribution of reliefs in the Quarter of the Lake is not complete, is not entirely correct, and does not differentiate between reliefs found in situ and those not found in situ. 12. The series of shops attached (on a higher level) to the east of the building was added later (Trümper 2002: 183–87, fig. 10). 13. Advertising male prostitution, which was always somewhat problematic in the Greco-Roman world, ostentatiously with two reliefs on the façade of this lavish large complex seems inconceivable and is, in any case, conspicuously without comparison in Delos and the ancient world. This is not the place to discuss this in full detail. For lack of space, Rauh’s most recent identification of the complex of shops in the Agora of the Italians as a purpose-built brothel also cannot be discussed here: Rauh, Dillon, and McClain

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2008: 206–8; McClain and Rauh 2011: 165–67; thirteen small dark cubicles with windows (not clearly specified which ones, but probably some of the Rooms 50–76) would have served as cellae meretriciae. It is only mentioned here that none of the walls of these rooms is preserved to a height that would allow excluding the presence of windows; that none of these rooms has even preserved a doorway or threshold but that at least Rooms 51, 53, 58, 61, 63, 66, and 69 were most likely also opened to the street; and that with surface areas of, for example, 17  m 2 (Room 62), 25  m 2 (Room 61), 36  m 2 (Room 50), these rooms hardly qualify as small cellae; cf. Trümper 2008. 14. Rauh 1993: 213 (cf. McClain and Rauh 2011: 153) cites Bruneau 2006: 495 (originally published in 1979) incompletely and thus misleadingly: “As Bruneau commented upon discovering the phallus at the intersection of Road Five and Magasin Alpha, ces phallus n’ étaient pas apotropaïques, mais signalaient une direction vers laquelle se tendait l’extrémité du membre.” 15. A CD-ROM with archive photos of the École française d’Athènes shows graffiti on the west wall of Room F, which may have included this inscription, and on the north wall of Exedra e, immediately next to the door to Room F. 16. While the long graffito in verses from Room C of the House of the Lake received considerable attention in scholarship (Bruneau 2006: 316n86), the name of Lucius Aufidius was noticed only by J. Hatzfeld in his prosopographic study of Italians in Delos (Hatzfeld 1912: 212, no. 32; Ferrary, Hasenohr, and Le Dinahet 2002: 189). 17. In Ferrary, Hasenohr, and Le Dinahet 2002: 189 the Lucius Aufidius of the graffiti has a separate entry and is not identified with one of the two celebrated bankers in Delos, either Lucius Aufidius L. f. or his son L. Aufidius L. f. Bassus. Also, there is no evidence to support Rauh’s assumption that the Aufidii Bassi built the House of the Seals as a temporary residence in Delos (Trümper 2005a: 391–94). 18. See above, note 5. Trümper 2003: 130n15, 2005b, 2008: 284–91. Chatzidakis has recently excavated but not yet fully published a number of commercial complexes in the Skardhana Quarter and on the coast. This important project yielded find assemblages and structures that may allow identifying the use of these spaces. 19. The recently much debated problem of the nature, size, and capacity of the “harbor” or “harbors” in Delos cannot be discussed here in detail, although this is of crucial importance for assessing the realistic commercial significance of the free port; see Desruelles et al. 2007; Mourtzas 2012. 20. Room D: 30 m 2; Room J: 33 m2. 21. Systematically studying the various publications of decoration and find categories and unpublished “carnets de fouilles” and find inventories may yield more material discovered in this building; this onerous task, which is hindered by the absence of indices in important volumes (Trümper 2008: 8n38), is beyond the scope of this chapter, however; note only that Marcadé 1969 does not list this building in the index, and Bruneau 1972: 188 lists only the pavement of the latrine. 22. The identification of buildings with central courtyards surrounded by series of small rooms (as hostelries, banquet buildings, or other) has been much debated recently,

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esp. for those located in sanctuaries; Kraynak 1984; Riethmüller 2005: 1:282, 293–94; Leypold 2008: 104–10, also 157–58, 199, n. 989. 23. The Sea Palaistra was, in one of its later phases, provided with a latrine, but the “Gymnasium,” newly built in the second century BCE, had no latrine. Therefore, a latrine was obviously not standard for athletic facilities in Delos, whereas buildings that accommodated and entertained large groups (e.g., clubhouses, hostelry-inns) were always supplied with latrines (Trümper 2011a). 24. Triarius received five statues on Delos (ID 1621, 1855–58), found in various places, but mostly obviously not in situ. While one was set up by the Athenians and the inhabitants of Delos, three were dedicated by his soldiers, and the donors of the fi fth are unknown. Thus, it is not beyond doubt that ID 1856, which seems to be the only evidence for the use of this building as barracks, was originally set up in the “Granite Palaistra” or not just displaced like all the other examples. 25. These shops (see note 11 above) were not fully excavated in 1903 and are therefore lacking on the plan Jardé 1905: plate V. Magasin γ has most recently been fully excavated by Panagiotis Chatzidakis; results are shown on the new plan published by Hasenohr 2012: 251, fig. 3 (here Fig. 5.5).

chapter 6. dining and the cult of aphrodite This essay is in many ways a response to Allison Glazebrook’s chapter in this volume and stems from our initial discussions in Athens, concerning the association of prostitution with the South Stoa at Corinth. I thank her for the opportunity to address this issue, which forms part of a larger study of the stoa that I am preparing for publication.

1. Broneer 1954: 99, 157. Williams (1986: 21n37) consented that the stoa might have been used for the cult of Aphrodite sometime in its history. 2. Strabo 8.6.20. Pirenne-Delforge collects and discusses the relevant ancient textual references on sacred prostitution at Corinth (2007: 319–23). 3. Glazebrook (2011a: 54n2) collects the arguments for and against the identification of sacred prostitution. For a negative view see Pirenne-Delforge 1994: 100–126, 2007: 319–23; cf. Pironti 2013; Budin 2008. 4. For discussion of the archaeology related to the cult of Aphrodite at Corinth, see Williams 1986. 5. Architectural space on Acrocorinth for such large-scale activity was lacking (Williams 1986). After the Antigonids garrisoned Acrocorinth, the placement of a brothel there, rather than in the city, was even less likely. See Pirenne-Delforge (2007: 322): “But sexual relations were no more permitted in Aphrodite’s Corinthian sanctuary than they were in Greece’s other sacred places: aphrodisia belonged amongst those conditions of the human body that required precautions and purifications before approaching the sphere of the divine and the sacred [with reference to Parker 1983: 74–103].” 6. Trümper, this volume (Chapter 5). Also Glazebrook, this volume (Chapter 8).

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7. See Coulton (1976: esp. 8–13) for possible uses of stoas and the difficulty of assigning one function to them. 8. Broneer 1954: 59–65, 98. 9. Ibid., 98–99. 10. Broneer 1954: 98. 11. McPhee and Pemberton 2012. 12. Scahill 2012. For a date ranging from 320 to 270 BCE based on stylistic grounds, see also Roux 1961: 348 and Martin 1956: 213–16. 13. IG IV2 68 and Plut. Demetr. 25.3. For another inscription mentioning the league, see Schweigert 1940: 348–51. I discussed this idea more extensively in my PhD dissertation (Scahill 2012: 287–91.). See also Dixon (2014: 127), who supports the idea that the Antigonids were involved in its financing. 14. The Doric and Ionic elements of the South Stoa were carved with extreme care in local Corinthian limestone, upon which a fine coat of stucco was applied, the same practice as in temple architecture throughout the Peloponnese. Furthermore, the stoa has curvature, an architectural refinement comparable to the best temples in the Greek world. Only a small number of stoas in sanctuary contexts have been found to have curvature, further reflecting their importance. 15. By the mid- to late Hellenistic period, buildings in agoras and sanctuaries were commonly well appointed, although in earlier periods, stoas in a nonsanctuary context rarely were. The Stoa Poikile and the Stoa of Zeus in Athens are examples of specialpurpose buildings from the fifth century BCE. South Stoa I, built during the fifth century BCE in the Athenian Agora, while an important public building perhaps used for dining, was not well appointed (Thompson 1954). 16. Williams 1978. I do not discuss here the arguments for and against the location of the agora in the open area south of Temple Hill. Williams (1970: 32–39 ) asserted that the agora was elsewhere, due to a lack of solid evidence in the area of the forum for official state activity. Donati (2010) shows that no collection of evidence to date proves other wise. 17. A major Hellenistic building phase during the same period is seen in the theater at Corinth. I have elsewhere linked this phase of the theater to the South Stoa and the Antigonids, as part of a larger building program (Scahill 2012). 18. Broneer 1954: 62–64. 19. The small finds from the excavations in the South Stoa were intended initially to form part of a combined publication of the stoa. As the architecture and pottery were published separately, the finds still await full study and publication. 20. Edwards 1975: 196–98, with deposit summaries (95–118). 21. Most material found dates prior to 146 BCE. The stratification of the material found in the wells, or lack thereof, is problematic. Sarah James has restudied the Hellenistic pottery from the wells, and publication of her results should help to sort out the chronological and depositional spread of the material. What can briefly be said here from my own investigation of the architectural material from the well deposits is that there is

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material spanning from the archaic period to the Roman period, some of which derives from buildings elsewhere in the area. 22. Scahill forthcoming-a. One problem centers on buildings in the Greek world described as for public or ritual dining in sanctuaries and agoras. A recent excellent study by Leypold (2008) compiles all relevant buildings. A major issue regarding different types of banqueting in identified structures remains to be determined. 23. See Brauron and the Asklepieion at Corinth, as discussed in Miller 1978. Tomlinson (1990: 95) argues 1.80 × 0.85, while Bookidis (1990: 88n20) discusses irregular couch sizes. Because klinai were often made of wood, they may be missing from the archaeological record. 24. Broneer’s hypothetical reconstruction of the upper-floor rooms removes privacy for the sake of traffic through a corridor at the back and the placement of columns between rooms, even though he argues for sleeping quarters on this level (1954: 71–79, and perspective drawing on frontispiece). Coulton offered an equally conjectural different reconstruction of the upper floor (1976: fig. 13), although it addresses the issue of privacy. A new reconstruction of the upper floor will be published in my study of the building. 25. Broneer restored windows in the front and back rooms (1954: 56 and fig.  35), which would direct light into the other wise dark interior space. Thompson (1954: 43) argued that windows caused the off-center placement of doors in the South Stoa. Yet windows did not preclude couches, as a stoa at Labraunda with both windows and couches proves (Hellström 2007). 26. Williams 1978: 53. 27. For the Stoa at Kameiros, see Jacopi 1933: 241–49. For the Stoa at Pella, see Lilimpaki-Akamati et al. 2011: 67–72. 28. Williams 1980: 116–27. 29. Another less convincing idea argues for the South Stoa as a xystos for athletic training, due to its length of 165 meters, nearly the same length as the racecourse to the north in the valley. The known xystoi from the Greek world, however, do not have rooms at the back, nor are they two-storied or so well appointed. If the South Stoa was a xystos, it would combine an indoor running track with a palaistra and hostel, an unparalleled combination. Furthermore, the racetrack may have been designed and used for torch races, which would reflect the cult aspect of the area (Williams 1986: 35). 30. Xen. Hell. 5.4.4. This passage deserves more attention for its connection between banqueting and civic cult. 31. Davidson 1942: 105–27. 32. Broneer 1954: 96–97. 33. On the meaning of bearded banqueters, see Merker 2000: 67n298; Dentzer 1982; and Davidson 1952: 48–49, nos. 302–7. For hero cults at Corinth and possible relation to this deposit, see Broneer 1942: 128–61. 34. The Roman brothel at Pompeii, the Lupanar, despite its Roman date and its uniqueness, demonstrates essential qualities one might look for in brothels of the Greek period as well. It is located on a small alley, near to but not on the forum, with small

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rooms containing a bed made of stone and access to water in the form of a latrine under the stairs (see remarks in Glazebrook, this volume [Chapter 8]). 35. Williams (1978: 53) argues that “serious consideration should be given to the assumption that brotherhoods or religious societies occupied the building.” 36. Steiner 2002: 357–68. for graffiti implying ribald behavior. 37. Aeschin. 1.74. 38. Xen. Mem. 3.11.4. 39. For Building Z in the Kerameikos as a Hetärenhaus, see Lind 1988; as a brothel, Davidson 1997; as a porneion or katagōgion that became a porneion, Ault 2005b: 150. See also Knigge 1991, 2005. 40. See Ault 2005b: esp. 155 for a concise and valuable summation of the evidence. 41. For the cult of Aphrodite in the preforum area at Corinth, one fourth-century BCE kantharos has the deity’s name scratched on the lip (Walter 1942: 143; Weinberg 1948: 239, no. 6, plate 88; SEG XI 204; Boegehold 1974: 36–37). Pausanias notes a statue of Aphrodite made by Hermogenes of Kythera at the west end of the forum. Statuettes of Venus from the Roman period were also found in this area. Strong (1997: 91 and 105) argues that the earlier buildings underneath the South Stoa terrace could have contained prostitutes. Williams and Fisher (1973: 23) argues against this identification, especially with regard to Building III. 42. Williams 2005: 243–45.

chapter 7. looking inside on the outside of a pot 1. All dates hereafter are BCE unless other wise specified. 2. Paris, Louvre CA 1857 (BAD 9599). 3. Berlin, Staatliche Museen F2294: ARV 2 400.1, 1573, 1651, 1706; BAD 204340. For images of artisans and servants, see Haug 2011; Chatzidimitriou 2005; Zimmer 1982; Ziomecki 1975; Burford 1972. 4. Musée du Louvre G 476: ARV 2 782; BAD 209625. 5. E.g., a fragment in Dresden, Antikensammlung 814 (Lewis 2002: 23 fig. 1.9) and a plaque in New York (Metropolitan Museum of Art 54.11.5: BAD 3749). 6. A similar scene, but without suspended items or the scraper, is found on an Attic red-figure column krater attributed to the Painter of Tarquinia 707, ca. 460: Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum AS IV 2166 (ARV 2 1111.1; BAD 214702). 7. A strikingly similar scene is found on the tondo of an Attic red-figure cup attributed to the same painter: Milan, Museo Archeologico 266 (ARV 2 379.145, BAD 204042). See Richter and Milne 1935. 8. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 56.11.1 (Para 66; BAD 350478). 9. University of Canterbury (New Zealand), James Logie Memorial Collection CML 6 (on loan). 10. Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1934.339 (ARV 2 1302.4, 1689, BAD 216815).

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11. A similar scene is found on an Apulian skyphos fragment attributed to the Group of Naples 3231, ca. 360, in the Bareiss collection, inv. 409 (RVAp 15/31; Schauenburg 1972: 12, plate 24.2). 12. For the use of such ostraka as planters for quickly germinating seeds, see Theophrastus, Hist. Pl. 6.7.3; Suda s.v. Adonidos kepoi. 13. If an exterior feature, it would have facilitated transgression into the inner sanctum of the home.

chapter 8. is there an archaeology of prostitution? I would like to thank the Humanities Research Institute and the Office of Research Ser vices at Brock University for funding during the research phase of this project. I would also like to thank the staff at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens for help with the bibliography. I am grateful to Professors Kakavogianni and Steinhauer for agreeing to discuss their research with me during a visit to Athens in March 2011.

1. See for example Clarke 1998: 196. See McGinn (2002: 13) for other terms used to indicate this brothel. 2. The role of the upstairs as a brothel is not confirmed, since it meets none of the criteria established by Wallace-Hadrill. See McGinn 2002: 14–15. La Torre interprets it as a second brothel establishment (1988: 93n29). 3. See McGinn 2002: 13–14 and Clarke 1998: 196–206. 4. See McGinn (2002: 11, 35) on Pompeii. 5. This verb is common for describing soldiers drawn up for battle. 6. On Roman cribs, see McGinn 2004: 215–17, 291–94. 7. On Theodotē as a pornoboskousa, see Reinsberg 1989: 121–22; Faraone (2006: 218, 220–21); and Glazebrook (2011a: 51–52). 8. For a discussion of different counts and ways of counting brothels, see McGinn 2002: 8–11. 9. McGinn (2002: 37) suggests the caupona-brothel as the most popular type. 10. On the use of erotic art, see McGinn 2002: 19–22. 11. See also Davidson 1997: 83. 12. See McGinn 2011: 258. 13. See Glazebrook 2011a: 51–52. 14. Although such women might attend, Horace makes it clear that opinions differed on how acceptable such participants were (Serm. 2.3.226–32). Prostitutes were, however, part of the commisatio (drinking party) of young men. See McGinn 2004: 91–92. 15. Glazebrook 2011a. See Edwards 1997: 66–67; McGinn 1998: 19, 44–69. On the loss of honor in the lower ranks in particular, see McGinn 1998: 32–44. Contra Pólay 1971: 296; Astin 1988: 17–19, 23; Baltrusch 1989: 24–25, 28, 47–48. 16. Guzzo and Scarano Ussani (2000: 31–33) suggest that brothels existed in private homes. Valerius Maximus relates that Gemellus set up a brothel in his domus as part of

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the entertainment for a party (9.1.8). Caligula in turn set up a brothel on the Palatine. Suetonius describes a number of small rooms with a high-class décor, suggesting that various grades of brothels existed at Rome (Cal. 41.1). For a full discussion, see McGinn 1998 and 2002: 26–27. But in both cases the brothels are pseudo-brothels and perhaps even ahistorical and thus impossible to generalize from. 17. Lind (1988: 166) also takes Z2 to be a tavern/inn. 18. See also the discussion in Ault, this volume (Chapter 4). 19. There is a possibility of a fourth such structure in the Piraeus. George Steinhauer (2003: 40–44; pers. comm. March 2011) has published a building just inside the wall by the Eetioneia Gate. Its design of rooms off a courtyard with plantings is similar to Building Z and the Aphrodiseion at Merenda. Like the Aphrodiseion at Merenda, the structure has shallow pits dug into the bedrock, which may have been used for adding soil for trees. Its terminus post quem is the Themistoclean wall since it is built on the quarry used to construct the wall. The full extent of the structure is unknown, since part of the site was destroyed by the construction of the modern road. There are no associated finds of potsherds or small finds for this site that can help determine its function, but there is an inscription found by Foucart in 1887 that names an Aphrodiseion somewhere in this area. It may be the Aphrodiseion built by Konon (Paus. 1.1.3), but Steinhauer is cautious in concluding this based only on the rows of planted trees. It could possibly be a domestic residence or a commercial building like a kapēleion or katagōgion/pandokeion. There is nothing to indicate the presence of prostitutes. 20. On differences between the practices of and attitudes toward Greek and Roman prostitution, see Glazebrook 2011b. 21. Note that McGinn (2002: 12, 35) excludes baths in his discussion of brothels because of the difficulty of proving that a brothel worked in conjunction with a bath. 22. For arguments in favor of sacred prostitution, see Strong 1997. For those against, see Beard and Henderson 1998; Budin 2008; and the recent collection of papers edited by Scheer 2009. 23. I am very grateful to Mr. Williams for the opportunity to talk about these excavations (March 2011). 24. For Broneer’s date, see 1954: 96. On the redating, see Williams and Fisher 1972 and Williams 1980. See Kraynak 1984: 117. Note that Strong (1997: 82–92) associates the South Stoa with sacred prostitution. 25. For this and other suggestions, see Broneer 1954: 98. 26. On a brief summary of the contents of the wells, see Broneer 1954: 62–64; on the vessel inscriptions in particular, see p. 64. For the final publication of the pottery, see Edwards 1975. 27. For a summary of the evidence, see Kraynak 1984: 114–17. While Broneer (1954: 96–97) makes some mention of the small finds, they have never actually been published. I am thankful to David Scahill for this information (pers. comm. March 2011). For a different interpretation of the “gaming tables,” see de Grazia and Williams 1977: 72–73. 28. Williams (1986: 21n37) agrees that while the stoa may have housed sacred prostitutes at some point, it was not likely built for this purpose, and instead suggests that an

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original structure with such a function would likely resemble a house or sacred compound with a central court. 29. The exception is Strong’s 1997 UCLA dissertation. 30. See “Sin City,” a special issue of Historical Archaeology 39.1 (2005), edited by Donna J. Seifert. 31. For an argument against the House of the Lake as a brothel, see Trümper, this volume (Chapter 5). 32. On other possible readings of toutousi, see Davidson 2007: 706n22. Aeschines’ use of horate, however, suggests the prostitutes are directly observable from where Aeschines is. 33. If the Agora of the Italians is a palaistra, as Rauh (1993: 289–338) suggests, it is still a central gathering area with lots of commercial activity in evidence. 34. There is little published on this structure, but see Steinhauer 2003. I have not viewed the site, but the possibility that it is linked to prostitution was drawn to my attention by Olga Kakavogianni and Jutta Strozeck on two separate occasions. See note 19 above. 35. “Various quarters” is Gulick’s (1937) translation of kata topous. 36. On Athens, see Tsakirgis 2005: 67, 69, 79. On Olynthos, see Cahill 2005: 55, 57–59, 65. For a general discussion, see Morgan 2010: 20–22, 96–116. 37. On the symposium, see Murray 1990. 38. On erotic painting in public venues, see Clarke 1998: 195–240. 39. On the exaggeration and rhetorical structure of this speech, see Glazebrook 2005 and 2006. 40. 500–475 BCE. Kerameikos Museum, Athens A15418. 41. See Kavvadias (2000: 298), who identifies this as a brothel scene. 42. Red-figure cup. Paris, Louvre G 13; CVA Louvre Pls. 68.69; ARV 86. 43. See Kraynak 1984: 165; Margaritis 2014: 106–7; and Morgan 2010: 105. It is very difficult to assess the quantity of drinking and dining ware necessary for a single household, since it depends on the amount of entertaining a household does (see Lynch, this volume [Chapter 2]) and the existence of the symposium makes drinking ware common to households. Amounts particular to a house versus a commercial structure can be estimated only with a great margin of error. Still, large quantities of such wares should cause one to pause and consider the possibility of the structure as a commercial venue that might include prostitution. 44. Also see Allison 2006 on linking gender and space in the archaeological assemblage of Roman military forts. See pp. 3–8 for her methodology. 45. See Glazebrook 2009. 46. See also Wrenhaven 2009. 47. See Ath. 13.568f and 587a–b. See Traill 700568. Anaxilas, dated approximately to the mid-fourth century, suggests Nannion is active as a hetaira at this time (Ath. 13.558c) and Timokles, from the second half of the fourth century, ridicules her for being old in his play Orestautokleides (Ath. 13.567e). But note that another Nannion is mentioned in con-

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nection with Themistocles Phrearios (Ath. 13.576c and Traill 700578). This Nannion, also a hetaira, but dating to the fifth century, is too early. 48. Athenaeus records two authors: Euboulos and Philippos (13.568f ). Breitenbach (1908: 131) appears to favor Euboulos as the author. Traill identifies this Nannion with the fourth-century Nannion in the above references. 49. LGPN II, s.v. Boubalion. A marble stele from the Kerameikos dating to the middle of the fourth century BCE also bears the name Boubalion (IG II2 11611). Kirchner comments, “Nomen servae vel meretriculae.” 50. On such inscriptions, see Steiner 2008: 65–66, 67–68, 71–72; Lissarrague 1990: 33; Immerwahr 1990: 56. On the hetaira in such inscriptions, see Snodgrass 2000: 27–28; Rotroff and Oakley 1992: 27–28. 51. But note that Margaritis interprets Building Δ at Krania as a commercial structure (a tavern) based on consumption patterns but also because it does not share features with the typical Hellenistic house plan (2010: 106–7). 52. There is certainly clear evidence that industrial activity was not separated from living accommodations. Marble workers, potters, metalworkers, and dyers lived and worked in the same space. See Morgan 2010: 97–104 as well as Tsakirgis 2005 and Cahill 2005. 53. For a detailed discussion of the connection between taverns/inns and prostitution, see McGinn 2004: 15–20, 267–90. 54. See, for example, McGinn’s (2004: 274) numbers 7 and 9 in his cata logue. 55. For an example of the high-class parlor house, see O’Brien 2005 and Seifert and Balicki 2005 on Mary Anne Hall’s brothel in Washington, D.C. (1840–70). For other examples of fancy brothels, see Meyer, Gibson, and Costello 2005. For a contemporary description of parlor houses, see Sanger 1939: 555. 56. See Yamin 2005; Seifert and Balicki 2005; Ketz, Abel, and Schmidt 2005; Meyer, Gibson, and Costello 2005. 57. On kapēleia, see Kelly-Blazeby 2008. For the curse tablet, see IG III 3 68a with discussion in Wünsch. 58. On the pandokeion and its ser vices, see Kraynak 1984. 59. See Brock 1994: 341. 60. See also Aeschin. 1.124 quoted above. 61. See Seifert 2005: 65–66 and Spude 2005: 91.

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contributors

Bradley A. Ault is Associate Professor of Classics at the University at Buffalo. His research has focused on Greek domestic architecture and household organization. His books include The Houses: The Organization and Use of Domestic Space, The Excavations at Ancient Halieis 2 (Indiana University Press, 2005) and, edited with Lisa Nevett, Ancient Greek Houses and Households: Chronological, Regional, and Social Diversity (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005). Allison Glazebrook is Associate Professor of Classics at Brock University. Her research concerns women, gender, and sexuality in ancient Greece, with a special focus on prostitution. She is coeditor, with Madeleine M. Henry, of Greek Prostitutes in the Ancient Mediterranean, 800 BCE–200 CE (University of Wisconsin Press, 2011). Mark L. Lawall is Professor in the Department of Classics at the University of Manitoba. His research focuses on the study of Greek transport amphoras of the Archaic through Hellenistic periods as a means for reconstructing ancient economic behavior. Much of his research has involved the archaeological record of the Athenian Agora. He has also published finds from sites in Turkey, Ukraine, Cyprus, and Egypt. Kathleen M. Lynch is Associate Professor in the Department of Classics at the University of Cincinnati. Her research considers the archaeological contexts of Athenian pottery at home and abroad. Her book, The Symposium in Context: Pottery from a Late Archaic House Near the Athenian Agora (American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2011), won the AIA Wiseman Award in 2013. Her current projects include the publication of Classical pottery from Troy, imported Greek pottery at Gordion in Turkey, and continued study of pottery from the Excavations of the Athenian Agora.

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David Scahill has a PhD in architectural history from the University of Bath. He is currently based at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, where he is conducting postdoctoral research on several projects, including completion of a monograph on the South Stoa at Cornigh. His research concerns the construction, function, and development of Greek and Roman monumental architecture. Amy C. Smith is Professor of Classical Archaeology at the University of Reading (UK), where she is also Curator of the Ure Museum. She has excavated in Greece (Athenian Agora and Corinth) and in Spain (Pollentia). Her research concerns Greek and Roman art in the spheres of politics, myth, and religion. Her publications include Polis and Personification in Classical Athenian Art (Brill, 2011) and a volume of the Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum (2007). Monika Trümper is Professor of Classical Archaeology at the Freie Universität Berlin. She has written two books and numerous articles on various monuments in Delos (domestic architecture, urban development, clubhouses of associations, shops, synagogues, and Agora of the Italians), and a book on Greco-Roman slave markets; furthermore, she has coedited a book and published a number of articles on Greek bathing culture, which is also the topic of several fieldwork projects and further books. Barbara Tsakirgis is Associate Professor of Classics and Art History at Vanderbilt University. She studies ancient Greek houses and households around the Mediterranean world and is the author of several articles and a forthcoming book on the Hellenistic and Roman houses at Morgantina. She is also completing a synthetic study of Greek houses around the Mediterranean and the final publication of the houses excavated around the Athenian Agora.

Index

Page numbers in italics refer to illustrations Achaean League, Corinth under, 133 Achilles Painter, mourning scene of, 153, 154 Acrocorinth: Antigonid garrison on, 206n5; architectural space on, 206n5; prostitution on, 130; temple of Aphrodite on, 130, 139, 177. See also Corinth Adam-Veleni, Polyxeni, 176 Adoneia festival: evidence for, 27, 28; rooftop location, 21, 27 Aeschines: Against Timarchos, 64, 199n1; on prostitution, 140, 169–70, 172, 181, 212n32; on sunoikiai, 1 Agatharchos, Alcibiades’ imprisonment of, 89 Agora, Athenian: American Classical School excavations, 39, 41, 43, 50; amphora sherds of, 73; ceramic assemblages of, 39, 41–43, 45–54; Hellenistic deposits of, 70–71; Persian destruction sites, 40, 41, 42, 43; plan of, 40; pyre deposits of, 200n4; wineshop area of, 73. See also Well Deposit J 2:4 Agora of the Italians (Delos), 104, 107; commercial activity at, 212n33, 240n13 agoras, Hellenistic: ceramic assemblages of, 65 Alke (prostitute), 172, 173, 188, 193 Alcibiades, imprisonment of Agatharchos, 89 Alcock, Nathaniel, 19 altars: in Greek houses, 28; public/private space of, 143; in vase painting, 145, 146 Amasis Painter, double door of, 161 American School of Classical Studies, Excavations of Athenian Agora, 39, 41, 43, 50 amphora discard, 59–75; from brothels, 59–60, 71–73, 200n4; and building function, 61–62, 73–74; at Building Z

(Athens), 72–73; in courtyards, 199n2; evidence for, 62; in fi lls, 68–71; Hellenistic, 68, 70–71; movement of, 66–67; provisional, 73; rate of, 70; Roman, 62; sources for, 64; of transport amphoras, 59 amphoras: Aegean, 62; archaeological record of, 64; of Building Z (Athens), 72–73, 90, 91; burial, 65; Byzantine/Medieval, 63; complete, 70; as display of wealth, 29; multiple uses of, 63–64; ownership marks on, 66; patterns of, 8; publication of, 64; research problems concerning, 61–65; in situ, 66–79; storage in, 26, 63; storage of, 63, 67; at symposia, 63; of taberna vinaria (Delos), 104, 106; of Tavern of Aphrodite, 200n4; in vase painting, 62, 63, 63; of Well Deposit J 2:4, 69; of Well Deposit Q 12:3, 69, 69 amphoras, commercial, 72; daily use of, 63; graffiti from, 65–66, 70; in shops, 68, 70, 74; at taverns, 70, 71; of Well Deposit Q 15:2, 70 amphoras, domestic, 59, 66, 67–68, 72; in Aristophanes, 67–68; chronological patterns of, 67; of Olynthos, 67 amphoras, transport, 6, 8, 62–63; in archaeological record, 62; discard of, 59; graffiti of, 54, 198n20 andreia, symbols of, 147 andrōnes: of brothels, 178, 186; of Building Z (Athens), 80, 174, 186; of Greek houses, 16–17, 186, 193; of House of the Greek Mosaic (Athens), 16; of House of Many Colors (Olynthos), 28; identification of, 146; multiple, 186, 194; of Pompeion (Athens), 16; symposia in, 147; walls of, 147

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Anthestēria (Dionysiac rite), 164 Aphrodiseion (Merenda, Athens), 175, 181, 211n19; courtyard of, 184; drinking vessels of, 189; graffiti of, 191, 192, 193; inscription from, 192; prostitution in, 11, 212n34; plan of, 185; water supply for, 182 Aphrodiseion (Piraeus), 181 Aphrodite: Hermogenes of Kythara’s statue of, 209n41; temple of (Acrocorinth), 130, 139, 177; in vase painting, 166, 166 Aphrodite cult (Corinth), 9–10, 129, 177; Aphrodite Hoplismene in, 142; archaeological record for, 130, 206n4; in preforum area, 209n41; ritual purification in, 139; South Stoa and, 139, 140, 206n1 Apollodoros: on brothels, 1, 193; on prostitutes, 176 Apollo Sanctuary (Delos), 120; real estate transactions at, 119 archaeological sites: continuously occupied, 37; trench locations of, 38 architectural space: on Acrocorinth, 206n5; moveable articles in, 158–59; on vase painting, 153–67, 156, 157, 168. See also interior space; public/private space; social space architecture, Greek: Athenian, 1; context of, 5; economic role of, 6; isonomia in, 31; xenophobia in, 34. See also domestic architecture architraves, on vase painting, 155, 156, 158, 158 Ariarathes (epimeletes, Delos), dedication by, 127 Aristides, house of, 89 Aristophanes: amphora evidence in, 67–68; houses in, 19, 21–22; prostitution in, 181, 182, 195; religious observance in, 27. Works: Ekklesiazousai, 20; Frogs, 195; Knights, 182; Lysistrata, 27; Thesmophoriazousai, 21, 151; Wasps, 21 Artemis sanctuary (Lusoi), artifacts of, 202n23 Astarte, cult items of, 191 Athenaeus, on Euboulos, 213n48 Athens: brothel assemblages of, 203n5; citizenship legislation (451/450), 149; control of Delos, 103; democratic period, 10; destruction of wall, 83; domestic/ commercial space of, 2, 181; earthquakes, 72, 80–81; excavation of houses, 7, 39; garbage disposal at, 61; household

assemblages of, 203n5; housing market of, 34; Industrial District of, 6; nonpublic interior space in, 143; Persian destruction sites, 40, 41, 42, 43, 198n12; Persian sack of, 7, 41–42, 43; stoas of, 134, 207n15; Sullan sack of, 66; tavern assemblages of, 203n5; urban landscape of, 1. See also Agora, Athenian; Building Y; Building Z; Kerameikos Athens, Classical: brothels in, 119; prosopography of, 5; prostitution in, 11 Athens, Late Archaic: domestic assemblages of, 38, 41 Attic Stelai: amphora records on, 67; housing records on, 34 Aufidius, Lucius: graffiti mentioning, 110, 115, 116–17, 205nn15,17 Ault, Bradley, 6, 141; Ancient Greek Houses and Households, 3–4; on Building Z, 5, 8, 26, 73, 175; on structure types, 4 Azoria (Crete), storage amphoras of, 26 banqueters, bearded, 208n33. See also dining Barber, Elizabeth, 27 bathing, 209n6; complex at Thessaloniki, 176; following sexual activity, 181–82; Herodotus on, 181; in public fountains, 158, 158. See also loutēria bathtubs, of Greek houses, 23 beds, masonry, 118, 170, 173, 194 Bell, Malcolm, 17 Belozerskoe (Ukraine), amphora graffiti at, 66 Berytos, Poseidoniastes of, 115, 123 Blanckenhagen, Peter von, 164 Boubalion (prostitute’s name), 193, 212n49 Bourdieu, Pierre: on social space, 29 Brandt, Paul, 173 brides, in vase painting, 144, 145 Briseis Painter: depiction of architectural space, 155, 156; pederastic couple of, 156 Broneer, Oscar, 139; on cult of Aphrodite, 129; on prostitution, 141, 176; on South Stoa (Corinth), 131, 136, 137, 177, 208n24 brothels: access to, 172, 173, 194; of American West, 190; amphora debris of, 59–60, 71–73, 200n4; andrōnes of, 178, 186; archaeological evidence for, 36, 55, 58, 59, 71–72, 117–20, 174, 208n34; architectural evidence for, 120; artifacts of, 117, 178, 195; association with baths, 211n21;

index caupona, 173, 210n9; ceramic assemblages of, 36–37, 58, 146; in Classical Athens, 119; counting of, 210n8; courtyards of, 178, 186; criteria for identification, 103, 173, 178, 194, 196; in Delos, 9, 103–28; design of, 118, 119; directional signs to, 113–15; domestic assemblages for, 55; and domestic structures, 193; drinking vessels of, 36, 187, 189–90, 212n43; erotic objects in, 194; of Establishment of the Poseidoniastes of Berytos, 115; food preparation at, 194; gender-specific items at, 190; graffiti of, 118; in homes, 1, 193, 210n16; locations for, 71–72, 117–18, 119–20, 177, 178, 179–80, 181, 194; material record of, 13, 173, 177; multifunctional buildings of, 118; multiple entrances of, 186–87; nineteenth-century American, 178, 195, 196; oikēmata of, 172, 186–87; in oikiai, 2; ownership of, 5–6; plans of, 74; privacy for, 177–78, 187; proprietors of, 6; purpose-built, 130, 170, 173; size of, 118, 119; tavern-type, 173–74, 194–95; upper-story, 210n2; variable quality of, 195; water supply for, 118, 181, 182, 194; in Xenarchos, 90. See also porneia; prostitution brothels, modern: showrooms of, 201n14 brothels, Roman, 173, 195; Caligula’s, 211n16; of Pompeii, 107, 117, 118, 173, 196; private, 210nn14,16. See also Lupanar (Pompeii) Bruneau, Philippe, 115, 205n14 Brygos Painter, woman at well, 160, 161 Building Δ (Krania), 213n51 building forms: culture in, 29; practical, 30; symbolic, 30 building function: amphora discard and, 61–62, 73–74; changes in, 130; dining, 134; garbage patterns and, 60–61; klinai in, 134; for prostitution, 130; wells in, 182 Building Y (Kerameikos, Athens): drinking vessels of, 189; entrances of, 187; graffiti of, 184, 193; peristyle courtyard of, 184, 186; phase plan for, 183; water supply for, 182 Building Z (Kerameikos, Athens), 75–102, 199n25; abandonment of, 72; access to, 79, 187; Altertumwissenschaft scholarship on, 77; amphoras of, 72–73, 90, 91; architecture of, 75; artifacts of, 75, 93–102, 191; brothel characteristics of, 11, 55, 77, 118, 173, 200n1, 209n39; ceramic assemblage

243

of, 55, 56–57, 90; coins of, 93; cosmetics of, 191; decoration of, 8; destruction of, 86–87; devotional rituals in, 90–91; drinking vessels of, 55; entertainment/ commerce mix in, 91; entry ways, 201n13; functions of, 64, 75, 77, 88–93, 90, 92, 93; furniture of, 202n23; gendered space of, 89; graffiti of, 175; lamps of, 91; location of, 5, 75; loomweights of, 8, 199n24, 202n18; as manufactory, 91; oikēmata of, 175; phase plan, 76; phases of, 72, 75, 91, 175; primary data for, 77; private character of, 8–9, 77, 79, 88; rebuilding of, 81, 83; ritual vessels in, 55, 199n27; room functions in, 89–90; security for, 89; size of, 77, 89; storage space of, 91; table vessels of, 55; topography of, 79; vestibular rooms of, 79; water supply of, 8, 182; workshops at, 88 — Z1, 77–81; andrōn of, 80; artifacts of, 79–80, 90, 91, 94–95; ceramic assemblage of, 79; destruction of, 80, 88; gaming at, 91–92; gynaikōnitis of, 80; hearth of, 91; interpretations of, 77; loomweights of, 80; mea suring vessels in, 91–92, 202n20; as megalē oikia, 88; oikos of, 79; plan of, 78, 88, 89; prostas porch of, 79, 80; public areas of, 80; rooms of, 79–80 — Z2, 81–83; artifacts of, 81, 83, 90, 96–98; ceramic assemblage of, 83; destruction of, 83; entrance of, 81; foundation walls of, 81; industrial function of, 200n7; as inn, 201n9; interpretations of, 77; loomweights of, 83, 201n7; as megalē oikia, 88; oikos complex of, 81, 83; pastas hall, 81, 83; plan of, 82, 88, 89; private character of, 81; prostas porch, 81; pyre deposits of, 83; rooms of, 81, 83; terracotta phallus of, 90, 201n16; votive deposits, 83 — Z3, 83–86; abandonment of, 86; andrōnes of, 174, 186; architecture of, 174–75; artifacts of, 85–86, 88, 90, 98–102; brothel characteristics of, 118, 174–75, 178, 187; construction of, 83; cooking activity in, 187; courtyards of, 83, 184; cult objects of, 191; decoration of, 186; drinking vessels of, 189; entrance to, 79, 83, 187; gendered rituals in, 90–91; goods/ser vice exchange at, 92; hearths, 85; hygienic installations, 85; as inn, 88; interpretations of, 77; iron keys of, 92, 201n13, 202n23; jewelry, 86, 191;

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Building Z3 (continued) lead weights of, 92; loomweights of, 86, 174, 202n18; mosaic of, 85; oikēmata of, 189; plan of, 84, 85, 88, 89; roof of, 85, 89; rooms of, 83, 85–86, 187; statuary of, 174; textile production in, 88, 200n7; votive deposit, 200n6; water supply for, 85, 182, 200n7 — Z4-5, 86–88; banqueting halls of, 92; date of, 86; plan of, 86, 87; remains of, 77 Bundrick, Sheramy, 149, 160 Caesar, C. Iulius C. f.: olearii honoring, 127 Cahill, Nicholas, 3, 25; on Olynthos, 67 Caligula, Palatine brothel of, 211n16 Campania, Roman: houses of, 2 Castellani Painter, wedding scene of, 160, 162 ceramic assemblages, Greek: of brothels, 36–37, 58, 146; of Building Z (Athens), 55, 56–57, 79, 83, 90; chronology of, 38; debris in, 38, 41; of Dema House (Attica), 38, 49–50, 58; disturbed layers of, 37–38; domestic, 36–37; formation histories of, 37–38, 198n10; of Hellenistic agoras, 65; household, 60; hypotheses for, 58; of Olynthos, 38; of Pantainos, 54–55; primary use deposits in, 38; proportional quantities of, 36; of sanctuaries, 60; stratigraphic excavations of, 37–38; of taberna vinaria (Delos), 106–7; of taverns, 36–37, 50–54; of Well Deposit J 2:4 (Athens), 39, 41–43, 45–54, 58, 198n19; of Well Deposit R 13:4, 50–54. See also domestic assemblages, Greek ceramics, excavated: abrasion of, 198n14; storage of, 38; treatment of, 38. See also pottery cesspits, 22–23. See also koprōnes; refuse Chaironea, Battle of, 176 Chatzidakis, Panagiotis: excavation of Magasin γ (Delos), 206n25; excavation of Sanctuary of the Bastion, 175; excavation of Skardhana Quarter (Delos), 205n18; excavation of taberna vinaria, 104, 107 cities, ancient Greek: cleanliness of, 61; economies of, 5; number of houses in, 11; waste disposal in, 61; zoning in, 1, 6 clubhouses, Delian, 115–16, 123, 203n7; near taberna deversoria, 110 clubs (weapons), as directional signs, 113, 114

columns, in vase painting, 155–56 comedy, Greek: houses in, 19, 21–22; prostitution in, 11, 170 commercial buildings, Greek: location of, 5; ownership of, 5–6. See also taverns commercial space, Greek, 5, 11; mixing with domestic space, 1–2, 4, 35, 58, 181 commodities, transport of, 6. See also amphoras, transport cooking ware: in domestic assemblages, 58; storage of, 26; of Well Deposit R 13:4 (Athens), 54. See also drinking vessels; tableware Corinth: under Achaean League, 133; agora, 207n16; Demetrios Poliorketes at, 132, 133; hero cults at, 208n33; Mummius’s destruction of, 133, 141; under Philip II, 131, 132, 133, 176; prosopography of, 5; Roman refounding of, 141–42; sacred prostitution at, 129–30, 176, 206nn2–3; theater, 207n17. See also Acrocorinth; Aphrodite cult (Corinth); South Stoa Corinthian League, 207n13; refounding of, 133; South Stoa and, 131, 132, 176 Corner, Sean, 160, 167 cosmetics: pottery containing, 191; prostitutes’, 190–91 Costello, Julia G., 190 Coulton, J. J., 208n24 courtyards: amphora discard in, 199n2; of Aphrodiseion (Merenda), 184; of brothels, 178, 184, 186; of Building Y (Athens), 184, 186; of Building Z (Athens), 83, 184; central, 152, 205n22; of Granite Palaistra (Delos), 120, 122; in Greek domestic architecture, 15, 19, 28, 32, 152, 193; single-entrance, 15, 28, 32; of taberna deversoria (Delos), 110–12, 176, 186; unroofed, 19 cribs (prostitutes’ rooms), 173; of Pompeii, 194; Roman, 210n6 cults: appropriate behavior for, 140; dining related to, 136, 141, 208nn22,30; of Dionysos, 136, 139; domestic and polis, 27; hero, 208n33. See also Aphrodite cult (Corinth) Davidson, James N., 172, 203n24; on Building Z (Athens), 175 debris: animal bones, 70; archaeological record of, 66–65; commercial, 61; and

index functions of buildings, 60–61; household, 61; movement of, 64, 66–67; from Persian sack of Athens, 69–70; primary/ secondary discard of, 64, 67; private versus public, 61–62. See also amphora discard; refuse Delorme, Jean, 122, 123 Delos: climate of, 112; water supply for, 112, 119, 203n8 Delos, Late Hellenistic: agonistic texts of, 123; athletic facilities in, 206n23; brothels of, 9, 103–28; building function in, 119; cisterns of, 203n8; clubhouses of, 110, 115–16; commerce of, 103, 203n1; domestic architecture of, 112, 117; Ergastēria of, 119; friezes of, 119, 124; harbors of, 120, 125, 205n19; inscriptions of, 119; ItalianRoman population of, 119; merchants of, 103; multicultural population of, 9, 108; oikēmata of, 119; reliefs of, 110, 113–16, 204n11; shops of, 107, 113, 114, 203n4, 204n12, 206n25; Skardhana, 120, 205n18; tabernae of, 128; taberna vinaria of, 9; Theater Quarter of, 112, 114, 120, 128; warehouses of, 125–28. See also Granite Palaistra; taberna deversoria; taberna vinaria Dema House (Attica): ceramic assemblage of, 38, 49–50, 58; MNV calculation for, 49–50 Demetrios Poliorketes, 9; activity at Corinth, 132, 133 Demosthenes: on housing, 34; on statesmen’s homes, 29–30 Deposit U 13:1 (wineshop, Pantainos): loomweights of, 54; mixed-use character of, 54; vessels of, 54–55 dildos, Greek, 191, 201n16 dining: in agoras, 208n22; at civic facilities, 141; cult-related, 136, 141, 208nn22,30; at South Stoa (Corinth), 129, 132, 134, 136, 139, 140. See also drinking vessels; food; tableware Dinos Painter: portico of, 164, 165; revelers of, 164 Dionysos cult (Corinth): ritual purification in, 139; technitai of, 136 Dixon, Michael D., 207n13 domestic animals, in courtyards, 152 domestic architecture, Greek, 1, 14–19, 21–24; artifacts and, 65; Classical, 14;

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commercial space and, 2; commonalities in, 14; courtyards of, 15, 19, 28, 32, 152, 193; of Delos, 112, 117; diversity of, 14; Hellenistic, 14; materials of, 14; social functions of, 19; symbolism of, 28–31; theory of, 13; typology of, 29, 88, 89, 201n11; in urban landscape, 12; Vitruvius on, 88, 201nn10,13 domestic assemblages, Greek, 3, 4–5, 6–7, 24–28, 35; for brothels, 55; characteristics of, 36–37; cooking equipment in, 58; diversity of, 37; drinking vessels in, 50, 58; evidence for, 37; excavation of, 25; identification of, 26–27; Late Archaic, 7–8, 38, 41; and modern household equipment, 26; primary depositions of, 25; of Well Deposit J 2:4, 58 domestic life, Greek, 25 domestic space, Greek: behavioral norms of, 29; chronological range of, 14; excavation of, 2–3; flexibility of, 10; mixing with commercial space, 1–2, 4, 35, 58, 181; open, 19; organization of, 14; social use of, 3, 24–28; theories of, 28–31; uses of, 5, 35; women’s, 24. See also houses, Greek doors, 21; in archaeological record, 159; demarcation of private space, 159, 160; double, 161, 164; front, 159–60; semantic role of, 164; symbolic manipulation of, 161, 164; in vase painting, 159, 159–60 Dover, K. J., 21 drinking vessels: of brothels, 36, 187, 189–90, 212n43; of Building Y (Athens), 189; domestic, 50, 58, 61, 212n43; multiple sets of, 45, 198n18; at places of entertainment, 8; of South Stoa, 133; storage of, 26; of taberna deversoria (Delos), 189; of taberna vinaria (Delos), 107–8; of taverns, 50; of Well Deposit J 2:4 (Athens), 45. See also tableware Durand, Jean-Louis, 143 Egypt, amphora use in, 62 Eleusinian Mysteries, defamers of, 34 Eratosthenes, murder of, 24, 27 Eros, in vase painting, 166, 166 Euboulos: on cosmetics, 191; Nannion, 184, 193, 213n48; on prostitution, 172 Euphiletos, oikidion of, 24 excavation: stratigraphic, 37–38, 198nn12–13. See also ceramics, excavated

246

index

Ferrari, Gloria, 144 figurines, terracotta: domestic settings of, 28 fire, in Greek interiors, 145 food: at brothels, 194; vessels associated with, 25–26, 27. See also drinking vessels; tableware forts, Roman: gender and space in, 212n44 Foundry Painter, depiction of suspended items, 151 friezes: columns in, 155–56; decorative repertoire of, 124; erōtes on, 119 funerary activity: interior/exterior scenes of, 153; in vase painting, 153, 154 furniture: of Building Z (Athens), 202n23; of Granite Palaistra (Delos), 122; in interior space, 158; of taberna vinaria (Delos), 106, 107; on vase painting, 153 Garden of Adonis ritual, 166 Gemellus, brothel of, 210n16 German Archaeological Institute in Athens, Kerameikos excavations, 75 Gibson, Erica S., 190 Glazebrook, Allison, 10–11; Greek Prostitutes in the Ancient Mediterranean, 4; on sacred prostitution, 206n3 Goldberg, Marilyn, 166–67 Göttingen Painter, 156 graffiti: of Aphrodiseion (Merenda), 191, 192, 193; authors of, 116; of brothels, 118; of Building Y (Athens), 193; of Building Z (Athens), 175; on Delian houses, 110, 115, 116–17; erotic, 170, 173, 193; kalos/kalē, 193, 213n50; of Lupanar, 174; mentioning Lucius Aufidius, 110, 115, 116–17, 205nn15,17; names in, 116; from Pompeii, 116; survival of, 174; of taberna deversoria (Delos), 205n16 graffiti, commercial, 8; on amphoras, 65–66, 70; of Isthmia, 66; types of, 65 Granite Monument (Delos), reliefs of, 115 Granite Palaistra (Skardhana Quarter, Delos), 9, 120–25; abandonment of, 123, 124; artifacts of, 122; as barracks, 123, 124, 125, 206n24; decoration of, 205n21; entrances of, 120; friezes of, 124; functions of, 123–24, 128; furniture of, 122; as hostelry, 123–24, 125; inscriptions of, 123; mosaics of, 122; peristyle-courtyard of, 120, 122; phases of, 123; plan of, 121, 122, 123; portico of, 123–24; rooms of, 120–21, 123–24; size of, 123; upper story of, 121–22

Group of Naples, depiction of Dionysiac rites, 210n11 Haagsma, Margriet, 3 Halieis: amphoras of, 67; excavations at, 3; houses of, 15, 196n6 Hall, Mary Ann: Washington brothel of, 213n55 Hanson, Julie, 29 Harbor Stele (Thasos), on prostitution, 201n14 Harrow Painter, depiction of architectural space, 155, 157 Henderson, Jeff rey, 202n17 Henry, Madeleine M.: Greek Prostitutes in the Ancient Mediterranean, 4 Hermgenes of Kythara, statue of Aphrodite, 209n41 hermokopidai, houses of, 67 Herodotus: on bathing, 181; on Egyptian amphoras, 62 Hesychius, on Athenian prostitution, 181 Hillier, Bill, 29 Hoepfner, Wolfram, 31 Horace, on drinking parties, 210n14 Hôtellerie (Delos), function of, 128 House A vii 4 (Olynthos), single entrance of, 15 House C (Industrial District, Athens): plan of, 32, 33; single entrance of, 15; size of, 32 House D (Halieis), koprōn of, 196n6 House D (Industrial District, Athens), 24; plan of, 32, 33; single entrance of, 15; size of, 32 households: “average,” 39; ordering of, 23, 24; women’s contributions to, 150 House of the Comedians (Delos), 112 House of Diadumenos (Delos), 203n7; reliefs of, 115 House of Dionysos (Delos), 112; phallus sign of, 114; shops attached to, 114, 204n12 House of Dionysos (Pella), 15 House of the Dolphins, 112 House of Fourni (Delos), 203n7 House of Ganymede (Morgantina), 17 House of the Greek Mosaic (Athens), andrōn of, 16 House of Hermes (Delos), lot of, 113 House of the Lake. See taberna deversoria (Delos)

index House of Many Colors (Olynthos): andrōn of, 28; figurines from, 28; plan of, 16; single entrance of, 15 House of Mikion and Menon (Athens): industrial activity in, 32; plan of, 32; sculpture workshop of, 32–33 House of the Rape of Helen (Pella), 15–16 House of the Seals (Delos), 110, 205n17 House of the Trident, 112 houses: children’s drawings of, 144; debris patterns of, 60–61; pipe-stem debris from, 60 houses, Delian: courtyards of, 120; design of, 108; graffiti on, 115, 116–17; hierarchical design of, 109; lots of, 112–13; privacy in, 112, 204n9; relief façades of, 113–16, 119, 204n11; room size of, 107 houses, Greek: abandonment of, 198n8, 199n1; access paths in, 14; as “activity houses,” 30; altars in, 28; amphoras of, 67–68; andrōnes of, 16–17, 186, 193; archaeological evidence for, 13; Aristophanes’ vocabulary for, 21; bathtubs of, 23; beaten-earth floors of, 37–38; bibliography for, 197n1; as commodities, 33–34; construction techniques of, 15; crosscultural comparisons to, 13; cultural norms in, 31; definition of, 13–35, 144–48; domestic activity in, 31; drinking vessels of, 50, 58, 61, 212n43; excavation of, 2; exteriors of, 145; exterior windows of, 21; fires within, 145; food in, 25–26; in forensic speeches, 24; gendered space of, 148–51, 149, 150, 155; Hellenistic, 30; of hermokopidai, 67; as home, 24–28; identification of, 6–7, 32, 36, 41, 74; industrial activity in, 32, 213n52; interior decoration of, 15, 144; interior/exterior space of, 143; interpretations of, 4; invisible residents of, 18–19; Iron Age, 3, 19; kitchens of, 21; layouts of, 14–19, 21–24, 28; life histories of, 197n3; literary sources for, 18, 19, 21–22; market for, 34; material record of, 13; monetary value of, 33; mud brick, 22, 23; with multiple entrances, 111; palatial, 30; privacy in, 14–15, 28, 112, 204n9; religious observance in, 27, 45, 55, 90–91; restricted access to, 28–29; rural, 49–50, 198n9; scholarship on, 2; as shelter, 14–19, 21–24; single-entrance courtyard, 15, 28, 32; size of, 32; social/cultural capital in, 33–34;

247

social spaces of, 148–53; social use of, 23, 24–28; sociocultural construction of, 34–35; socioeconomic levels of, 7; sources for, 18, 19, 21–22, 35; of statesmen, 29–30; symbolic value of, 33; temporary, 7; textual evidence for, 13; theoretical approaches to, 13; upper story of, 23, 165; variables in, 31–33; in vase painting, 144, 145; waste disposal from, 22–23; water sources for, 6; windows of, 164–65, 165; women’s quarters of, 24; in Xenophon, 23. See also architectural space; courtyards; domestic space; doors; interior space; social space houses, modern: location of, 31–32; social/ cultural norms of, 13 houses, Roman: displays of status in, 30 House 7 (Halieis), single entrance of, 15 Humphreys, Sally, 27 Hunter-Anderson, Rosalind, 30 images, as signs, 144 interior space: activities in, 143; architectural features of, 153–57; attacks on, 160; columns in, 155–56; fire in, 145; furniture in, 158; gendered female, 155, 160–61, 163; indication in vase painting, 10, 143–48, 149, 149, 150, 151, 152–53, 155; mythic images of, 167; nonpublic, 143; patterning of, 148–53; public/private, 153; transgression into, 210n13; in visual arts, 144; women in, 160–62, 163. See also architectural space; domestic space; public/private space; social space Iron Age, Greek houses of, 3, 19 iron keys, of Building Z (Athens), 92, 201n13, 202n23 Isaeus: on brothels, 181; on sunoikiai, 1, 172 isonomia, in architectural form, 31 Isthmia, graffiti from, 66 James, Sarah, 207n21 Jameson, Michael: housing theory of, 31; on use of space, 3 jewelry: of Building Z3 (Athens), 86, 191; at Sanctuary of the Bastion (Delos), 175; of taberna deversoria (Delos), 191; of taberna vinaria (Delos), 107 Kaeser, Bert, 147 Kakavogianni, Olga, 175, 193 kalathoi, on vase painting, 150

248

index

kapēleia (taverns): amphora of, 198n20; drinking-only, 54; prostitutes at, 172, 195, 196; vessels of, 50, 55, 198n21. See also taverns kapēloi, notations of, 198n20 Karvonis, Pavlos, 203n1 Kelly-Blazeby, Clare, 26 Kerameikos (Athens): decline theory for, 92–93; excavation of, 75; gentrification of, 93. See also Building Z (Kerameikos, Athens) Kerameikos 17, Building Z in, 77 Kertsch vases, windows on, 165 klinai (couches): archaeological record of, 208n23; and building function, 134; of South Stoa, 134, 136, 136; on vase painting, 147, 153 Knigge, Ursula, 64, 93, 173; on Building Z (Athens), 174, 191 komasts, on vase painting, 159, 160, 164 koprōnes (refuse pits), 38, 197n2; of Halieis, 197n6. See also refuse Kraynak, Lynn, 186 kulikeia (sideboards), 26 Kybele, cult items of, 191 ladders, in vase painting, 165–66, 166 Lais (prostitute), 176 Langner, Martin, 116 Lares Compitales, cult of, 111, 119 Lawall, Mark, 4, 6; on amphoras, 8; on Deposit U 13:1, 54 lead weights, 202n22; of Building Z (Kerameikos), 92 lechea, on vase painting, 153, 164 Le Corbusier, urban housing designs of, 197n1 Lefebvre, Henri: on social space, 28, 29 lekythoi, function of, 48 Leningrad Painter, domestic scene of, 150, 150 likna (winnowing fans), ritual use of, 153 Lind, Hermann, 175, 178 loomweights: of Building Z, 8, 80, 83, 86, 191, 199n24, 201n7, 202n18; inscriptions of, 202n18 loutēria: architraves of, 158; enclosing walls of, 156; on vase painting, 146, 156 Lupanar (Pompeii), 89, 118, 194–95, 208n34; erotic painting of, 186; graffiti at, 174; interior of, 171; location of, 170; masonry beds of, 170

Lynch, Kathleen, 6, 7, 8; on symposia, 146–47; The Symposium in Context, 4; on Well J 2:4, 69 Lysias, housing in, 24, 201n13 Magasin α (Delos), use as brothel, 127–8 Magasin α–γ (Delos), plan of, 126 Magasin β (Delos), sculpture of, 126 Magasin γ (Delos), excavation of, 206n25 Magasin δ (Delos): decoration of, 125, 126; phallus advertisement of, 114 Magasin des colonnes (Delos): cultic space of, 126; decoration of, 125 Maison du Lac. See taberna deversoria (Delos) makeup, women’s, 201n15; lead-based, 86 Maresha (Israel), amphoras of, 68 Margaritis, Evi, 26, 61, 212n1 McGinn, Thomas, 118, 173, 194, 211n21 McKellar Principle (archaeology), 197n4 McPhee, Ian, 131 Menander: houses in, 19, 23; ritual in, 27. Works: Phasma, 23, 27; Samia, 27 metics, commercial enterprises of, 6 Meyer, Michael D., 190 Miller, Stephen, 17 Miltiades, house of, 89 minimum number of vessel (MNV) calculations, 198nn15–16,29; for Dema House, 49–50; methodology for, 43, 45; for Well Deposit J 2:4, 43, 45–47, 48, 198n19; for Well Deposit R 13:4, 50, 51–52. See also ceramic assemblages Mithridates, raid on Delos, 104 Monte Testaccio (amphora discard, Rome), 62 Morgan, Charles, 176 Morgan, Gareth, 24 Morgan, Janett, 7; on house layouts, 16 Morgantina, Philip II’s occupation of, 25 Morris, Ian, 18 Mummius, Lucius: destruction of Corinth, 133, 141 musical instruments, on vase painting, 148–49, 149 Nannion (hetaira), 191, 193, 212n47 Naukrates (male name), 202n17; in graffiti, 91 Neils, Jennifer, 160 Nevett, Lisa, 32; Ancient Greek Houses and Households, 3–4; housing records study, 34; on single-entrance courtyards, 15

index New Halos, Hellenistic houses at, 3 New World, waste disposal in, 61 Nikarete (pornoboskousa), 188 Niobid Painter, female musicians of, 148–49, 149, 168 oikēmata: access to, 172; of brothels, 186–87; of Building Z (Athens), 175; collections of, 194; for prostitution, 140 oikiai: brothels in, 2; everyday life in, 1 oikoi: family identity and, 27; industrial activity at, 4, 32; literary references to, 3–4; market exchange in, 4; as permanent residences, 4; versus porneia, 193; socioeconomic aspects of, 4; on vase painting, 149, 150 Olbia Pontike, amphoras of, 67 olpai: black-figured, 199n22; capacity of, 199n23; purposes of, 50; as serving vessels, 50, 53, 54; shapes of, 198n22 Olynthos: abandonment contexts at, 73; amphoras from, 67; ceramic assemblages of, 38; domestic/commercial space of, 2; excavations at, 2, 3, 7, 8; Philip II’s occupation of, 25; reoccupation sites of, 198n7 oratory, Athenian, 23; houses in, 24; prostitution in, 11 ostraka, use as planters, 210n12 Painter of Tarquinia, bathing scene of, 209n6 Painter of the Louvre Centauromachy, domestic scene of, 163 painting: public/private space depictions, 143; use of personification, 143; wall, 174 painting, erotic, 173, 186, 210n10; in public venues, 212n38 paleobotanical remains, 26 pandokeia (hostelries), prostitutes at, 195, 196 Pan Painter, depiction of occupations, 151 Pantainos, ceramic assemblage of, 54–55 parlor houses (nineteenth-century America), 195, 213n55; glassware of, 190 Patterson, Cynthia, 23 Pausanias, on Aphrodite cult (Corinth), 209n41 Pedieus Painter, cup of, 189 Peirene spring (Corinth), water system using, 137, 138 Pella, houses of, 15–17 Pemberton, Elizabeth G., 131

249

Penelope Painter, portico roof of, 164 perideipna (funeral banquets), at hearth of deceased, 145 Persian sack (Athens): debris from, 69–70; sites of destruction, 40, 41, 42, 43, 198n12 phalli, 191; apotropaic, 115, 116; as directional signs, 113–15, 114, 128, 204n11, 205n14; terracotta, 90, 201n16 Philemon, on brothels, 181 Philip II of Macedon: Corinth under, 131, 132, 133, 176; occupation of Olynthos, 25 piloi: on Delian houses, 115; as directional signs, 110, 115 Piraeus: prostitution at, 1, 11, 181, 211n19; sunoikia of, 181 Pirenne-Delforge, Vinciane, 206nn2,5 Pompeii: brothels of, 107, 117, 118, 173, 196; cribs of, 194; erotic paintings of, 173; gladiatorial barracks of, 125; graffiti from, 116; wine bars of, 108. See also Lupanar (Pompeii) Pompeion (Athens), 17; andrōnes in, 16; multiple functions of, 93; nondomestic character of, 15; oikos of, 17; single entrance of, 15; size of, 15–16 porneia: access to, 172, 173, 194; archaeology and, 172–78; architecture of, 178; artifacts of, 178; courtyards of, 184; definition by occupants, 169; elite youths at, 174; household items in, 193; identification of, 170, 173; literary sources for, 173, 174, 178; location of, 178, 181; versus oikoi, 193; pornoboskoi of, 195; typology for, 178–93; water features of, 178. See also brothels; prostitution pornoboskoi, 195 porticoes, 167; of Granite Palaistra (Delos), 123–24; in vase painting, 164, 165 Poseidoniastes of Berytos (Delos), Establishment of, 115, 123 pottery: of Classical houses, 36; commercial, 6; containing cosmetics, 191; context assessment for, 37; domestic, 6; identification of buildings through, 36; kalos/kalē inscriptions, 193; legacy data for, 58; places of production, 6; quantification methodology of, 7–8; ser vice vessels, 50, 55, 199n28; social settings of, 4; at symposia, 8; transport of, 6. See also amphoras; ceramic assemblages; drinking vessels; vase painting

250

index

privacy: for brothels, 177–78, 187; in Greek houses, 14–15, 28, 112, 204n9; at South Stoa (Corinth), 134, 208n24; at taberna deversoria (Delos), 176 private life, in Greek comedy, 19, 21 property, Greek: inalienable, 33 prostitutes, 4; bathing facilities for, 182; cosmetics of, 190–91; display to customers, 172, 184; housewives as, 155; at kapēleia, 172, 195, 196; named after animals, 203n25; Roman, 174; in vase painting, 160; work spaces of, 11, 170, 172, 177, 193 prostitution: advertisements for, 201n14; archaeology of, 10–11, 169–96; Athenian acceptance of, 174; at baths, 176; building types for, 130; and cult activity, 140; evidence at South Stoa (Corinth), 129, 140, 141, 176, 206; in Greek comedy, 11, 170; institutional control of, 130, 140; literary sources for, 11, 169, 173, 174, 181, 184, 188, 195; male, 115, 172, 204n13; material remains of, 13, 173, 177; oikēmata for, 140; at private cenae, 210n14; Roman spaces of, 175; Roman versus Greek, 174, 175, 211n20; socioeconomic importance of, 12; at taverns, 173–74, 213n53; textile production and, 91, 191, 202n19. See also brothels; porneia prostitution, sacred, 211n22; at Corinth, 129–30, 176, 206nn2–3, 211n28 Pseudo-Aristotle, Greek houses in, 32 Public Office (Morgantina): oikos of, 17; plan of, 18 public/private space: of altars, 143; interior, 153; in vase painting, 167–68. See also architectural space; domestic space; interior space; social space Punic Amphora Building (Corinth), 68 purification, ritual, 137, 139 Purves, Alex, 23, 30 pyre deposits, 83, 200n4 Rapoport, Amos, 29, 31 Rauh, Nicholas: on Agora of the Italians, 204n13; on Aufidii Bassi, 205n17; on brothel locations, 177; on brothel privacy, 187; on Delian façades, 113; on phallus reliefs, 115, 205n14; on taberna deversoria, 110, 175, 186, 203n6; on water supplies, 181

refuse: de facto, 197n2; fi ll from, 197n5; of New York City, 61. See also debris; koprōnes relief façades, on Delian buildings, 113–16, 119, 204n11 religious observance: domestic, 27, 45, 55, 90–91; material evidence for, 28 Robert, Carl, 144 Rome, amphora discard of, 62 roofs, in vase painting, 165–66, 166 Rotroff, Susan, 43, 45; on pyre deposits, 200n4; on wine vessels, 199n28 saloons, American: gender-specific items of, 190 sanctuaries, ceramic assemblages of, 60 Sanctuary of the Bastion (Delos), 104; jewelry at, 175; tavern owner of, 175 Scahill, David, 5; on South Stoa (Corinth), 9–10 Schwandner, E., 31 Scklavos, Michael, 175 Sea Palaistra (Delos), 123, 206n23 ser vice counters, masonry, 118 sex trade. See brothels; porneia; prostitution Shear, T. Leslie, Jr., 54 shields, as directional signs, 113, 115 shops: of Delos, 107, 113, 114, 203n4, 204n12, 206n25; commercial amphoras in, 68, 70, 74; of South Stoa (Corinth), 177 Smith, Amy, 10 social organization, Greek, 11 social space: conceptual areas of, 168; as cultural capital, 29; depiction on vases, 144, 148–53. See also architectural space; interior space Sokrates: brothel visit of, 172–73; on domestic/commercial space, 2 Sophilos, wedding of Peleus and Thetis, 161, 163 South Stoa (Corinth), 9–10, 199n3; abandonment of, 129; after Mummius’s sack, 141; after Roman refounding, 141–42; Aphrodite cult and, 139, 140, 206n1; archaeological evidence from, 129; architecture of, 129, 132, 207n14; artifacts of, 211n27; brotherhoods’ use of, 209n35; buildings underneath, 141, 209n41; ceramic assemblage of, 131; chronology of, 129; construction of, 131–32; and Corinthian League, 131, 132, 176; cult functions

index of, 132, 136, 137, 139; curvature of, 207n14; date of, 131–32, 207n12, 211n24; design of, 132; dining at, 129, 132, 134, 136, 139, 140; drainage channel of, 137, 139; drinking cups of, 133, 177; engineering of, 137; excavations in, 207n19; foundations of, 139; functions of, 129–42, 176–77; initial phase of, 133; klinai evidence for, 134, 136, 136; latrines of, 137; limestone of, 207n14; location of, 5, 131, 132; lower story rooms, 134; magistrates’ use of, 129, 132; partition walls, 134; plan of, 132; privacy at, 134, 208n24; prostitution evidence at, 129, 140, 141, 176, 206; ritual purification facilities, 139; rooms backing, 131, 135, 136; running track at, 132; sacred prostitution at, 211n28; shops of, 177; size of, 131; symposia at, 140; underground water channels of, 137, 138, 139; upper story of, 131, 208n24; votive deposits at, 139–40; water supply for, 136–37; well deposits of, 133–34, 207n21, 211n26; wells of, 131, 136–37, 139, 177; windows of, 208n25; as xystos, 208n29 South Stoa I (Athens), 207n15 space, production of, 29. See also architectural space; domestic space; interior space; public/private space; social space Splanchnopt Painter, wedding party of, 145, 146 Spude, Catherine, 190 statesmen, Athenian: houses of, 29–30 Steinhauer, George, 211n19 St. John’s Plantation (Maryland), debris patterns of, 60–61 stoa (Kameiros, Rhodes), 136; commercial function of, 137 Stoa of Attalos (Athens), 134 Stoa of Zeus (Athens), 207n15 Stoa Poikile (Athens), 207n15 stoas, Greek: functions of, 129, 130–31, 207n7; multifunctionality of, 130–31; of Pella, 136, 137; prostitution at, 131; public character of, 131; rooms backing, 131; water supplies for, 136–37. See also South Stoa (Corinth) storerooms: amphoras in, 63; on vase painting, 150–52, 151 Strabo, 196; on Corinthian prostitution, 130 sunoikiai (tenements), 1, 172; of Piraeus, 181 Sutton, Robert, 27 symposia: amphoras at, 63; in andrōnes, 147; drinking ware for, 212n43; function of,

251 186; interior/exterior activities of, 167–68; pottery at, 8; requirements for, 146–47; sites of, 146; on vase painting, 147, 147–48; women entertainers at, 188

taberna deversoria (Delos), 9, 108–17; artifacts of, 110; as brothel, 175–76, 212n31; contextualization of, 128; courtyard of, 110–12, 176, 186; doors of, 113; drinking vessels of, 189; entrances of, 110, 111, 187; excavation of, 175; graffiti of, 205n16; identification as brothel, 103, 111, 117; jewelry of, 191; liturgical paintings of, 110, 111; location of, 108; owner of, 111; palaistrai surrounding, 110; plan of, 108, 109; privacy of, 176; reliefs of, 113; rooms of, 108, 110, 112; sculptures of, 110; secondary suite of, 110, 112; second phase of, 111; terrain of, 108, 110; upper story of, 109; vestibules of, 111; wall reliefs of, 110; water supply for, 182, 203n8 taberna vinaria (Delos), 9, 71, 104–8, 203n3; accessibility of, 107; amphoras of, 104, 106; artifacts of, 107; ceramic assemblage of, 106–7; chronology of, 104; customer ethnicity of, 108; destruction deposit of, 104; destruction of, 104; drinking vessels of, 107–8; excavation of, 104; foundation walls of, 104; furniture of, 106, 107; identification of, 103, 104; jewelry of, 107; last phase of, 106; location of, 104; longitudinal section of, 106; mezzanine, 107; ownership of, 107; plan of, 105; refuse pits of, 106; rooms of, 104, 106, 107; tableware of, 106 tableware: of Building Z (Athens), 55; of taberna vinaria (Delos), 106; of Well Deposit J 2:4 (Athens), 45. See also dining; drinking vessels Talcott, Lucy, 50 Tavern of Aphrodite (Building III, Corinth), 141; amphoras of, 200n4; architecture of, 176 taverns: amphoras at, 70, 71; archaeological records of, 60, 108; assemblages of, 26, 36–37, 50–54; clientele of, 195; criteria for identity, 103; drinking vessels of, 50; identification of, 73–74, 118; material record of, 13; ownership of, 5–6, 107, 111; proprietors of, 6; prostitution at, 173–74, 213n53. See also kapēleia

252

index

textile production: in Building Z (Athens), 88, 200n7; prostitution and, 91, 191, 202n19 textiles, on vase painting, 153 thalamoi: as inner sanctums, 161; lechea within, 164 Theodote (prostitute), 210n7; oikia of, 141, 172–73, 193 Theophrastus, Characters, 160 Thessaloniki: bath complex at, 176, 189; brothels of, 181 Thucydides: on Athenian earthquake, 81; moveable possessions in, 158–59 Traill, John S., 213n48 Triarius (Roman legate): fortification of Delos, 104; soldiers’ barracks of, 123, 125; statues honoring, 206n24 Trümper, Monika, 8, 130 Trypitos (Crete), Hellenistic amphoras of, 68 urbanism, Hellinic, 1, 5–6; diversity of, 11–12 Valerius Maximus, on private brothels, 210n16 Vari House (Attica), ceramic assemblage of, 38 vase painting: activities depicted on, 143; altars on, 145, 146; amphoras on, 62, 63, 63; architectural space on, 153–57, 156, 157, 168; architraves on, 155, 156, 158, 158; brides on, 144, 145; chariot processions on, 164; columns on, 155–56; depiction of prosperity, 150; depiction of suspended items, 149, 149, 150, 151, 152–53, 155, 167, 168; Dionysiac rites on, 210n11; domestic animals on, 152; domestic labor on, 150, 150; doors on, 159, 159–60; exterior space on, 167; funerary activity on, 153, 154; furniture on, 153; historical characters on, 168; house exteriors on, 145; houses on, 144, 145; housewives on, 150–51, 152; interior space on, 10, 143–48, 149, 149, 150, 151, 152–53, 155; kalathoi on, 150; klinai on, 147, 153; komasts on, 159, 160, 164; ladders on, 165–66, 166; lechea on, 153, 164; loutēria on, 146, 156; mythical characters on, 168; nonpublic activities on, 167; occupations on, 151; oikoi on, 149, 150; private/public space o, 167–68; prostitutes on, 160; realistic elements of, 168; roofs on, 165–66, 166; rooms on, 146; sexual

activity on, 188, 188–89, 189; slave girls on, 151, 152; social space on, 144, 148–53; structuralist approach to, 144; symposia on, 147, 147–48; textiles on, 153; viewers of, 10; weddings on, 145, 146, 160; windows on, 164–65, 165, 167. See also ceramic assemblages; pottery Villa of Good Fortune (Olynthos), prostitution at, 200n4 Vitruvius, on domestic architecture, 88, 201nn10,13 votive deposits: of Building Z, 83, 200n6; at South Stoa (Corinth), 139–40; of Well Deposit J 2:4 (Athens), 45 Wallace-Hadrill, Andrew, 118, 173 warehouses, Delian, 125–28; entertainments at, 127; entrances of, 125; functions of, 127, 128; layout of, 125; liturgical paintings of, 127; negotiations in, 127; publication of, 127; sekomata of, 127; as taverns-innsbrothels, 127; typological comparisons for, 127; upper stories of, 125–26; water supply for, 125, 127; wholesale trade in, 127 weddings, on vase painting, 145, 146, 160, 162, 163 Well Deposit J 2:4 (house, Athenian Agora), 7–8, 39, 41–43, 45–54; amphoras of, 69; ceramic assemblage of, 41, 57, 58, 198n19; character of household, 48–49; chronology of, 43; and commercial drinking establishments, 54; diagnostic fragments of, 43; domestic assemblage of, 58; drinking vessels of, 45; fine wares of, 42; fragments of, 42, 43, 44; functional categories of, 45–48, 49, 53; krater fragments of, 43; kylikes of, 43, 44; MNV calculations for, 43, 45–47, 48, 198n19; ser vice vessels of, 50; social status reflected by, 49; stratigraphy of, 41, 42, 42; table vessels of, 45; votive pottery of, 45 Well Deposit Q 12:3 (Stoa Gutter), amphoras of, 69, 69 Well Deposit Q 15:2, amphoras of, 70 Well Deposit R 12:1 (Athens), Persian sack debris of, 70 Well Deposit R 13:4 (tavern, Agora): ceramics of, 50–54, 57; cooking ware of, 54; functional categories of, 53; MNV calculation for, 50, 51–52; olpai of, 50; ser vice vessels of, 50

index Westgate, Ruth, 144 Williams, Charles K., II, 176, 209nn35,41; on Corinthian prostitution, 130, 206n1 windows: symbolism of, 165; in vase painting, 164–65, 165, 167 wine, in Roman entertainment, 108 women, Greek: contribution to households, 150; cosmetics of, 86, 201n15; domestic space of, 24; entertainers at symposia, 188; in interior space, 160–62, 163; physical sphere of, 30; wool working by, 27

253

Xenarchos: Pentathlon, 90, 184; on prostitution, 169, 172 Xenophon: brothels in, 141, 173, 181; Greek houses in, 32. Works: Hellenica, 208n30; Memorabilia, 141; Oikonomikos, 23, 24, 27, 86, 201n14 xystoi, for athletic training, 208n29 Zagora (Andros): domestic spaces of, 19; plan of, 20; storage amphoras of, 26 zoning, Greek, 1; self-selected, 6 zoning, modern, 32

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acknowledgments

We first met at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens and began considering the question of how houses differed (or not) from commercial structures in our very first conversation. We wish to thank the School for providing the rich intellectual environment and opportunity for such discussions, which in this case also resulted in the fruitful collaboration you have in your hands. We especially would like to thank our contributors for joining our conversations at an early date and for adding so much with their respective and collective knowledge and enthusiasms. Each one has helped us better appreciate the exquisite nuances, some able to be parsed, some not, among houses, brothels, and taverns. Each and every contributor has brought great expertise and diligence to this project as well as an equal measure of patience in seeing the book through to publication. Many people and organizations have assisted at various stages of this project. We are grateful to Alison Innes and Brandon Garib, MA students from Brock University, for their help in the preparation of the manuscript. We wish to thank the Humanities Research Institute at Brock University, which funded the research assistants and covered the costs of images for Chapters  1, 4, 7, and  8. The Provost of Vanderbilt University and the program for Research Scholars Grants provided fi nancial support for the compiling of the index. It was a delight to work with the consummately professional and patient editorial staff at the University of Pennsylvania Press. We see this volume as just the beginning of the conversation about vernacular architecture and the many uses to which houses, or buildings like them, might be put. We fervently hope that the chapters presented here will inspire further research into the archaeology of brothels, houses, and taverns and help to enliven and to enrich our knowledge of social life in

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ancient Greece and the private venues where the Greeks spent much of their day (and night). In memory of our fathers, George A. Glazebrook and Theodore Tsakirgis. Allison Glazebrook Barbara Tsakirgis