SOMA 2002: Symposium on Mediterranean Archaeology. Proceedings of the Sixth Annual Meeting of Postgraduate Researchers. University of Glasgow, Department of Archaeology, 15-17 February, 2002 9781841715148, 9781407325453

Citation preview

BAR S1142 2003  BRYSBAERT ET AL (Eds.)  SOMA 2002

SOMA 2002 Symposium on Mediterranean Archaeology Edited by

Ann Brysbaert Natasja de Bruijn Erin Gibson Angela Michael Mark Monaghan

BAR International Series 1142 9 781841 715148

B A R

2003

Published in 2016 by BAR Publishing, Oxford BAR International Series 1142 SOMA 2002 © The editors and contributors severally and the Publisher 2003 The authors' moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the Publisher.

ISBN 9781841715148 paperback ISBN 9781407325453 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781841715148 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library BAR Publishing is the trading name of British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd. British Archaeological Reports was first incorporated in 1974 to publish the BAR Series, International and British. In 1992 Hadrian Books Ltd became part of the BAR group. This volume was originally published by Archaeopress in conjunction with British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd / Hadrian Books Ltd, the Series principal publisher, in 2003. This present volume is published by BAR Publishing, 2016.

BAR

PUBLISHING BAR titles are available from:

E MAIL P HONE F AX

BAR Publishing 122 Banbury Rd, Oxford, OX2 7BP, UK [email protected] +44 (0)1865 310431 +44 (0)1865 316916 www.barpublishing.com

Contents List of Contributors

iii

Introduction

iv

Acknowledgements

v

Bhattal, Robin Singh Ethnic Identity: Archaeological Considerations

1

Brysbaert, Ann Does DIY work? Experimentation and the Archaeology of Technology in an Aegean Bronze Age Context

7

Camps i Calbet, Marta An Approach to the Archaeology of Transitions in Palaeolithic Iberia

17

Deckers, Kathleen The Western Cyprus Geoarchaeological Survey: Some Case-studies

27

Gambin, Timothy Chapels and Navigation in Medieval Gozo

35

Georgiadis, Mercourios The Burial Landscape of Late Bronze Age III Karpathos

45

Lindenlauf, Astrid Constructing the Meaning of the Persian Wars in Athens

53

Livieratou, Antonia Religious Continuity from the Late Bronze to the Early Iron Age: A Contradicting Picture

63

Metawi, Rasha Raettaui

71

Michael, Angela S. What a State we’re in: Nationalism and Archaeology in Cyprus

79

Mientjes, Antoon Cornelis Pastoral Settlements: A Case-Study of Complex Pastoral Sites on the Island of Sardinia (Italy) in Modern History 89 Pieler, Erika C. Import or Imitation. Cycladic Idols on the Greek Mainland

99

Rajala, Ulla Site as a Landscape, Site in a Landscape: Interpreting Il Pizzo

105

Satijn, Olaf P.N. Towards Incastellamento: Combining Archaeology and Texts in Modelling the Post-Roman Landscape in Lazio

113

Sollars, Luke H. What is a Rural Settlement?

121

Tomas, Helena Who were the Readers of Linear A Inscriptions?

129

i

van den Hengel, Louis (Re)thinking Roman Sculpture: Imperial Representations and the Construction of Subjective Identity

141

Van Hove, Doortje Human Landscapes on Different Scales: an Integrated GIS Approach

149

van Rossenberg, Erik Embedding Material Culture in Perceptions of Landscape. A Contextual Analysis of the Deposition of Bronzes in Northern Italy 157 Knapp, A. Bernard Mediterranean Archaeologies

165

ii

List of Contributors

Robin. S. Bhattal [email protected] Department of Archaeology Gregory Building 6 Lilybank Gardens University of Glasgow Glasgow, G12 8QQ Scotland, UK Ann Brysbaert [email protected] British School at Athens 52, Odos Souidias 106-76 Athens, Greece Marta Camps I Calbet [email protected] Donald Baden-Powell Quaternary Research Centre 60 Banbury Road Oxford, OX2 6PN England, U.K. Katleen Deckers [email protected] Department of Archaeology University of Edinburgh Timothy Gambin [email protected] 14, Stella Maris Street, Sliema, SLM 12 Malta Mercourios Georgiadis [email protected] School of Archaeology, Classics and Oriental Studies University of Liverpool, Liverpool, UK Astrid Lindenlauf [email protected] German Archaeological Institute Athens, Greece Antonia Liveriatou [email protected] 25 Antheon St. Polydrosso-Halandri 15233 Athens, Greece

Rasha Metawi [email protected] 197 Minster Court, Liverpool, L7 3QF. Angela S. Michael [email protected] Department of Archaeology Gregory Building 6 Lilybank Gardens University of Glasgow Glasgow, G12 8QQ Antoon Cornelis Mientjes [email protected] Department of Archaeology University of Wales Ceredigion SA48 7ED Lampeter Mag. Erika C. Pieler [email protected] Weimarerstraße 22 / 9 A- 1180 Wien-Austria Ulla Rajala [email protected] Department of Archaeology University of Cambridge Olaf P.N. Satijn [email protected] Groningen Institute of Archaeology Rijksuniversiteit Gronigen Groningen The Netherlands Luke Sollars [email protected] Department of Archaeology The Gregory Building 6 Lilybank Gardens University of Glasgow Glasgow, G12 8QQ Scotland, UK Helena Tomas [email protected] Department of Archaeology University of Oxford

iii

Louis van den Hengel [email protected] Parallelweg 12 6861 EK Oosterbeek The Netherlands Tel. +31(0)652056979 Doortje Van Hove [email protected] Department of Archaeology University of Southampton Avenue Campus Highfield Southampton SO17 1BF UK Erik van Rossenberg [email protected] Faculty of Archaeology University of Leiden The Netherlands Prof. A.B. Knapp [email protected] Department of Archaeology Gregory Building 6 Lilybank Gardens University of Glasgow Glasgow, G12 8QQ Scotland, UK

Introduction

The Symposium of Mediterranean Archaeology took place February the 15th to 17th, 2002 at the University of Glasgow. The conference was organised around a variety of themes with the primary goal of attracting a diverse group of postgraduate researchers and facilitating discussion through the establishment of workshops on specific themes. Our primary aim was to give SOMA as wide a scope as possible within the context of Mediterranean archaeology. This was reflected in the wide range of papers presented both at the conference and included within this volume. Some of the broad themes running through the papers include landscape method and its application (Olaf Satijn, Kathleen Deckers, Mercourios Georgiadis, Antoon Cornelis Mientjes, Ulla Rajala, Luke Sollars, Doortje van Hove, Erik van Rossenberg), religion and transitions (Rasha Metawi, Antonia Livieratou, Marta Camps i Calbet, Timothy Gambin), nationalism and identity (Robin Singh Bhattal, Astrid Lindenlauf, Angela Michael and Louis van den Hengel) and craft and craftspeople (Erika Pieler and Ann Brysbaert). Papers presented within these themes covered geographical areas ranging from Spain, Italy, Cyprus, Greece, Egypt, and Malta and time periods from the Paleolithic onwards to the modern period. The conference successfully attracted individuals with interests in theory, reports on recent fieldwork, integrating historical and survey data, geoarchaeology, and ethnographic studies, experimental archaeology and computer applications. Bernard Knapp summarised the conference with a paper on recent developments and possible future directions of archaeology in Mediterranean archaeology. We feel that this volume is a successful representation not only of the conference as a whole, but also of possible future directions of Mediterranean archaeology. By bringing together scholars from the entire Mediterranean region we hope that SOMA 2002 facilitated a more integrated approach to Mediterranean archaeology thus providing a springboard for a vibrant archaeological future.

iv

Acknowledgements It would be very easy to fill the entire page with names of people who have helped and supported us in this adventure and as you can see, we have. No one knew how it would evolve and, at the end of it, we are all happy that it is over. Needless to say the conference and this publication would have been possible without the help of many people who we would like to mention here. First of all we would like to express wholeheartedly our gratitude to the entire staff of the Department of Archaeology, University of Glasgow. They were with us from the beginning when they funded some of us to go and ‘check out’ how it was done in Liverpool. We were very impressed and wanted to do equally well. Many thanks should go especially to the Head of the Department, Professor Bill Hanson, for supporting us throughout, and for opening the conference in February 2002. From our department we could constantly count on the help and presence of several members throughout the conference and the preparation of this publication. Special thanks go to: Professor Bernard Knapp, Dr. Richard Jones, Dr. Peter van Dommelen, and Dr. Michael Given. Professor Bernard Knapp also kindly offered to give the plenary session talk as the closing session for a successful conference. We had the great opportunity to listen to a very inspiring opening lecture by Dr. Cyprian Broodbank from the Institute of Archaeology, UCL. Warm thanks go to him for setting a stimulating climate for the rest of the conference. Special thanks go to Dr. Jeremy Huggett and Bruno Tersago for helping Ann Brysbaert with all technical matters related to our website. If we had not had such great logistical help from all the secretaries of the department we would have been lost. Having taken on with a never failing smile, all our email circulations, lots of photocopying and letting us plunder their stationary stock from time to time, they deserve our warmest thanks: Pauline Wilson, Nancy Docherty, Jen Cochrane, and Laura Hayes. During the conference we had the help of many postgraduate students from our department who, voluntarily sacrificed an entire weekend to help us out. Warm thanks go to all Glasgow postgraduates who have had to put up with SOMA meetings and rantings for over a year. Natasja, Ann and Erin would especially like to thank: Angela Michael and Robin Singh Bhattal for helping with organising the conference. During the conference we were assisted by Karimah Kennedy, Angela Michael, Ioana Oltean, and Ifigenia Pontiki who handled the visual aids. Chris Bowles, Ann Brysbaert, Natasja de Bruijn, Erin Gibson, Dr. Maria Kostoglou, Paul Pelosi and Kylie Seretis chaired the sessions. We would also like to thank the security and janitorial staff for their help. Finally we would like to thank Mark Monaghan for making a bunch of archaeologists dance badly at the party. Financial support was donated by the Faculty of Arts, the Department of Archaeology, by Professor C. Morris through the Senate, and by Dr. D. Davison. Dr. D. Davison was so kind to hold a book sale with great reduction throughout the time of the conference and continued to be a great support during our first experiences with putting a publication like this together. A warm thank you to all of our anonymous referees (you know who you are) who helped improve the papers and the standard of this publication overall. We would also like to thank all the people who contributed to this volume without them there would be no publication. And last, but not least, we want to thank everyone who came to join us in Glasgow to participate. Ann Brysbaert, Natasja de Bruijn, Erin Gibson, Angela Michael and Mark Monaghan

v

vi

Ethnic Identity: Archaeological Considerations Robin Singh Bhattal Department of Archaeology, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, U.K. [email protected] Keywords: Ethnic identity – archaeology – material culture certain claims such as in a correlative identity. For example, a woman is carrying a child and it is typically, if not automatically, assumed that the woman is the mother of the child. This assessment is based on a number of factors that are all calculated within a brief period of time. The age of the woman is a consideration, as is the nature of the interaction between the woman and the child at that moment (i.e. nursing, the changing of diapers, teaching the child to walk, etc.), not to mention the socially constructed view that a mother is typically, perhaps even stereotypically, seen as the primary carer of a child. In a similar example, a person who goes into work everyday to a business that he or she does not own is categorised as an employee, not employer. Do these individuals through their own conceptions of the self create their identities, of the woman/mother or the employee? Or are these identities placed upon them by outside agents as being a logical identification based on socially constructed ideas of the self. To take the first example, does the child recognise the woman as a mother, or mother figure? The woman could just as easily be an aunt, older sister, or a stepmother, which brings into the equation issues of the biological versus the nurturing parent. Someone need not have children to have a motherly or fatherly concern over another, such as one might find amongst siblings.

Abstract Identity is often thought of as simple to define, easy to realise and apparent to recognise. However, it is a concept based in contextual change that continues to shape itself socially and culturally. In the archaeological record, material culture provides archaeologists with the resource needed to decipher meaning and interpret an ethnic identity for a given people. But the accuracy of interpretation is only as precise as the questions being asked. The ethnic identity of past societies and cultures may never truly be realised without getting into the minds of these people, because like the material culture we interpret, their thoughts are contextually, temporally, and as spatially bounded as ours are.

1. Introduction The topic of this paper is identity and perhaps the first question should be ‘what is identity?’ It is a rather simple question to ask and on the surface it appears to be relatively easy to answer. Yet it is a question that is quite difficult to resolve and/or accurately define. I will narrow my examination of this rather broad question by looking at the concept of ethnic identity, how it is conceived generally and what I believe the nature of identity to be. I then consider some issues to see if archaeologists today can reconcile ethnic identity within archaeology and the material culture of the archaeological record.

There are multiple identities to which people could affiliate themselves. Díaz-Andreu (1998) looks at multiple and overlapping identities in relation to Iron Age Iberian ethnicity. She points out that a given situation will elicit a given ethnic identification from an individual. Issues like gender, status (social, political, economic), religion, and ideology all inform ethnic identity. For example, within a Hindu caste system, ascribed status is a dominant force dictating social interaction. A person born into a higher caste will not marry or socialise with a person born into a lower caste. A Brahmin – the highest defined caste – would not socialise with an Untouchable – the lowest defined caste. Within each caste is a distinctive ethnic makeup. At the same time, however, they are all Hindu; they are one ethnic group (defined by religion) residing in India. Hindus make up a large percentage of the population known as Indians, another ethnically (and geographically) defined entity. So even within one perceivably single ethnic group – such as Indians, Africans, Malaysians, and Europeans – there are degrees of perception delineating ethnicity into smaller and more defined ethnic entities.

2.1. So, what is identity? As stated, identity is a difficult concept to deal with. Identity does not necessarily have to deal with a specific person nor need it deal with an object or the identification of something. Whether it is based on an individual or on the collective whole, a given identity can be both homogenous and heterogeneous. As a ‘continual process’ (Balibar 1995; Hall 1996; Sarup 1996) there are indeed a multitude of factors that impact upon identity construction. Identity can refer to the individual, the group, society, and/or culture. Numbers do not necessarily bind the term itself. Identity is the means through which this entity, whatever moniker it may be assigned, realises and defines itself, whereby identity is the creation of that realisation. This realisation can be historically based, situated in a specific time and place, though they do not necessarily bind it. Identity is constructed, but not out of nothing. Its construction is based in something tangible and valid. Its existence is based within discourses of thought and action, of motivations and allegiances, and the knowledge that these discourses are not bound to anything other than the intent the individual places within them.

I believe a large part of ethnic identity comes down to the idea of belonging to a (geographically defined) place. If we consider a Mediterranean example, such as the ancient Greeks, or Hellenes, they were not a single unified cultural entity. There was no Ancient Greece per se but a collection

The nature of identity is an act of creation. It is the embodiment of an idea, thought, or concept that makes 1

of city-states. There was trade and commerce, the exchange of ideas and material culture because there was contact – and conflict – as is the nature of competing states who may see the other as a threat whether this be economic, ideological and/or political. So what precisely made the Hellenes see themselves as one people? Did they even see themselves as one people? Was it a common language, a shared religion with similar temples and modes of worship? Or was it a common way of living and viewing the world? However this world was not common, not shared amongst all Hellenes. Their social, cultural and political reality and sense of ethnic identity was defined by the city-state, their socio-political status therein (i.e. wealthy or poor, privileged-elite or working-class and even slave) and the social and cultural rules and ideologies that governed their existence.

identity akin to your own. The landscape can have its economic benefits, religious and sacred importance, or even its historical significance, but ultimately whoever lives on that land will demarcate it along with his or her own ethnic identity. The former Republic of Yugoslavia is a case in point, as is the former Czechoslovakia – thought the latter’s fragmentation was far more amicable than the former. To go back to the earlier example of India, the culture that exists there has a history that goes back many thousands of years. The events and experiences that shaped civilisation in that part of the world and the people living there are geographically based. To separate the ethnic identity from the place would not be possible without erasing the memory of experience. Ethnic identity informs the place just as much as the place informs the ethnic identity with memory as the conduit linking both together.

The connection between ethnic identity and place is not a new one (Herzfeld 1987; Keith and Pile 1993; Thomas 1996). This connection was witnessed a great deal during the 20th century, particularly with issues of race and dominance and of ethnic conflicts and genocide. However, the issue of memory (Küchler 1993; Rowlands 1993; Thomas 1996: 51-54; Wark 1993) is also relevant as it informs the importance of place, and if I equate identity to an engine then memory could conceivably be the gasoline fuelling it. As a complex phenomenon memory is constructed through direct experience, but it can also be socially maintained – though the degree of social maintenance will be based upon the impact of the memory on a person, group, society and/or culture. In years to come, who among us will not be aware of where they were during the infamous events of September 11th. How memory is accessed is based primarily on how it is stored and the degree of importance placed on the memory once it has been imprinted upon the mind. Identity construction is not just a continual process but also a contextually based process (Bondi 1993; Friedman 1994: 117-146; Kellner 1992). Memory, as the fuel for ethnic identity, within this contextual construction, can be temporally bounded (Thomas 1996), and it can be spatially oriented to a given place. Every individual remembers events differently, based on their own positionality and degree of involvement (whether that be physical, emotional, ideological, etc.), or even lack of involvement with those events. Thus, such positionality can give rise to multiple different identities and play a part in how ethnic identity is formed. Ethnic identity can be imbued with many actions, thoughts, and details of life that to an outsider would be beyond understanding.

In the formation of ethnic identity, memory is centered on experience. The language used to represent and interpret memory’s importance is socially mediated. A state has historians to record the events of history. With a number of historians come varying interpretations of each event. However, an individual’s memory is a singular and selective process in recalling information from past events and circumstances that make up the life of the individual. What is forgotten may be incidental or deemed (unconsciously) unimportant. Though the individual may just as (consciously) relegate certain memories as negative or undesirable and thus unworthy to recall or re-experience in the present. Ethnic identity is a contextually, temporally, and spatially bounded construct. Any knowledge of that reality is transmitted from the past into the present world through any given number of social and cultural mechanisms. But can ethnic identity be archaeologically visible? 2.2. Identity within the archaeological record The question of ethnic identity in archaeology will necessarily involve looking at material culture and change. Now change often occurs at times when social and cultural patterns of understanding begin to break down and shift from one position to another (Jones and Graves-Brown 1996). This change, like material culture, is a process, one that is always fluctuating. This fluctuation can be visible in the archaeological record, but how that visibility is recognised and interpreted is a question of effective methodological application. I will touch on methodology later on but, first, I want to point out that change can be fluid and it can be jarring and it is typically socially mandated. This is, of course, if we set aside environmental factors, which can have a lasting impact on a society and may not be always archaeologically visible.

During the course of an individual’s lifetime there are many things that can impact on their sense of ethnic identity but perhaps none more so than that of place – the space through which that individual was raised and socialised. Many a battle in history has been waged over land, and many people have died to protect their land, their homes, and their way of life. So what is this connection between identity and place? I would argue the connection is experience. To experience a landscape by moving through it, living off it, and being aware of its importance (which is culturally mandated) is to give that landscape an

The archaeological record is not something there to find, it’s not left behind for someone to pick up down the road. We create it in the present. Our interpretation is based in the present and material culture is subject to the world into which it is recovered. This world is defined by geography and historically specific social and cultural values. What was interpreted a hundred years ago, in a given country, was done so through different conceptual glasses from fifty 2

years ago, and from today, as will it be fifty years from now. As these conceptual lenses have been given a different prescription to suit each period of ‘visual clarity’, so too have identities undergone adjustments from time to time. Both ethnic identity and archaeology are concerned with the same issues – material culture and change. In archaeology we look at a piece of pottery and assign it culturally as being, for example, Phoenician or Egyptian. This assignation is based on large part from the diagnostic features of the pottery (i.e. pottery shape and design, its decoration, and the materials used to produce it) but are such associations founded in any real understanding of the context in which that piece of pottery was constructed? What we think that pottery to be is undoubtedly different from its designers. This is because our thoughts are just as contextually and socially situated as the designers is. However, to take a line from Gosden:

Cypriot pottery shapes – Base-ring ware juglets – yet also at that time in Thapsos architectural changes such as the traditional round houses of the local population altered to new houses with rectangular rooms (Karageorghis 1998). During the 14th and 13th centuries BC, it is surmised that a commercial colony of Cypriots (and Mycenaeans) may have migrated to Thapsos. So the ethnic demography of the local population was altered with the arrival of outsiders. But it could also be the case that the local population grew some sort of affinity for Cypriot wares, perhaps it was fashionable to create juglets in a Cypriot style. The architectural changes would, however, suggest that a group did migrate and establish a colony and in due course express their ethnic culture in such a way that it did effect that local population. So with this change during the 14th and 13th centuries BC at Thapsos, what ethnic identity would be given to the population? Would the material culture exclusively express Cypriot migration? Perhaps. But then again certainly something must have remained of the local population with a degree of give-and-take integration, or indeed co-operation, between both ethnic communities.

If thought arises from contexts of action and action derives from the social worlds into which people are socialised, then each society has its own structure of the mind and this structure is heavily implicated in the actions of the body (1999: 127).

Earlier I equated identity to an engine and memory as the gasoline fuelling it. Place could be ideally seen as the petrol station. Movement through the landscape has many functions ranging from economic utilisation (i.e. for growing food), to productive resources (i.e. clay for pottery production), to traversing it (i.e. for trade and exchange). Knowledge of these factors is nothing new to the archaeological discipline, however a problem still lies in extrapolating the mental processes of that movement – more precisely, what the landscape meant to those people. It is impossible to get into the minds of people to understand why they do the things they do. As rational as we may believe ourselves to be as a species, human agency is irrational to the extent that everything we do is informed by our cultural makeup. Religion (i.e. sacred place/space), taboo (i.e. food – killing/consuming a specific animal; a given activity; a place), and prejudice are culturally regulated. For example, the disappearance of cattle (introduced during the late ninth millennium Cal BC) on the island of Pre-Pottery Neolithic Cyprus from the middle of the eighth millennium BC (Vigne 2001) onwards to its reintroduction during the Early Bronze Age could be due to any number of reasons such as diminished productive capacity of cattle-rearing or the insular nature of island habitation upon cultural practice. Regardless, as a discipline aimed at studying material culture archaeology would ideally like to get into the minds of the people it studies as best it can, but it is something that will never be fully realised. As pessimistic as this may seem I am nonetheless optimistic that the archaeological discipline will develop new and better ‘lenses for visual clarity’ to decipher the archaeological record and allow us to have a better view of why past peoples did what they did.

From the perspective of an anthropologist this may be less of a concern, as the mental and bodily movements of society can be witnessed and interpreted first hand through social interaction and physical movement through their (cultural) space. From an archaeologist’s perspective, such mental and bodily movements are lost and supposition, as to the intent of an individual or society long dead, is debatable at best. As archaeologists we are socialised into a given social reality and define ourselves through it. The same conditions apply to people of the past – historic and prehistoric. Physical and social reality creates social existence, and conscious thought moves people through time and space. That movement can conceivably be mapped if accurate imprints are left, and that physical reality can be analysed to give a clearer understanding of the environment through which that movement took place (Ingold 1993; Thomas 1993). Questions of identification can perhaps only be pursued within a discourse of movement. Material culture within the archaeological record is often used in archaeology to assign people an identity. DíazAndreu (1998) mentions that material may indeed be an inadequate measure to define ethnic identity. Material culture has an advantage and a disadvantage in that with abundant material culture comes a selective process. Some material undoubtedly has more importance placed in it, particularly if it fits a particular theory. As well, interpretation is a very selective process and it would seem logical that a single artefact may illicit varying degrees of interpretation and assignation of ethnic identity based on varying attitudes, thoughts, and ideologies of the interpreter. For example, a discovery was made on the island of Sicily of Cypriot pottery dating to the 14th and 13th centuries BC. This discovery was pottery of nonCypriot material, found on the east coast of the island, in a tomb context on the sea cliff of Thapsos. The material used in the pottery construction was likely local yet it mimicked

Ethnic identity is self recognised and self-actualised. But this recognition is based within a discourse of significance – not similarity and/or difference. For example, if we take two ethnic groups – ethnic group ‘A’ and ethnic group ‘B’ – ‘A’ will hold certain attributes of ethnic group ‘B’ as 3

Cypriot/Mycenaean migration. But the majority of these varying interpretations would be based on a singular factor – material culture. Whether mimicked Cypriot pottery or new houses with rectangular rooms, how much emphasis can truly be placed solely on material culture as a basis for the ethnic identification of people in the past? Of course there are some archaeologists of our day who rely solely on material culture to define ethnic groups but I would argue, as others have, that culturally regulated factors such as religion, taboo, gender, and prejudice, to name but a few, are immeasurably important in assessing the ethnic identity of any cultural group in the past. At the same time however, I believe it is important to realise that ethnic identity is self recognised and self-actualised and the key word involved within this acceptance is ‘significance’. What past ethnic groups held to be significant factors in understanding and displaying their own ethnic identities were contextually, temporally, and spatially bounded, and it may be difficult to reconcile such mental processes of significance which are typically unavailable to the archaeologist when the material culture is uncovered.

being significant enough to warrant acknowledging their particular ethnic identity. However, ‘B’ may have completely different attributes in mind as being central to their own ethnic identity. Material culture may not necessarily be a significant factor in ethnic identity. ‘A’ may be aware that a particular pottery type is ‘B’ in nature, but the perception of ‘B’ as a collective whole would undoubtedly be more socially and culturally imbued than materially assigned. Pottery styles change and can alter drastically, even over short periods of time. Socio-cultural perceptions of significance, ethnic assignation and identification tend to be slower to change. A large number of people in the western world drive Japanese cars, but it does not mean they are all Japanese. Equally, an individual may sit down for a pint of Irish ale, wearing an Italian suit, and wave a jersey in support of their favourite South American football team, but would any of those things necessarily indicate their own sense of ethnic identity? 3. Conclusion Identity construction and display is a continual and changing process. There are multiple and overlapping identities to which people could affiliate themselves, even within a singular cultural framework, such as the example of Hindu ethnicity given earlier. Issues, and the cultural perceptions they hold, such as with gender, status, religion, and ideology, will all inform upon ethnic identity. A particular situation, state of thought and/or social environment will elicit a given ethnic identification from an individual at a given time.

Acknowledgements I would like to acknowledge the efforts of all those involved in making the SOMA conference a reality. I would also like to extend my thanks to Angela Michael for constantly reminding me to write this paper in the first place for publication. I found the conference to be quite fruitful in drawing out discussions. Bibliography

Yet a connection also exists between ethnic identity and place. Whilst memory informs the importance of place within culture through direct experience, that experience can spatially bound a place; places such as the Twin Towers in New York. Just as it is a continually based process, identity construction is also contextually based. Imbued with certain actions, thoughts, and ideologies of life, ethnic identity is constructed in a place – often within a specific area of the world. It is bound to that landscape spatially, temporally, and even psychosomatically. The connection between ethnic identity and place is that they inform each other. A landscape is experienced by moving about it, being fed off it, and being aware that without it, you make no sense and you exist outside of context.

Balibar E. 1995. Culture and Identity (Working Notes), translated by J. Swenson. In: J. Rajchman (ed.), The Identity in Question, London: Routledge, 173-196. Bender B. (ed.) 1993. Landscape Politics and Perspectives, Oxford: Berg. Bondi L. 1993. Locating Identity Politics. In: M. Keith and S. Pile (eds), Place and the Politics of Identity, London: Routledge, 84-101. Carter E.,J. Donald and J. Squires (eds) 1993. Space and Place: Theories of Identity and Location, London: Lawrence and Wishart. Díaz-Andreu M. 1998. Ethnicity and Iberians: The Archaeological Crossroads Between Perception and Material Culture. European Journal of Archaeology 1(2), 199-218. Friedman J. 1994. Cultural Identity and Global Process, London: Sage. Gosden C. 1999. Anthropology and Archaeology: A Changing Relationship, London: Routledge. Graves-Brown P., S. Jones, and C. Gamble (eds) 1996. Cultural Identity and Archaeology: The Construction of European Communities, London: Routledge. Hall S. 1996. Introduction: Who Needs ‘Identity’? In: S. Hall and P. du Gay (eds), Questions of Cultural Identity, London: Sage, 1-17. Hall S. and P. du Gay (eds), 1996. Questions of Cultural Identity, London: Sage.

Ethnic identity is a contextually, temporally, and spatially bounded construct. The issue of ethnic identity in archaeology will necessarily involve looking at material culture and change. Used predominantly in archaeology to assign people an identity, material culture may be insufficient to define ethnic identity. Interpretation is a very selective process whereby any material culture recovered would likely be biased based on the research questions (that required answering) and the hypothesis (that needed testing). As mentioned earlier, a single artefact may illicit varying degrees of interpretation and assignation of ethnic identity based on varying attitudes, thoughts, and ideologies of the interpreter. If we look again at the Thapsos example, there are multiple interpretations that could be argued as to the ethnic makeup of the post4

Space and Place: Theories of Identity and Location, London: Lawrence and Wishart, 129142.

Herzfeld M. 1987. Anthropology Through The Looking Glass: Critical Ethnography in the Margins of Europe, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ingold T. 1993. The Temporality of the Landscape. World Archaeology 25(2), 152-174. Jones S. and P. Graves-Brown 1996. Introduction: Archaeology and Cultural Identity in Europe. In: P. Graves-Brown, S. Jones, and C. Gamble (eds), Cultural Identity and Archaeology: The Construction of European Communities, London: Routledge, 1-24. Karageorghis V. 1998. Cypriote Archaeology: Achievements and Perspectives, (Dalrymple Archaeological Monograph 4), Glasgow: University of Glasgow. Keith M. and S. Pile 1993. Introduction Part I: The Politics of Place. In: M. Keith and S. Pile (eds), Place and the Politics of Identity, London: Routledge, 1-21. Keith M. and S. Pile (eds) 1993. Place and the Politics of Identity, London: Routledge. Kellner D. 1992. Popular Culture and the Construction of Postmodern Identities. In: S. Lash and J. Friedman (eds), Modernity and Identity, Oxford: Blackwell, 141-178. Küchler S. 1993. Landscape as Memory: The Mapping of Process and its Representation in a Melanesian Society. In: B. Bender (ed.), Landscape Politics and Perspectives, Oxford: Berg, 85-106. Lash S. and J. Friedman (eds) 1992. Modernity and Identity, Oxford: Blackwell. Rajchman J. (ed.) 1995. The Identity in Question, London: Routledge. Rowlands M. 1993. The Role of Memory in the Transmission of Culture. World Archaeology 25(2), 141-151. Sarup M. 1996. Identity, Culture and the Postmodern World, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Swiny S. (ed.) 2001. The Earliest Prehistory of Cyprus: From Colonisation to Exploitation, American Schools of Oriental Research, Archaeological Reports, Number 5; Cyprus American Archaeological Research Monograph Series, Volume 2, Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Thomas J. 1993. The Politics of Vision and the Archaeologies of Landscape. In B. Bender (ed.), Landscape Politics and Perspectives, Oxford: Berg, 19-48. Thomas J. 1996. Time, Culture and Identity: An Interpretive Archaeology, London: Routledge. Vigne J.-D. 2001. Large Mammals of Early Aceramic Neolithic Cyprus: Preliminary Results From Parakklisha Shillourokambos. In: S. Swiny (ed.), The Earliest Prehistory of Cyprus: From Colonisation to Exploitation, American Schools of Oriental Research, Archaeological Reports, Number 5; Cyprus American Archaeological Research Monograph Series, Volume 2, Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 55-60. Wark M. 1993. Vectors of Memory…Seeds of Fire: The Western Media and the Beijing Demonstrations. In: E. Carter, J. Donald and J. Squires (eds), 5

6

Does DIY work? Experimentation and the Archaeology of Technology in an Aegean Bronze Age Context Ann Brysbaert Department of Archaeology, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, U.K. [email protected] Keywords: Painted Plaster – experiments – agency – technology traditional crafts. This will demonstrate the role that experiments can play in illustrating that an agency-centred approach to technological studies is vital in order to understand any technology fully (Ingold 1999: xi) especially since techniques of any kind are social productions (Lemonnier 1993: 3).

Abstract Archaeologists have known for some time now that experimental and replication work have their use and value as part of broader interdisciplinary approaches to archaeology. Within the scope of my research on technological aspects of Bronze Age Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean painted plaster, part one of this paper aims to outline the value and use of experimental and replication work in this technological study in order to answer archaeological questions related to specific technological problems. This is introduced, firstly, by a brief historical overview of experimental and replication work within the field of archaeology and, secondly, worked out by an example of my own experiments and replications: an attempt to understand better the possible steps and methods involved in replicating the ‘sgraffitto’ from Palaikastro in Crete. Part two of this paper aims at demonstrating why experimental work has the right to be fully recognised as a research discipline within the context of technological studies. It shows how techniques are social productions by illustrating how people are actively involved in the transformation of ecofacts (something which has been formed or shaped by natural processes only, for instance limestone deposits) into artefacts. However, all such actions and interactions have to be seen as context-specifically enabled or constrained. Experimental work cannot exist without actors and observers who interact with each other and with their raw materials, following specific production modes. In order to understand technological issues fully we therefore have to take a more agency-centred approach and see any technology in relation to its social context.

The scientific literature covering the last 100 years shows that many technological issues related to the study of painted plaster during the Bronze Age Aegean have become increasingly better understood. This was achieved by a variety of approaches, mainly by scientific analysis. However, there are still issues that need a closer look, that are misunderstood and that would benefit from the application of different approaches. Recently, Jones has synthesized a clear and complete overview of achievements in technological studies (1999: 141-173, in press). My PhD research sets out to analyse the evidence of the technological aspects of decorated plaster in the Bronze Age Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean and their possible geographical and chronological transference in support of the apparent transference of iconographical themes and motifs. It covers the period from the late Middle Bronze Age until the end of the Late Bronze Age. Figure 1 shows the geographical location of the sites from which primary material has been collected, studied and analysed. The present paper is situated within this larger framework.

1. Introduction Archaeologists have long understood the benefits and applications of experimental and replication work as part of an interdisciplinary approach to any aspect of archaeological research. The content of this paper is set within the context of my broader PhD topic and is defined by specific methodological issues. In order to answer archaeological questions from very scanty archaeological remains, such as painted plaster from the Bronze Age, much can be gained from an interdisciplinary approach that is as broad as possible. This will become clear, first of all, though a historical overview of experimental work. Following this the case study will answer the question as to the technological make-up of a specific piece of painted plaster, found at Palaikastro in Crete. As will be shown, the steps and methods involved in the technology of this specific painting technique could not have been defined by applying any scientific technique, even if a sample was used. Secondly the paper will focus on the validity of experimental work as a proper discipline, based on

2. Experimental and replication work In brief, the history of experimental and replication work goes back to at least the 18th century when both antiquarians and early archaeologists tested excavated objects themselves to understand their use and function. This was often very destructive both for the objects and the experimenters, as some lost their lives for their experiments because they were not careful enough in their undertakings. Later on during the 19th century, two issues became very relevant to early experimental archaeology: o technical curiosity about found objects o early ethnographic documentation of pre-industrial societies (sometimes called ‘lower races’ and ‘modern savages’ by the white settlers, colonists, and explorers, cf. Coles 1979: 4). A major figure in the history of experimental archaeology was Lane Fox, later General Pitt-Rivers, who studied and experimented both to understand the materials and objects, 7

My experimental work and replications are a continuation of what has been achieved in past experiments and aim to answer further questions within the painted plaster technology. They consist of two main parts: o the steps and materials involved in collecting, manipulating raw materials into usable products, its implications and applications. To date, this has resulted in the collection of coloured earths from the volcanic island of Melos, Greece, which are consequently manipulated into usable pigments and applied in a range of media to be applied as paints (Brysbaert: forthcoming). Although coloured earths and minerals exist in many places in Greece, Melos was chosen because it is known, since Antiquity, for its mineral richness. It was therefore a very good starting place since many coloured earths and minerals surface at several easily accessible locations throughout the island. o The steps and methods involved in replicating Bronze Age painted plaster from the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean. The Minoan Dolphin from the Queen’s Megaron at Knossos, Crete, and the Tri-Partite Shrine, found also at Palace at Knossos, Crete, among others, have been replicated (Brysbaert: forthcoming).

and to seek answers about function, reliability and competence of artefacts. At the close of the 19th and at the start of the 20th century, as many pre-industrial societies disappeared, it was noticeable that the interest in the use of ethnographic documentation for archaeologists faded because they became primarily interested in material culture (Coles 1979: 26) although the existing relationship between anthropology and archaeology continued to exist (cf. Gosden 1999; Lilley 1988; and Rowlands 1998). On the one hand, anthropologists and ethnographers continued to document their more specific interest in the social, political, and religious organisation of pre-industrial communities (for example A.B. Lewis in Papua New Guinea, cf. Gosden and Knowles 2001: xx) while archaeologists focused mainly on material remains (for instance the excavation campaigns by Schlieman in Turkey and Greece, Evans in Greece to name but a few). Since the 1960s experimental archaeology has expanded enormously as a result of archaeologists’ renewed interest both in material culture and social aspects of past societies. This renewed interest has been very much mutually influenced by and seen in relation to anthropological research (Gosden 1999; for a very recent account: Gosden and Knowles 2001). This is demonstrated by the research interests of the so-called ‘ethno-archaeologists’ (Lemonnier: 1993: 7). John Coles, who has been the main scholar in the field of experimental archaeology sees experimental work as a useful discipline to gain insight into the following (1979: 1-2): o the material properties of artefacts and the techniques employed to produce them; o the function and importance of the artefacts to their owners; o the social organisation and labour involved in making artefacts; o the maker as inventor, creator, technician, artist, human being; o the craftspeoples’ technical abilities and the choices they could make in the course of their actions; o the meaning behind the material remains of a whole dynamic system. This last aim, stated by Coles, is in fact covered by archaeological research goals.

2.1. The sgraffito design and its archaeological context In the framework of this paper, the choice for the replication and experiment was made in favour of specific fragmentary remains of painted plaster, found at Palaikastro in Crete. Determining the precise technological make-up of this material has proved problematic ever since it’s discovery in 1996 (MacGillivray et al. 1998: 239-240). Having studied and conserved the material I came to the conclusion that the technology involved in building up the decorative motif may have involved the sgraffito technique. The reason that this material has been determined as a sgraffito has been described elsewhere (Brysbaert 2000: 54). Sgraffito means ‘to scratch’ and is a technique applied mainly to ceramics and plaster whereby a punch (sharp tool) is used to scrape or scratch a design through an opaque layer, in order to reveal either the base coating or a secondary coloured layer beneath (Turner 1996e: 534; Turner 1996d: 730).

Since this paper focuses more specifically on experimental work related to painted plaster in the Aegean and East Mediterranean, mention should be made of previous experiments and replications that have been carried out. These are the very first and only experiments ever carried out within the subject of technological studies of painted plaster in the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean Bronze Age. They are, therefore, important because they indicate the start of a more interdisciplinary approach to this subject and some are of direct relevancy to my own work: o Mark Cameron’s work in Canada (Jones 1999: 142, 151; Jones: in press); o Lisa Chryssikopoulou’s work (2000: 119-126) on Akrotiri wall paintings; o Jiorgos Angelinis’ artistic replications of reconstructed Minoan wall paintings (Angelinis n.d.)

Palaikastro, situated on the East Cretan coastline, is the location of one of the larger Bronze Age town settlements on the island. The finds recovered during the older and more recent excavations span an uninterrupted period from Early Minoan (EM) I until Late Minoan (LM) IIIC. The recent excavation seasons in the 1990s have revealed many interesting painted and unpainted plaster finds, among them wall plaster fragments with floral motifs, stone imitation paintings, including what appears to be a fragment in the sgraffito technique, and many others (Brysbaert 2000: 49-60) (Figs. 2 and 3). The sgraffito fragment was found in room L 2 which is situated close to the area of the structure that resembles a simple form of a lustral basin (room E 1) (MacGillivray et al. 1998: 239240, 256-258). The remains were not found in situ on its original surface so we are unclear as to its backing support 8

observing is understood as an active role in the experiment (cf. Gooding 1990: 15-16). This descriptive treatment of the experiment is, therefore, deliberate and ties in with the second aim of this paper, namely to demonstrate that people are very much part of the production processes of which archaeologists usually only find the material remains.

(although the suggestion is made that it appeared to have come from a collapsed staircase: MacGillivray et al. 1998: 239). However, the remains were found in a stratified deposit and were dated by the associated pottery to the LM IIIA period. The use of painted plaster decorated as imitation stone is known from Knossos, Chania and Petras from the Neopalatial period on Crete and at both Knossos and Chania it was associated with the architectural feature of a lustral basin (MacGillivray et al. 1998: 240, 256; Evely 1999: 133). In Palaikastro such plaster was found both in rooms L 2 and E 1. Driessen compares the sunken basin in L 1 with the sunken chamber of E 1 and sees this association of plaster and architectural feature as a support for the hypothesis that ‘one of these rooms is an early Palaikastro parallel for the “lustral basin”’ (MacGillivray et al. 1998: 256). The sgraffito design as a form of imitation stone, points to its function as dado decoration. Dadoes decorated a range of different surfaces, often as upper and lower borders of possibly larger thematic programmes. In the case of a lower border location on the wall, this could have meant that the dado was attached onto a stone base for a mud brick wall. Most of the rest of the plaster, therefore, was usually applied onto a mud brick or mud plaster backing. Traces of organic materials observable at the back of plaster fragments show that plaster was also applied onto wooden surfaces or elements. In our case, the back of the sgraffito was very flat which may imply that it was originally applied to a stone backing. We know that the two lower steps of the aforementioned staircase were made of stones with clay (MacGillivray et al. 1998: 257).

The materials used in the experiment need some explanation, because there is no certainty about the backing support of the sgraffito and I could not make the same sort of ‘plaques’ that were made by Chryssikopoulou and her team. The composition of the plaques reflected the well-known backing material of the Theran painted plaster and their make-up is described in context of the experiment (Chryssikopoulou et al. 2000: 122). The use of a ceramic tile was suggested by Hocombe who uses this material as a backing for her successful fresco painting panels because they allow the most natural drying of the layered material in un-natural circumstances (this experiment is not carried out inside the possible construction where it once belonged and we cannot know during which season this work was carried out). Since lime putty (hydrated lime or slaked lime) needs to be applied onto a wetted flat surface with some form of keying, the ceramic tile was the best choice. The lime putty had matured for four years. This results in a very smooth but strong material. Another problem arose with the use of lime putty to filler ratios. Filler is the term used for any foreign material to the lime putty (sand, hair, stone grit, or pebbles) to bulk out the lime putty and to stop it from cracking upon drying. Ratios of lime putty 2:1 and 3:1 to filler were applied and tested in the way described below for the thicker layers but were not successful since they started cracking almost immediately (between five minutes and one hour) after the application. Cameron appears to have encountered similar problems in his experiments carried out in Canada (Jones 1999: 151). I decided to work with ratios 1:1 and 1:2 which did not cause any problem at all. Pure lime coats were possible for the thinner layers. The experiment was carried out employing four types of mixtures described in figure 4.

The literature on the history of the sgraffito technique, in relation to the remains found at Palaikastro, was a surprise because it mentions that the scratching technique was first used in Germany on outer facades during the 13th century and that the true sgraffito technique developed in Italy. A second colour or two tone decoration came into use from the 15th century onwards. The sgraffito technique was especially popular in the 16th and 17th century, spreading from Italy into Central and Northern Europe. It was used to beautify facades, mainly of large and important buildings, with illusory architectural features such as pilasters and imitation masonry (Schweikhart 1996: 140-141). I cannot imagine that this technique was not used at all during Classical Greek and Roman periods but no literature or material evidence exists about it. It is obvious that the date of the ‘sgraffito of Palaikastro’ is far earlier than the earliest piece mentioned in the literature and is, therefore, to my knowledge, the earliest ever found.

In the literature (Hocombe 1999: 26-29; Hocombe 2001: pers. comm.) one can find two different methods described to obtain a sgraffito. Therefore, two versions of the same replication were made according to two different methods (A and B): Replication A: i. I applied the type 1 mixture onto a ceramic tile, previously soaked in water for 24 hours, to allow even and slow drying of the plaster layers to be applied the next day. This would stop early drying and therefore cracking of the plaster. This layer is called the arricciato. ii. Onto this wetted but cured base coat I applied the type 2 mixture. This layer is called the malta. iii. When this layer was dry, I applied three coats of type 3 over the malta. Each of these was left to dry completely before I applied the next one.

2.2. The experiment: materials and procedures The entire experiment is written in ‘active sentences’ in order to demonstrate the active presence of the actor (whether an artist, craftsperson, technician or experimenter) in the technical production modes. This descriptive mode may, therefore, create the impression of being ‘non-scientific’ because it suggests a lack of objectivity and a failure to distance oneself from the experimenter’s space. More specifically, the observer in the experiment here is also the actor and the act of 9

iv. v.

existing thicker layers, and is, therefore, of importance and complementary to the experimental work. Apart from the above, experimental work is completely non-destructive to the original material.

I transferred the design from the original onto the replica using tracing paper. With a pointed wooden instrument, I scratched away the white in order to reveal the red beneath (Fig. 5).

2.2. Experimental work as a research discipline Replication B: Steps one and two were repeated (see above). iii. I applied the type 4 layer over the malta and waited until this became leather hard. iv. I transferred the design from the original onto the replica by tracing paper and the pressure technique. v. I then tried to remove the topcoat with a wooden pointed tool and with a stainless steel palette knife before it was completely dry, but since neither technique was successful on such a fine design I left the experiment to dry out completely.

The brief historical overview and the experiment described above show the practical use of a non-destructive method, complementary to scientific analysis, in learning more about technological production modes within pre-industrial societies. However, I want to demonstrate why such replication work, based on the traditional fresco craft, has a second rationale and why it should be fully recognised as a research discipline within the context of a technological study. After we have collected, managed, and stored data, relevant to our research project, we have to process and interpret this data. The last thing we want to do is to sum up, in nice catalogues, the evidence or material remains of a technology, and present this as the technology itself. Whitehead calls this ‘the fallacy of misplaced concreteness’ (Dobres 2000: 65-67). This way we miss the chance to give meaning to the collected data. The rich and varied way in which different philosophers have approached the concept of ‘technology’ and its shift in meaning has been summarised in a helpful historical overview by Dobres (2000). Although the presented work is very much the result of work in progress, I want to touch upon a few ideas in which framework I felt that experimental work shows its value and meaning.

From both experiments I found out that, in this specific case, it would not have been possible for the artists at Palaikastro to employ the second method (Replication B) of making sgraffito onto their plastered walls since their very fine design would not have allowed the use of a fine tool on leather hard plaster. In the experiment, this caused cracking of the top layer and subsequent loss of that coat while the tool was following the contours of the design. Only a completely dry surface was fit enough to receive this type of decoration as used in Replication A. In this context I would like to argue that, among other factors, each of the backing materials for plastered surfaces (different stones, mud plaster, clay, mud brick, or wood) have an influence upon the drying and curing process of the plaster material, due to differences in porosity and density. Both in the past and the present this may have influenced peoples’ choices in the composition of the plaster mixtures and the technique of execution of the subsequent design. The results of the comparative study of the plaster composition (to be available soon) will have to clarify whether this also influenced the plaster mixing work carried out at various surfaces at Palaikastro, and hence, the applied decorative methods. This makes it obvious that techniques, style, form and iconography are very closely interlinked and should therefore, be studied in relation to each other.

There are three important issues that we have to take into account when we study archaeological material in a multidisciplinary fashion: o each approach has its own possibilities and contribution to make and should be seen as complementary; o each approach has its limits which we should keep in mind especially when questions are asked from the material. This sounds obvious, but it is not always the case and it will become clearer as the argument develops; o every study is limited or enhanced by the capabilities of the researcher.

This case study has shown, through experimental work and replication, which of the two methods was the more successful. This technological problem could not have been solved by means of any available method of scientific analysis. The study, for example, of a polished cross section (involving a sample) with a reflected light microscope, or even with the Scanning Electron Microscope (SEM), would not have been able to define which of the two possible techniques was most likely to have been employed. This method of investigation would not have been able to pinpoint whether the top layer of the sgraffito was leather hard or completely dry when the design was composed. At best (but far from conclusive), the use of the Scanning Electron Microscope may have shown whether three very fine (replication A) or one thicker layer (Replication B) were applied over the malta. The study of a cross-section does show the sequence of the

When we read about Bronze Age painted plaster, or about any material expression of this period for that matter, we are constantly confronted by a dichotomy between three apparently antithetical couples, first of all, between art and craft (Blakholmer 1997), secondly, between scientists and craftspeople (Evely 1997), and thirdly, between genders when dividing crafts’ tasks and labours (Kopaka 1997; Nordqvist 1997). And what should we think of expressions such as: ‘we should let the objects/material speak for itself’? Without going into lengthy philosophical debates it should suffice here to contextualise these statements, firstly, in relation to the apparently recent and antithetical relationship between art and technology (for more 10

specialised reading cf. Dobres 2000; Dobres 2001: 47-55) and secondly, in relation to the conceptual alienation of material production from social artifice, values, and intersubjective relationships (Ingold 1999: viii). Although the two points above cannot be separated it is to this second point that the discussion will now turn. Objects do not speak and, therefore, they will not explain production modes, social and cultural contexts, peoples’ interactions.

methods show to me that experimentation may even have been part of common practice in the past as well. It is this empirically achieved knowledge of the most appropriate materials and techniques and the choices between them that people are actively responsible for (cf. Lemonnier 1993). It should be clear now that if we want to understand technology fully, we have to allow people to be an integral part of it (Jones 2002: 90).

By studying material remains archaeologists lack what anthropologists often have available: the chance to observe and interact with the people who are responsible for the choices they make within technological production modes set within their cultural and social contexts. Archaeologists may not know how many people were involved in a specific craft, who they were (men, women, or children), how dexterous and knowledgeable they were, when the stages of the work were carried out over the course of the year, whether people shared their technological skills and knowledge across crafts, which factors dictated the choices they made in their work, how technical knowledge and skill were passed on in time to the next generation, what social status these groups and/or the individuals who knew specific technological processes had (Lemonnier 1993: 19). In fact, without written records or any documentation, using only material remains, archaeologists may be at loss about any of the social aspects of a craft or a technology. However, if we study technology from an agency-centred point of view, technological studies can become very effective and revealing. I would, therefore, like to stress the role of experimental work, based on traditional crafts, as a way of showing peoples’ active, intentional and social involvement in any technology. I believe that studying preindustrial technologies or, more specifically, the technology of painted plaster, necessarily includes experimental and replication work in order to complete the chain of interdisciplinary approaches. It was clear from the experiment that there was at least one person actively involved in the possible technological procedures of the technique under study. In this specific case, this person was the actor and observer at the same time (hence the use of active sentences). The actor (experimenter) can also be observed by one or more other observers for them to get insights both in social aspects such as time and labour input and decision making while interacting with the materials, and in mechanical aspects such technical achievements and/or failures (for a discussion of the act of participant observation as a standard method in ethnographic and anthropological fieldwork, cf. Gosden 1999: 11, 57). In discussing the social aspects of a technology we should not forget everyone who is or was involved in producing and supplying all used materials (such as plaster, fillers, pigments, or tools) and the people who wanted to consume the end result of the production, to name but a few.

As shown above, analytical work alone does not solve all technological questions and certainly does not answer questions related to peoples’ active intellectual and skilled input but it certainly may give insights in mechanical and physical details of the production processes of a technique like the sgraffito. People are very much part of production processes. Through archaeology we study material remains as the primary material. Through experiments we have the chance to study both people and materials. Consequently, it is clear that people are actively and intellectually involved and people can make choices, whether they follow traditions or whether they develop new production strategies. Through archaeology we study material remains and inherent physical patterns, both of which are static. Through experiments, however, we see an active, dialectically dynamic system between people and their material that may explain the physical patterns we see and that we thereby analyse in the material remains. However, a note of warning is necessary here: experimental work can be seen only as a guide to understanding specific aspects of technology because we can never replicate the original cultural context in which people carried out their work (in relation to this, cf. also Dobres 2000: 150). This context was constituted by people with and within their social interactions, their religious beliefs, their symbolic understanding of their surroundings, their political convictions and powers. In contrast to that, people carry out experiments within their present context and contemporary framework. As such, we can say that all actions and interactions are context-specifically enabled or constrained. As a consequence, it should become clear that the role of experimental work is not re-enacting agency, but at best it can be seen as re-enacting the physical actions of the agent. This distinction has to be understood very clearly to establish the limits of experimenting before we even begin, otherwise the wrong questions will repeatedly be asked. 3. Conclusions First of all, I have aimed to make clear that replication and experimental work has relevance within an interdisciplinary approach to technological issues in archaeology. Experimental work and replications are clearly complementary to scientific analysis, as has been illustrated through the presented case study. As a nondestructive method experimental work, on the one hand, has potential to offer insights in a range of technological aspects whereas scientific analysis, on the other hand, would not necessarily answer the posed questions and would, moreover, consume too much primary material. We should also understand that experimental and replication

The technological question of the make-up of the sgraffito of Palaikastro would not have been solved if I had not actively tested, through the experiment, a range of different plaster mixtures and if I had not tested two different methods (Replication A and B). This range of possible options, both in material composition and production 11

Brysbaert A. forthcoming. Take It or Leave It? Implications and Results of Destructive Versus non-Destructive Analysis of Bronze Age Painted Plasters in the Eastern Aegean. In: K. Stears (ed.), Colours in Antiquity. Towards an Archaeology of Seeing. Proceedings of the Conference held at Edinburgh Sept. 10-13 Sept. 2001. Chryssikopoulou E., V. Kilikoglou, V. Perdikatsis, S. Sotiropoulou, K. Birtacha and M. Zacharioudakis 2000. Making Wall Paintings: An Attempt to Reproduce the Painting Techniques of Bronze Age Thera. In: S. Sherratt (ed.), The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium. Petros M. Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas. 30 August-4 September 1997, Athens: Petros M. Nomikos and The Thera Foundation, 119-127. Coles J. 1979. Experimental Archaeology, London: Academic Press. Dobres M.-A. 2000. Technology and Social Agency. Outlining a Practice Framework for Archaeology, Oxford: Blackwell. Dobres M.-A. 2001. Meaning in the Making: Agency and the Social Embodiment of Technology and Art. In: M.B. Schiffer (ed.), Anthropological Perspectives on Technology, Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 47-76. Dobres M.-A. and C.R. Hoffman (eds) 1999. The Social Dynamics of Technology. Practice, Politics, and World Views, Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Evely D. 1997. Seeing is Believing? In: R. Laffineur and P. P. Betancourt (eds), TEXNH. Crafsmen, Craftswomen and Craftsmanship in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 6th International Aegean Conference, Philadelphia, Temple University, 18-21 April 1996, vol. 2 (Aegeum 16), Austin: University of Liege and University of Texas, 463-465. Evely D. (ed.) 1999. Fresco: A Passport into the Past. Minoan Crete Through the Eyes of Mark Cameron, Athens: British School at Athens and N.P.Goulandris Foundation-Museum of Cycladic Art. Gooding D. 1990. Experiment and the Making of Meaning. Human Agency in Scientific Observation and Experiment. (Science and Philosophy, 5), Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Gosden C. 1999. Archaeology and Anthropology: A changing Relationship. London: Routledge. Gosden C. and C. Knowles 2001. Collecting Colonialism. Material Culture and Colonial Change, Oxford: Berg. Hocombe S. 1999. Fresco Painting for Home and Garden, Devon: David and Charles. Ingold T. 1999. Foreword. In: M.-A. Dobres and C.R. Hoffman (eds), The Social Dynamics of Technology. Practice, Politics, and World Views, Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, vii-xi. Jones A. 2002. Archaeological Theory and Scientific Practice, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

work can only become valuable when we understand its limits both at a practical and social theoretical level. On a practical level, it may only approach the real situation since our knowledge input is limited to what we find in terms of the primary material. Secondly, I demonstrated that experimental and replication work, based on traditional craft skills, is as valuable in a technological study as is any other approach. Through the methodology of experimental archaeology, agency-centred approaches to technology have much to offer to any archaeological study. On a theoretical level, it demonstrates and values the active presence of people and their actions and interactions, but it cannot replicate the original cultural context in which the technologies took place. Although no individual can carry out a completely integrated study of any technology, taken from every possible angle, it is still our task to think broadly at the methodological level and to form interdisciplinary teams. Acknowledgements Many thanks go first of all to both my PhD supervisors at Glasgow University, Dr. R.E. Jones and Professor A.B. Knapp for their constant support and encouragement. Dr. R.E. Jones, Dr. P. van Dommelen, Dr. M. Given and Dr. M. Monaghan kindly read through the paper and provided many useful remarks and corrections. H. Sackett and Dr. S. MacGillivray, directors of the Palaikastro excavations, are greatly acknowledged for their trust in my work. Chris Connor was of much help while I carried out the experimental work at the laboratories at Glasgow University. Many thanks go to the anonymous referee for constructive and helpful comments. Any opinions and ideas expressed here remain my responsibility as well as all errors. Bibliography Angelinis G. n.d. The Revival of the Creto-Mycenaean Paintings, Athens: Cultural Foundation G. Angelinis-P. Hadzinikos. Blakholmer F. 1997. Minoan Wall Painting: The Transformation of a Craft into an Art Form. In: R. Laffineur and P. P. Betancourt (eds), TEXNH. Crafsmen, Craftswomen and Craftsmanship in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 6th International Aegean Conference, Philadelphia, Temple University, 18-21 April 1996, vol. 1 (Aegeum 16), Austin: University of Liege and University of Texas, 95-105. Brysbaert A. 2000. Bronze Age Plaster Finds from Palaikastro-Crete: Options and Limitations of a Field Laboratory. Papers of the Institute of Archaeology 11, 47-60. Brysbaert A. In Press. Possible Aegean Craftsmanship on the Tell el-Dab’a Wall Paintings: Preliminary Technological Evidence with Emphasis on the Painted Plaster from Tell el-Dab’a, Egypt. Egypt and the Levant 12. 12

Symposium. Petros M. Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas. 30 August-4 September 1997, Athens: Petros M. Nomikos and The Thera Foundation. Stears K. (ed.) forthcoming. Colours in Antiquity. Towards an Archaeology of Seeing. Proceedings of the Conference held at Edinburgh Sept. 10-13 Sept. 2001. Turner J. (ed.) 1996a. The Dictionary of Art, vol. 10, London: Macmillan. Turner J. (ed.) 1996b. The Dictionary of Art, vol. 25, London: Macmillan. Turner J. (ed.) 1996c. The Dictionary of Art, vol. 28, London: Macmillan. Turner J. 1996d. Punch. In: J. Turner (ed.), The Dictionary of Art, vol. 25, London: Macmillan, 730. Turner J. 1996e. Sgraffito. In: J. Turner (ed.), The Dictionary of Art, vol. 28, London: Macmillan, 534.

Jones R.E. 1999. Analyses of Frescoes, Technical Studies and Replication Experiments. In: D. Evely (ed.), Fresco: A Passport into the Past. Minoan Crete Through the Eyes of Mark Cameron, Athens: British School at Athens and N.P. Goulandris Foundation-Museum of Cycladic Art, 141-173. Jones R.E. In Press. Technical Studies of Aegean Bronze Age Wall Painting: Methods, Results and Future Prospects. In: L. Morgan (ed.), Studies in Memory of Mark Cameron. (Annual of the British School at Athens, Supplementary volume). Kopaka K. 1997. ‘Women’s Arts- Men’s Crafts?’ Towards a Framework for Approaching Gender Skills in the Prehistoric Aegean. In: R. Laffineur and P.P. Betancourt (eds), TEXNH. Crafsmen, Craftswomen and Craftsmanship in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 6th International Aegean Conference, Philadelphia, Temple University, 18-21 April 1996, vol. 2 (Aegeum 16), Austin: University of Liege and University of Texas, 521-531. Kristiansen K. and M. Rowlands (eds) 1998. Social Transformations in Archaeology: Global and Local Perspectives, London: Routledge. Laffineur R. and P.P. Betancourt (eds) 1997. TEXNH. Crafsmen, Craftswomen and Craftsmanship in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 6th International Aegean Conference, Philadelphia, Temple University, 18-21 April 1996, vol. 1 (Aegeum 16), Austin: University of Liege and University of Texas. Lemonnier P. (ed.) 1993a. Technological Choices: Transformation in Material Culture since the Neolithic, London: Routledge. Lemonnier P. 1993b. Introduction. In: P. Lemonnier (ed.), Technological Choices: Transformation in Material Culture since the Neolithic. London: Routledge, 1-35. Lilley I. 1988. Prehistoric Exchange across the Vitiaz Strait. Current Anthropology 29, 513-516. Nordqvist G. 1997. Male Craft and Female Industry. Two Types of Production in the Aegean Bronze Age. In: R. Laffineur and P.P. Betancourt (eds), TEXNH. Crafsmen, Craftswomen and Craftsmanship in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 6th International Aegean Conference, Philadelphia, Temple University, 1821 April 1996, vol. 2 (Aegeum 16), Austin: University of Liege and University of Texas, 533537. Rowlands M. 1998. The Archaeology of Colonialism. In: K. Kristiansen and M. Rowlands (eds), Social Transformations in Archaeology: Global and Local Perspectives, London: Routledge, 327-333. Schiffer M.B. (ed.) 2001. Anthropological Perspectives on Technology, Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Schweikhart G. 1996. Facade Decoration. II. Sgraffitto. In: J. Turner (ed.), The Dictionary of Art, vol. 10, London: Macmillan, 735-745. Sherratt S. (ed.) 2000. The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International 13

Figure 1: Map of the Eastern Mediterranean showing all sites involved in the research project (Drawing: A. Brysbaert) Legend: 1 = Knossos; 2 = Palaikastro; 3 = Myrtos-Pyrgos; 4 = Phylakopi; 5 = Thebes; 6 = Gla; 7 = Mycenae; 8 = Orchomenos; 9 = Tell el-Dab’a; 10 = Miletus; 11 = Tell alalakh; 12 = Tel Kabri; 13 = Tiryns; 14 = Monastiraki

Figure 2: The ‘Sgrafitto of Palaikastro’ (photograph: K. May).

14

Figure 3: The ‘Sgrafitto of Palaikastro’ (drawing: A. Brysbaert).

Type

Matrix Material

Ratio

Filler

Thickness of layer

Type 1 Type 2 Type 3 Type 4

Lime Lime Lime Lime

1:2 1:1 100% 100%

Sand Sand + red ochre

1 cm 3-4 mm 1 mm 3 mm

Fig 4: Overview of the four types of mixtures used during the experiment

15

Figure 5: The ‘Sgrafitto of Palaikastro’: replication (photograph: A. Brysbaert).

16

An Approach to the Archaeology of Transitions in Palaeolithic Iberia Marta Camps i Calbet Donald Baden-Powell Quaternary Research Centre, University of Oxford, Oxford, U.K. [email protected] Keywords: Transition – Palaeolithic – Iberia – Mousterian – Aurignacian.

methodology used to study the question of the archaeological transition is the subject of the third section, and that is followed by a brief consideration of Abric Romaní as a case study; in this section I outline the different approach of my research, which aims to go beyond the classic systematics that have dominated the field until now. Because this and other sites containing the crucial transitional layers were in most cases excavated around 100 years ago, the final section is dedicated to the problems and the usefulness of dealing with old collections.

Abstract The transition to the Upper Palaeolithic in Iberia is thought to have occurred c.40,000 BP. The interpretation of how it happened and the changes that it caused, in the cultural and biological spheres, are questions which have been investigated longer in other regions, such as Southwest France. The information obtained there has been transformed into broad generalisations with the result that this local transition has attained the status of a monolithic pan-European event. The lack of research at the regional level, as well as of original theoretical parameters, and the fact that most transitional layers in Spain were excavated at the beginning of the 20th century, only makes matters more complex. This paper’s aim is to present the controversy that has arisen because different results have been obtained in two different areas of the peninsula, and to question the effect of the different methods and theoretical approaches used both on work done in this field and on the interpretations that have so far been put forward. Some preliminary information is also given about research in progress on relevant collections from the important site of Abric Romaní, in Catalunya.

2. A united Europe The most widely accepted view is that the transition from Middle to Upper Palaeolithic is a process which occurred around 40,000-30,000 years ago and was characterised by the following traits (Mellars 1973, 1989, 1991): o a general shift from flake to blade technology; o a general increase in the variety and complexity of the tools, involving the standardisation of their shape; o the appearance of complex bone, antler and ivory artefacts; o increase in regional and temporal diversity of stone and bone technologies; o presence of personal ornaments; o the first appearance of sophisticated art; o certain socio-economic changes, notably an increase in specialised hunting as opposed to opportunistic scavenging, and an increase in population density and in maximum size of residential groups, which become highly structured and organised in regular and well-defined living structures.

1. Introduction This paper focuses on a research project which is relevant to the Middle-Upper Palaeolithic transition in Iberia (Fig. 1). At present, abundant research on the topic of the transition as a more general phenomenon is being carried out in many parts of Europe, even in countries like Spain and Portugal which because of their 20th century histories (Estévez and Vila 1999; Enamorado 1992; Vŷzquez Varela and Risch 1991) had been lagging behind, compared to the amount of research that had been carried out elsewhere. Until recently, these studies had largely relied on data and techniques borrowed from neighbouring parts of Europe, with the result that Iberia has been absorbed into various broad generalisations and pan-European explanations, which in fact ignore the unique characteristics of the peninsula and its sites. At present, this dependence still has a strong effect on the theoretical aspects of the research.

These features can certainly be documented, as the result of many years of research, in South-western France, but the problem is that they are often perceived and generally understood as being the transition ‘guidelines’ for the phenomenon almost everywhere in Europe.

Here, my aim is to present a broad review of the problem of understanding how the transition occurred, outlining its ‘causes’, the current state of affairs and its possible solutions, to highlight the role of the methodology that has been used to approach this topic. The first section will accordingly present the background against which the Iberian archaeological research is set, while the contrasts arising between the latter and the traditional perspectives will occupy the following part. A critical review of the

Another important question is: how do these changes take place, at all levels? For this, there are three main views. First, the ‘Out of Africa’ hypothesis (Stringer and Gamble 1993) says that our species, Homo sapiens sapiens, left that continent via what is now known as the Middle East, and spread into Europe from east to west. Archaeologically, in the course of this migration when it reached Europe, the 17

have not been proved to occur in others, is responsible for the present state of confusion in our knowledge about what took place at this important stage of the Palaeolithic.

humans involved are thought to have spread the Aurignacian culture and replaced the Neanderthals. Another approach (Wolpoff 1996) suggests that Neanderthals and other archaic human groups evolved into our species locally, independently in each region, and this is known as the ‘Multiregional Hypothesis’. In turn, their culture, which in Europe was the Mousterian, would have evolved into the Aurignacian, gradually.

Could so many differences between expectations and the actual situation be the outcome of the application of different methodologies to the study of the phenomenon of the transition? Or are the often quoted transitional characteristics simply not applicable to Iberia? The question marks in Figure 2 identify sections on which there is a lack of published information capable of answering those particular questions at Catalan and Cantabrian sites, during that time span.

There is yet another hypothesis, mainly supported by New World researchers that states that the transition did not happen in any formal sense as a single major event (Clark 1997): all this controversy is therefore a self-invented problem. The impression of discontinuity and systematic change is created both by preconceptions about the links between specific types of assemblages and certain hominid remains, and by the use of two different typologies to study the latest Mousterian and the earliest Aurignacian. Further, the idea that there was a single major transition is sustained by a very incomplete and inadequate body of evidence, which has led to unscientific data selection and the construction of numerous conflicting theories. This is the only approach concerned with the epistemological perspective of the study; it also criticises the treatment of prehistory by many ‘Old World’ scholars, on the grounds that they approach it by methods more appropriate to the study of the historic period.

4. Different methods and questionable practices The approach most widely used to study the Palaeolithic sites in these regions is the ‘normative’ typological one, detailed below. While I do not deny that typology was a great development, and it remains useful as a technique which provides order, systematisation and a much needed lingua franca, I fail to see the point of turning it into the goal of prehistoric research, as for example when the conclusions of final excavation reports are that ‘… the site, presents four different Mousterian layers, classified from the oldest onwards as Denticulate, Ferrassie, Quina and MTA facies’. So what? No information is produced about the actual use of the site or its role within the environment of the region, not to mention information about those who occupied it at those times.

3. The Role of Iberia: dissenting stories?

In Iberia, apart from the Bordesian systematics (Bordes 1961), widely applied in Cantabria (and in Catalunya mainly until the 1980s), two other methods have been applied: Laplace’s analytical typology (Laplace 1974) is extensively spread along the Mediterranean Levant, while since the late 1980s, use has also been made of the socalled ‘Logical-analytical’ system (Carbonell et al. 1982, 1983), first implemented by the team working at Abric Romaní and adopted by others working at several other southern sites (for example, in current excavations at Gorham’s Cave in Gibraltar).

In Spain, Palaeolithic studies have been carried out most intensively in two areas: Catalunya and Cantabria (Fig. 3). When it comes to the transition, two different processes are claimed to have taken place: in Catalunya, the archaeological record is interpreted as an abrupt rupture, in which modern humans arrived from the north, Neanderthals disappeared somehow, and the Upper Palaeolithic started c.40,000 years ago (Maroto 1994; Carbonell and Vaquero 1996). In Cantabria, the total opposite is claimed to have happened: Neanderthals evolved into our species, and the record shows an evolution from the late Mousterian into the early Aurignacian, around the same time, 40,000 years ago (Cabrera and Bernaldo de Quirús 1990, 1996; Straus 1992, 1996, 1997). Nevertheless, one thing seems clear: whatever happened, it could only have happened in one of these ways, not both.

It is hardly possible to analyse here every detail of the main three typologies that are currently in use in Spain, and this paper does not attempt to do so. The aim of this section is to highlight their main characteristics, their contributions to the field and their major flaws, so that a parallel view of all three is generated.

In my own research, I am exploring the idea outlined by the third perspective mentioned earlier. While I disagree ultimately with its conclusion, I find it very interesting and conclude that it is certainly necessary to question the methods so strongly defended and apparently so uncritically applied by some archaeologists even today.

Typology is defined by Eiroa et al. (1999) as the science which recognises, defines and classifies different varieties of objects, in this case artefacts which appear in prehistoric sites, the material results of past human behaviour, according to Kuhn (1991).

The application to the two Spanish regions, Catalunya and Cantabria, of the list of ‘textbook generalisations’ given produces a quite discouraging checklist: leaving research traditions aside, the information in Figure 2 highlights that uncritical acceptance of concepts, which may be absolutely valid for one region (in this case South-western France) but

In 1961, François Bordes published his Typologie du Paléolithique Ancien et Moyen, an attempt to provide Palaeolithic studies with a classification system more appropriate than the fossiles directeurs method, used in palaeontology. His system identifies 85 types divided into three blocks: tools on flakes, tools on bifaces and cores, 18

evolution at its base, according to which industries may share a common origin, but acquire differences by becoming specialised (primary types = common original traits; secondary types = specialised ones). This method is in fact a good example of typology as the main object of research.

focussing on tool forms and design, but taking no account of the consequences that use or reworking may have had on the tools’ original shapes. Tools receive names that imply a specific type of use, inferred from their shape, and in some cases later proved to be wrong. To operate this typology needs more than 100 pieces, and it works best if there are more than 300 (Eiroa et al. 1999). Technical and typological indices allow for the statistical treatment of the data and graphic representation of the total retouched tool component, together with established conventions - such as percentages of a specific tool, or a certain type of retouch are employed to classify the assemblage (and hence the stratum from which it was collected) into one of the different cultures. For the Middle Palaeolithic, Bordes thought that different industries represented different cultural units with their own identities, and for the later part he also recognised one particular line of gradual evolution: from Mousterian of Acheulian Tradition (M.A.T.) type A to M.A.T. type B and thence into the Lower Perigordian (which some other workers prefer to call Chatelperronian).

Harold (1991) points to the communication problems between followers of the Bordes’ method and this later system, an aspect which becomes even more significant with the introduction of the following typology. Carbonell, Guilbaud and Mora’s 1982 typology is named the Logical-Analytical System, and it is seen as the culmination of the search for a ‘logical’ classification system. Highly influenced by the idea of the chaîne opératoire and Laplace’s ideas, it acknowledges the threedimensional dynamics of the industries (morphotechnical, functional and potential, which will also serve as names for the three major stages into which they divide the Pleistocene). Their structural categories are Negative Bases of 1st Generation (from which parts are detached by knapping, i.e. cores), Positive Bases of 1st Generation (those parts mentioned above, knapped from the core), which in turn become Negative Bases of 2nd Generation when they are themselves knapped and flakes/blades are detached from them (the Positive Bases of 2nd Generation), and so forth… Their aim to provide ‘a synthesis of the American School, the Analytical Typology and Marxism without their mistakes’ (Estévez and Vila 1999) actually results in the total neglect of the lingua franca principle and the absolute collapse of communication between researchers using other methods, which forces them to resort to more common terminology. The practical difficulties in identifying the moment of the chaîne opératoire when a piece was manufactured (how do you tell if it is a PB3G or a PB4G?), becomes as paramount a limitation as the confusion.

In the mid 1950s, D. de Sonneville-Bordes and J. Perrot presented the Lexique Typologique du Paléolithique Supérieur. Outillage Lithique. Like the system of F. Bordes, this typology allowed for graphic representations of indices’ results and cumulative charts which characterised the big cultural divisions of the Upper Palaeolithic as recognized at the time. Estévez and Vila (1999) point out the subjective and intuitive criteria at the base of this list, which included 94 types listed. It must be noted that in this case the indices are only typological and that this typology monitors different types of variation from those studied by Bordes. These differences bar any kind of comparison between the two systems and sharp discontinuity is accordingly bound to be observed if a transitional sequence is analysed using these two systems. Researchers have been critical about the typology developed by Bordes, pointing to the inappropriate use of statistics, which overlooks a big part of the tools (not to mention all the other elements of the lithic assemblage), and the fact that the appearance of a new type in one context may be taken as sufficient to demonstrate the appearance of a new culture. Some have tried to solve this problem by developing new and supposedly less biased typologies, but none of them has cared to go beyond the limits of systematisation. Only the Typologie Analitique, designed by Georges Laplace, has been described as a ‘major challenge’ (Kuhn 1991), and it is widely used in Spain and Italy.

Used randomly, and making comparisons between studies, which have used different systems, typology masks rather than reveals the kinds of information we might most wish to obtain from the lithics. My study involves analysing the differences between the aforementioned systematics, when applied to the study of transitional assemblages. What follows is an interim statement about my research approach, using a case study of considerate potential interest. 5. A case study: Abric Romaní Abric Romaní is the ‘flagship’ site for those who maintain that an abrupt Transition occurred in the region of Catalunya. It is a Palaeolithic rock shelter, located on the Capellî cliff, below the town of Capellades and c.60m above the right bank of the Anoia River, 50 km (W-NW) from the city of Barcelona (Fig. 4).

Laplace’s typology was first published in 1964, and a modified version appeared in 1972. He sought to monitor changes through time in the cultural identity of the toolmakers, through the study of the artefacts’ design. He included all the pieces found; they were defined morphologically and grouped into types (primary, secondary, etc.) according to common characteristics (a subjective hierarchy again). Milliken (1991) mentions the scheme’s rigidity, while Bietti (1991) blames its extreme character on the dependence on the synthetotype model of

The site was originally known as La Bauma del Fossar Vell. Amador Romaní discovered its archaeological potential and started working there in 1909. He carried on this work until 1930, when he died. In 1957, Professor 19

indicate an early transition at the site of Abric Romaní, were in fact obtained by dating a travertine section thought to have been just next to the remnant section left by the early excavators in the 1910s (Bishoff et al. 1994). These dates have been turned down as useless by some researchers, notably by Zilhão and d’Errico (1999), on the reasonable grounds that the travertine could equally well have been located beside the remnant section next to the Aurignacian layer, although its true location is in fact unknown.

Eduard Ripoll continued the excavation, together with G. Laplace (in 1959) and H. de Lumley (during 1961). From 1983 until the present, a multidisciplinary team from the Rovira i Virgili University (Tarragona) has been excavating at the site regularly and the work currently in progress involves the site’s long Mousterian record (Vaquero 1992). The layers with which I am concerned here are the latest Mousterian and the earliest Upper Palaeolithic (4 and 2 respectively, or B/C and A according to the new stratigraphy). A sterile stalagmitic stratum separates them (Fig. 5). The relevance of these layers in relation to the issues discussed above is that since they were excavated, their assemblages have been studied by the three different analytical systems outlined above, and are thus a practical example of how such systematics differ from one another and which aspects of the material are most affected by the application of any one of them.

I think that working with collections which have previously been studied at least in part, offers a good chance to test new methods and models against those previously used, but partial studies of transitional assemblages are bound to give an incomplete picture of the transition itself. It is thus important not only to devise new ways to analyse material, but also to ensure that all the available material is studied, including collections that have long been lost or forgotten, so that our picture of any assemblage becomes clearer as it is complemented with additional data, whether new or old.

Theses have been written on the transition at this site, but their authors have used only partial assemblages, those kept at the Capellades’ Museum (Museu Molí Paperer, Barcelona, Catalunya). This was because the rest of the materials were thought to have been lost, due to action during the Civil War (1936-1939), or during the subsequent period of political instability, and gross mismanagement of the museum to which those collections had been sent.

It is true that the study of such collections is often fraught with difficulties arising out of the conditions under which the artefacts were originally recovered, and the lack of detailed records of their exact occurrence in the deposits. These conditions make it hard to correlate them with finds from more recent excavations, assuming that the later finds themselves come with properly detailed information, which is fortunately the case for this site.

While carrying out fieldwork, I had the opportunity to meet Professor Ripoll at the Reial Academia de les Bones Lletres in Barcelona, and he kindly explained to me the details of the work and techniques used during his excavations at Romaní, as well as the contributions of his collaborators.

However, it is important to highlight that for the site of Abric Romaní, we do have accurate and useful stratigraphic notes, made by the discoverer himself at the time of the old excavations, which have been preserved until the present and have been published (Bartrolí et al. 1995). Moreover, their level of accuracy has been highly praised by the current excavators, who have greatly benefited from the preservations of Romaní’s excavation diary (Vaquero 1992). The fact that the different collections include many pieces smaller than 1 cm seems to verify the point that A. Romaní was interested in the whole of the lithic assemblages, and not just in the big pieces, and that his work, by the standards of the time, was careful.

Since 1909, Romaní’s materials were kept at the Museum of Capellades, where there was a room devoted to them. A small group of pieces was sent to Barcelona, to be exhibited at the main archaeological museum of Catalunya, and some materials were passed on to the Natural History Museum of that city (these were later donated to the Archaeological Museum). When Amador Romaní became the director of the museum of Vilanova (Biblioteca Museu de Víctor Balaguer, Tarragona, Catalunya), he deposited a group of pieces there, and around the same time some others were sent to the National Archaeological Museum in Madrid (C. Cacho 2000: pers. comm.).

These matters make Romaní a case in which old collections are very much worth studying, so that our knowledge about such an important and emblematic site is as accurate as possible.

When Ripoll took up the excavation he noticed that the site was often visited by local people; fearing also for the integrity of the already excavated items, he transported many boxes of materials to the museum of Barcelona, where they remain at present (A. Casanovas pers. comm. 2000; E. Ripoll pers. comm. 2001). These I was able to study; previous workers talk about them as lost. The reasons for integrating them into my research are outlined below.

7. Lost and found: the Vidal Collection blades Recent attempts to complement our existing information about the transitional phenomenon at Romaní (Campillo et al. 1999) have met fierce and in some aspects unjustified criticism (Carbonell and Vaquero 2000). My own study began when I approached one of the co-directors of the present excavations, and requested permission to study the pieces. I was granted permission to work with the material kept at Capellades, and an indication that the rest of the

6. Working with old collections: a useless idea? The only actual chronometric dates, which are claimed to 20

our knowledge of the subject is highly dependent on (and biased by) the use of such techniques, as revealed by the comparative analysis of the typological systems most widely used.

collection was in Barcelona (M. Vaquero pers. comm. 2000). While in Barcelona, I found out about the materials in Vilanova and Madrid. According to the curator of the prehistoric collections at the National Archaeological Museum (Madrid) the materials from Romaní kept there are the following (C. Cacho personal communication 2001): o two wall fragments (breccia); o two perforated shells (Cyprea pyrum); o 10 stone tools without stratigraphic reference. Due to the lack of stratigraphic reference, I decided against including those pieces in my study. This principle has been followed rigorously throughout the study, and only pieces that were clearly marked as belonging to layers two and four have been considered (Fig. 6).

My research also shows that Pan-European interpretations, which mask regional characteristics, must be replaced by explanations that integrate data from sites, which have been properly excavated and carefully studied. Sites that were partially excavated in previous centuries can still usefully be studied, provided there is detailed information from the original excavators. Careful use of old collections may enable us to work with all the materials that can be securely attributed to one stratum. Only in this way can we aim at getting a picture as complete as it possibly can be. As will be abundantly clear, this paper, requested for this particular meeting, has been written at a relatively early stage of my research project, and in it I have merely set down the basic principles of my approach and referred to one of the sites (Abric Romaní), which is likely to be of particular importance. I shall set out in future publications the outcome of the whole research project and whatever conclusions of a broader nature it is possible to draw when the work is completed.

I am not yet in a position to present final results, as this paper is an interim report on my research, not a statement of its conclusions. Below, I will simply outline the basis of this project and comment on its relevance to the aforementioned pan-European generalisations about the transition. An integral lithic survey can shed light on aspects related to the technological shift represented by diminishing flake quantities and increasing number of blades across the Transition, at Romaní. The study of the Barcelona collection, named after the second director of excavations at the site (Lluís Maria Vidal), is crucial to any attempt to understand such a shift, since it contains the largest quantity of blades and bladelets of all the collections from this site. In the course of my work, the influence of typological systematics (as discussed above) on aspects such as the variety, complexity and standardisation of shape will also be ascertained, and the addition of substantial amounts of previously unstudied material should prove of considerable interest.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank my supervisor, Professor Derek A. Roe, for his helpful comments on the talk given at Glasgow, and also on my draft of this paper, which is the publication of what I said in that occasion. Bibliography Bartrolí R., A. Cebrià, I. Muro, E. Riu-Barrera and M. Vaquero 1995. A Frec de Ciència. L’Atles d’Amador Romaní i Guerra, Capellades: Ajuntament de Capellades. Bietti A. 1991. Normal Science and Paradigmatic Biases in Italian Hunter-Gatherer Prehistory. In: G. Clark (ed.), Perspectives on the Past: Theoretical Biases in Mediterranean Hunter-Gatherer Research, Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 258-281. Bishoff J., K. Ludwig, J.F. Garcia, E. Carbonell, M. Vaquero, T.W. Stafford and A.J.T. Jull 1994. Dating of the Basal Aurignacian Sandwich at Abric Romaní (Cataluya, Spain) by Radiocarbon and Uranium-Series. Journal of Archaeological Science 21, 541-551. Bordes F. 1953. Essai de Classification des Industries Mousteriennes. Bulletin de la Societé Préhistorique Française 50, 457-466. Bordes F. 1961. Typologie du Paléolithique Ancien et Moyen, Paris: CNRS. Bordes F. 1992. Leçons sur le Paléolithique, vol. 2, Paris: CNRS. Burjachs F. and R. Julià 1996. Palaeoenvironmental Evolution during the Middle-Upper Palaeolithic Transition in the NE of the Iberian Peninsula. In: E. Carbonell and M. Vaquero (eds), The last

Another often mentioned aspect of the transition, the appearance of complex bone artefacts can also be studied using the examples found in the Vidal collection, and the same is true with regard to the supposed first examples of personal ornaments, since it is in this collection that the largest numbers of perforated shells and fish vertebrae are to be found. A fresh look at this material may also help us decide whether the doubts cast upon the dates obtained in 1994, are justified. For this purpose in November 2001, NERC-ORAD funds were secured and AMS radiocarbon dating of several samples is already under way. 8. Conclusion It is clear that Palaeolithic research needs to go beyond the mere classificatory organisation of lithic pieces found at the sites. Environmental, faunal and raw materials’ provenance studies, among others, must complement the information we obtain from the lithic assemblages, and Romaní is a good example of a focus of multidisciplinary study (cf. for example Burjachs and Julià 1996; Giralt and Julià 1996). At the same time, the ways by which we acquire this information must be constantly revised, since 21

Neanderthals, the First Anatomically Modern Humans. Cultural Change and Human Evolution: the Crisis at 40 Ka BP, Capellades: Arqueoanoia, S. L., 377-384. Cabrera V. (ed.) 1993. El Origen del Hombre Moderno en el Suroeste de Europa, Madrid: Universidad de Educación a Distancia. Cabrera V. and F. Bernaldo de Quirós 1990. Données sur la Transition entre le Paléolithique Moyen et le Paléolithique Supérieur dans la Région Cantabrique: Révision Critique. In: C. Farizy (ed.), Paléolithique Moyen Recent et Paléolithique Supérieur Ancient en Europe. Ruptures et Transitions: Examen Critique des Documents Archaéologiques, Nemours: A.P.R.A.I.F., 185-188. Cabrera V. and F. Bernaldo de Quirós 1996. The Origins of the Upper Palaeolithic: a Cantabrian Perspective In: E. Carbonell and M. Vaquero (eds), The last Neanderthals, the First Anatomically Modern Humans. Cultural Change and Human Evolution: the Crisis at 40 Ka BP, Capellades: Arqueoanoia, S. L., 257-266. Campillo D., A. Casanovas, E. Chimenos and J. Nadal. 1999. Materiales Paleolíticos y Fragmento Craneal Humano de Agut-Romaní en la Colección Vidal del Museu d’Arqueologia de Barcelona. Complutum 10, 25-45. Camps i Calbet M. 1998. Before the Dawn? Late Mousterian Cognition in Northern Iberia, Unpublished M.Phil thesis: Cambridge University. Camps i Calbet M. 1999. The Transition to the Upper Palaeolithic in Iberia: From Data to Interpretation, CPGS-A thesis: Cambridge University. Carbonell E., M. Guilbaud and R. Mora 1982. Application de la Méthode Dialectique a la Construction d’un Systeme Analitique pour l’Étude des Materiaux du Paleolithique Inferieur. Dialektiké Cahiers de Typologie Analytique, 7-23. Carbonell E., M. Guilbaud and R. Mora 1983. Utilizacion de la Lógica Analítica para el Estudio de los Tecnocomplejos a Cantos Tallados. Cahier Noir 1, 3-79. Carbonell E. and M. Vaquero (eds) 1996. The last Neandertals, the First Anatomically Modern Humans. Cultural Change and Human Evolution: the Crisis at 40 Ka BP, Capellades: Arqueoanoia, S. L. Carbonell E. and M. Vaquero 1996. Human Evolution and Cultural Change 40,000 years ago. Evolution or Revolution? In: E. Carbonell and M. Vaquero (eds), The Last Neandertals, the First Anatomically Modern Humans. Cultural Change and Human Evolution: the Crisis at 40 Ka BP, Capellades: Arqueoanoia, S. L., 9-20. Carbonell E. and M. Vaquero 2000. Los Yacimientos Paleolíticos del Abric Romaní y el Abric Agut (Capellades, Barcelona): Réplica a Campillo et alii. Complutum 11, 29-34. Clark G. (ed.) 1991. Perspectives on the Past: Theoretical

Biases in Mediterranean Hunter-Gatherer Research. Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press. Clark G. 1997. The Middle-Upper Palaeolithic Transition in Europe: An American Perspective. Norwegian Archaeology Review, Vol. 30-1, 25-53. Clark G. and C. Willermet (eds) 1997. Conceptual Issues in Modern Human Origins Research, New York: Aldine de Gruyter. Díaz-Andreu M. and S. Keay (eds) 1992. The Archaeology of Iberia: the Dynamics of Change, London: Routledge. Eiroa J.J., J.A. Bachiller, L. Castro and J. Lomba. 1999. Nociones de Tecnología y Tipología en Prehistoria, Barcelona: Ariel. Enamorado J. 1992. Behavioural Transformations during the Pleistonce. In: M. Díaz-Andreu and S. Keay (eds), The Archaeology of Iberia: the Dynamics of Change, London: Routledge, 34-64. d’Errico F., J. Zilhão, M. Julien, D. Baffier and J. Pelegrin. 1998. Neanderthal Acculturation in Western Europe? A Critical Review of the Evidence and its Interpretation. Current Anthropology 39 (supplement), 1-44. Estévez J. and A. Vila 1999. Piedra a Piedra. Historia de la Construcción del Paleolítico en la Península British Archaeological Reports Ibérica, Int. Series (805), Oxford: BAR Publishing. Farizy C. (ed.) 1990. Paléolithique Moyen Recent et Paléolithique Supérieur Ancient en Europe. Ruptures et Transitions: Examen Critique des Documents Archaéologiques, Nemours: A.P.R.A.I.F. Giralt S. and R. Julià 1996. The Sedimentary Record of the Middle-Upper Palaeolithic Transition in the Capellades Area. In: E. Carbonell and M. Vaquero (eds), The last Neanderthals, the First Anatomically Modern Humans. Cultural Change and Human Evolution: the Crisis at 40 Ka BP. Capellades: Arqueoanoia, S. L., 363-376. Harold F. 1991. The Elephant and the Blind Men: Paradigms, Data Gaps and the Middle-Upper Paleolithic Transition in Southwestern France. In: G. Clark (ed.), Perspectives on the Past: Theoretical Biases in Mediterranean HunterGatherer Research. Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 164-182. Hodder I. (ed.) 1991. Archaeological Theory in Europe. The Last Three Decades, London: Routledge. Kuhn S. 1991. New Problems, Old Glasses: Methodological Implications of an Evolutionary Paradigm for the Study of Paleolithic. In: G. Clark (ed.), Perspectives on the Past: Theoretical Biases in Mediterranean Hunter-Gatherer Research. Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 243-257. Laplace G. 1962. Le Paléolithique Supérieur de l’Abri Romaní. L’Anthropologie 66, 36-43. Laplace G. 1974. La Typologie Analytique et Structurale: Base Rationnelle d’Étude des Industries Lithiques et Osseuses. Colloques nationaux CNRS n.932Banques de données archaéologiques. Marseille. 22

Straus L. 1997. The Iberian Situation between 40,000 and 30,000BP in light of the European Models of Migration and Convergence. In: G. Clark and C. Willermet, (eds), Conceptual Issues in Modern Human Origins Research. New York: Aldine de Gruyter, 235-252. Stringer C. and C. Gamble 1993. In Search of the Neanderthals. New York: Thames and Hudson. Vaquero M. 1992. Abric Romaní: Processos de Canvi Tecnològic al voltant del 40,000 BP. Continuitat o Ruptura. Estrat. Revista d’Arqueologia, Prehistòria i Història Antiga 5, 9-156. Vŷzquez Varela J.M. and R. Risch 1991. Theory in Spanish Archaeology since 1960. In: I. Hodder (ed.), Archaeological Theory in Europe. The Last Three Decades, London: Routledge, 25-51. Vidal L. 1912. Abric Romaní, Estació Agut, Cova de l’Or o dels Encantats. Estacions Prehistòriques de les Èpoques Mosteriana, Magdaleniana i Neolítica a Capellades i Sta. Creu d’Olorde (Barcelona). Anuari de l’Institut d’Estudis Catalans 4, 267302. White R. 1982. Rethinking the Middle/Upper Palaeolithic Transition. Current Anthropology 23, 169-192.

Laplace G. and G. Jauretche 1956. Typologie Statistique et Évolution des Complexes Lames et Lamelles. Bulletin de la Société Préistorique Française 53, 271-291. de Lumley H. and E. Ripoll 1962. Le Remplissage et l’Industrie Mousterienne de l’Abri Romaní (Province de Barcelone). L’Anthropologie 66, 135. Maroto, J. 1994. El Pas del Paleolític Mitjà al Paleolític Superior a Cataluña I la seva Interpretació dins el Context Geogràfic Franco-Ibèric. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis: Universitat de Girona. Maroto J., N. Soler and J.M. Fullola. 1996. Cultural Change between Middle and Upper Palaeolithic in Catalonia. In: E. Carbonell and M. Vaquero (eds), The last Neanderthals, the First Anatomically Modern Humans. Cultural Change and Human Evolution: the Crisis at 40 Ka BP, Capellades: Arqueoanoia, S. L., 219-250. Mellars P. 1973. The Character of the Middle-Upper Palaeolithic Transition in Southwest France. In: C. Renfrew (ed.), The Explanation of Culture Change, London: Duckworth, 255-276. Mellars P. 1982. On the Middle/Upper Palaeolithic Transition: a Reply to White. Current Anthropology 23, 238-240. Mellars P. 1989a. Major Issues in the Emergence of Modern Humans. Current Anthropology 30, 349385. Mellars P. 1991. Cognitive Changes and the Emergence of Modern Humans in Europe. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 1(1), 63-76. Mellars P. 1996. The Neanderthal Legacy, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Mellars P. 1999. The Neanderthal Problem Continued. Current Anthropology 40, 341-364. Milliken S. 1991. Aspects of Lithic Assemblage Variability in the Late Palaeolithic of SE Italy, Unpublished D.Phil thesis, University of Oxford. Renfrew C. (ed.) 1973. The Explanation of Culture Change, London: Duckworth. Ripoll E. 1959. Excavaciones en el Abrigo Romaní (Capellades, Barcelona). Ampúrias XXI, 247-248. Ripoll E. and H. de Lumley 1964-1965. El Paleolítico Medio en Cataluña. Ampurias XXVI-XXVII, 170. de Sonneville-Bordes D. and J. Perrot 1954. Lexique Typologique du Paléolithique Supérieur. Utillage Lithique: I. Grattoirs. II.Outils solutréens. Bulletin de la Société Préhistorique Française 51, 327335. Straus L. 1992. Iberia Before the Iberians. The Stone Age Prehistory of Cantabrian Spain, Albuquerque: Universiy of New Mexico Press. Straus L. 1996. Continuity or Rupture; Convergence or Invasion; Adaptation or Catastrophe; Mosaic or Monolith: Views on the Middle to Upper Palaeolithic Transition in Iberia. In: E. Carbonell and M. Vaquero (eds), The last Neanderthals, the First Anatomically Modern Humans. Cultural Change and Human Evolution: the Crisis at 40 Ka BP, Capellades: Arqueoanoia, S. L., 203-218.

Wolpoff M. 1996. Neanderthals of the Upper Palaeolithic. In: E. Carbonell and M. Vaquero (eds), The last Neanderthals, the First Anatomically Modern Humans. Cultural Change and Human Evolution: the Crisis at 40 Ka BP, Capellades: Arqueoanoia, S. L., 51-96. Zilhão, J. 1993. Le Passage du Paléolithique Moyen au Paléolithique Supérieur dans le Portugal. In: V. Cabrera, (ed.), El Origen del Hombre Moderno en el Suroeste de Europa, Madrid: Universidad de Educación a Distancia, 127-145. Zilhão J. and F. d’Errico 1999. The Chronology and Taphonomy of the Earliest Aurignacian and its Implications for the Understanding of Neanderthal Extinction. Journal of World Prehistory, 13-1, 168.

23

Figure 1: Distribution of Iberian sites containing ‘transitional layers’: map 1 = Mousterian, map 2 = Chatelperronian, map 3 = Aurignacian.

A general shift from flake to blade technology; A general increase in the variety and complexity of the tools, involving the standardisation of their shape;

CATALUNYA

CANTABRIA

Yes and clearly, it takes place abruptly.

Not perceptible.

?

?

The appearance of complex bone, antler and ivory artefacts; Increase in regional and temporal diversity of stone and bone technologies;

Diagnostic trait for the Aurignacian.

Presence of personal ornaments;

Hallmark of the Aurignacian. Not present

Exceptional, if at all present. Not present

No. Major changes after the Aurignacian Higher quantities of remains may indicate bigger groups

Greater specialisation and systematisation

The first appearance of sophisticated art; Socio-economic changes: •

increase in specialised hunting as opposed to opportunistic scavenging

•

increase in population density and in maximum size of residential groups, which become highly structured

•

organised in regular and well-defined living structures.

?

?

Only present at El Castillo.

?

? ?

Figure 2: Traditional transition characteristics and the northern Iberia ‘classical’ record. 24

Figure 3: Map of Iberia showing the two regions (and the limits of the current autonomous communities in which the sites are located) mentioned in here and the location of Abric Romaní.

Figure 4: Location of Abric Romaní in relation with the major rivers of the area and the Mediterranean coastline.

25

Figure 5: Abric Romaní’s stratigraphy, after Ripoll and de Lumley 1964-1965

Capellades 1= total number (from inventory) 2= collections studied Layer 2 (A) Layer 4 (B/C)

Barcelona

Vilanova

Madrid

1

2

1

2

1

2

1

2

unknown unknown

198 191

461 52

220 39

6 blades 11 flakes

9 1

none none

none none

Figure 6: table of the stone tools from the transitional layers of Romani, and their present locations.

26

The Western Cyprus Geoarchaeological Survey: Some Case-studies Katleen Deckers Department of Archaeology, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, U.K. [email protected] Keywords: Cyprus – Geoarchaeology –alluvial archaeology

Abstract One of the main objectives of the project was to establish an alluvial chronology in order to understand when landscape changes occurred. However, several problems initially hampered the dating. Firstly, severe landscape destruction caused a mapping problem. River terraces were often bulldozed and this made it impossible to follow them along the river. Older, similar and younger terraces along the same river could not be correlated properly by mapping and this made their chronology even more obscure. As a result, mapping of river terraces was abandoned in most areas (except along the Stavros-tis-Psokas). Old aerial photographs may help solving this problem, though at present no time was found to do so. Secondly, organic material that can be used for radiocarbon dating only occurred in the upper, recent layers of the sediment sequences. Finally, there was a lack of datable artefacts. As all geomorphological work was undertaken off-site, sherds were rarely found. The scarcity of ceramic material was compounded by the fact that they were mostly unidentifiable typologically because they were so rolled by river action (Fig. 2). Only three sherds and several lithic artefacts were datable using typologies. Therefore, a relatively simple thermo luminescence (TL)-application on 80 sherds was used in order to gain a chronological insight (Deckers 2002b). Moreover, eight optically stimulated luminescence (OSL)-dates on sediments were applied to gain a more precise understanding of the timing of landscape changes (Spencer and Sanderson 2002). I will first present the already dated evidence in order to describe the scale of the geological processes at work in this area. Then some possibilities of alluvial research on Cyprus will be discussed. Alluvial research leads to an improved understanding of settlement and site patterns as well as an improved understanding of human impact on the landscape and the effect of the environment on humans.

This paper presents some results of the Western Cyprus Geoarchaeological Survey, conducted in order to understand Cypriot archaeological sites in a wider landscape context. Geomorphological evidence indicates that the Cypriot landscape has changed drastically, especially in relatively recent times. Alluvium was found dating from or post-dating the prehistoric period, the Cypro-Archaic or Cypro-Classical period, the Hellenistic period, the Roman period, the Byzantine period, the Frankish period, the Venetian and Ottoman period. This evidence of erosion has some implications for the archaeological record. Site visibility at the modern surface level is neither a reliable, nor complete indication of what might still be present in the archaeological record of Western Cyprus. Moreover, geoarchaeological research in Western Cyprus improves our understanding of the human impact on the landscape as well as the impact of the environment on humans. A number of case studies are used to illustrate these points.

1. Introduction to the Project The Western Cyprus Geoarchaeological project took place in April and August 2000. Two small teams of archaeology students (between 4 and 6 people) investigated river terraces in Western Cyprus along several streams: the Stavros-tis-Psokas, the Ezousas, the Xeropotamos, the Dhiarizzos and the Agriokalamos (Fig. 1). The Dhiarizzos, Ezousas and Xeropotamos are major rivers of the island. Their headwaters are located in the Troodos and the rivers flow radially out of the mountains to the west. Although perennial, the extensive use of irrigation dries out their river beds in summer. They have a braided river morphology, with multiple meandering channels after leaving the mountain range. The channels are shallow and have a low sinuosity. The river plains are scattered with gravel. The Agriokalamos and the Stavros-tis-Psokas are smaller streams, with a meandering river morphology. These five streams were selected because the settlement history of these river valleys is well-known. About 1700 man-hours were spent in the field cutting back sections, describing sediments, looking for datable material in the sections and sampling. About 30 sections were recorded and about 300 sediment samples were taken. After the completion of the fieldwork, laboratory analysis was undertaken on all sediment samples and included: pH measurements, particle shape analysis, particle size analysis, lithological identification, magnetic susceptibility and loss on ignition. This data will be reported elsewhere (cf. also Deckers 2002a). I will focus in this paper on some particular sediment sections.

2. Results: a chronology of alluviation in Western Cyprus 2.1. Alluvium from or post-dating the prehistoric period (from or post-dating ± 1700 BC) Prehistoric alluviation, consisting of stream flood deposits, may have taken place along the Agriokalamos (sections KAGA-KAGD) (Fig. 1) as suggested by the occurrence of two sherds in the deposits and several palaeosols on top. However, the OSL-dates on the sediments do not to confirm this and indicate dates to old to contain any sherds. Hence, further chronological research is necessary. 27

deposited after 1221 ± 52.5 AD.

Moreover, 50 cm of early prehistoric stream flood deposits have been attested at the alluvial fan at Souskiou along the Dhiarizzos (section SOA) dating before 11.1 ± 6.5 ka BC (Fig. 1 and Fig. 4). Furthermore, almost two metres of alluvium have been deposited at this location at some time between 11.1 ± 6.5 ka BC and 1.8 ± 1.1 ka BC.

Sometime after 1140 ± 20 AD, about 2.6 metres of stream flood sediments were deposited at section EZG along the Ezousas (Fig. 1 and Fig. 6). 2.6. Alluvium from or post-dating the Venetian period

2.2. Alluvium from or post-dating the Cypro-Archaic or Cypro-Classical period

Sometime after ± 1560 AD, at section KOL1 along the Dhiarizzos, 3.1 metres of stream flood sediments were deposited.

Along the Xeropotamos at section XA there is evidence of 1.15 m of sediments deposited around or after 432 ± 592 BC, consisting of stream flood deposits (Fig. 1).

2.7. Alluvium from or post-dating the Ottoman alluviation

2.3. Hellenistic and Roman alluvium Sometime after 1730 ± 70 AD, 2.8 metres of stream flood sediments were deposited at section XD, along the Xeropotamos (Fig. 1).

Along the Ezousas at section EZA (Fig. 1), between 160 ± 160 BC and 300 AD, two metres of stream flood sediments were deposited. Subsequently, the landscape was stable at this location. More stream flood sediments were deposited about 0.36 ± 0.15 ka BC.

3. Implications for the archaeological record 3.1. Improved understanding of settlement and site patterns

2.4. Alluvium from or post-dating the Byzantine period

The following examples will indicate that in order to understand settlement patterns on Cyprus, it is necessary to gain an understanding of the geological processes imposed on the archaeological record. Ideally, a geoarchaeological survey should be conducted in association with an archaeological survey, since on one hand, archaeological sites have been affected by erosion and on the other hand, metres of alluvium might have covered archaeological sites.

At section MB along the Dhiarizzos (Fig. 1), at some time after 800 AD about 1.5 metres of stream flood sediments were deposited. Additionally at Kithasi, also along the Dhiarizzos (Fig. 1), 3.30 metres of stream flood sediments were deposited sometime after 894 ± 250 AD. At section TA and TB, along the Stavros-tis-Psokas (Fig. 1), about 2.5 metres of sediments were deposited sometime after ± 753 AD, mostly consisting of debris flow.

The dates of 76 sherds found off-site in alluvial sediments indicate that archaeological sites of all periods have been affected by erosion, as sherds of all periods occur in the alluvial sediments. Artefacts occurring in alluvial sediments are often the only evidence of sites lost by erosion. As an example, in a section two metres deep at Prastio along the Dhiarizzos river (section PR1) (Fig. 1 and Fig. 3), four pieces of pottery were found (Fig. 2). These alluvial sediments indicate a degree of erosion upslope. The dates of the sherds occurring in the section indicate that a site was eroding upslope. At the bottom of the section, a sherd dated to 1200 AD was found, while in the middle of the section, was a sherd dated to 1084 ± 16 AD. At the top a sherd from approximately 720 AD and one dating to 467 ± 17 BC were found. Hence, an inverted stratigraphy is observed, as the oldest sherd is located in the youngest sediment. This is due to the erosion of a site sometime around or after 1140 AD. The inverted stratigraphy suggests erosion of a Byzantine site, with the disappearance of several archaeological strata from 1140 AD until the lower strata dating to 720 AD. The erosion also affected a Cypro-Classical site. If we were to doubt erosion of a site upslope, the attempted archaeological investigations at the Chalcolithic artefact scatter of PrastioAyios Savvas tis Karonis strengthens the above presented evidence. Rupp had to admit ‘after two field seasons of excavation at Prastio-Agios Savvas on three of these land plots it appears that what was at first thought to be the

Along the Ezousas, at section EZD (Fig. 1), sometime after 868 ± 559 AD, 2.1 m of stream flood sediments were deposited. 2.5. Alluvium from or post-dating the Frankish period After 1140 ± 60 AD 1 metre of sediments were deposited at section PR1 along the Dhiarizzos (Fig. 1 and Fig. 3), consisting of a mix of debris flow and stream flood deposits. However, through a soil formation consisting of particle size analysis, magnetic susceptibility, loss-onignition and pH tests, it is suggested that the one metre of sediments were deposited quite some time later than 1140 ± 60 AD. The soil formation study indicated only incipient soil formation on the surface of PR1. Moreover, two metres of stream flood sediments were deposited after 1320 ± 60 AD at section MA along the Dhiarizzos (Fig. 1). Sometime after 1221 ± 52.5 AD, 1.1 metres of debris flow was deposited at section EZD along the Ezousas (Fig. 1). However, through a study on the soil formation based on the combination of particle size analysis, the loss-onignition, magnetic susceptibility and pH-test, it is suggested that the 1.1 metres of sediments were probably 28

Asproyia-Ayios Sozondas a Medieval mining and smelting site, consisting of 24 adits in the pillow lava and 2,000 square metres of slag heaps was discovered. The marked correlation between erosion in that particular area sometime after 1140 ± 20 AD and the Medieval mining and smelting activities, suggesting deforestation, seems to indicate human impact on the landscape, although this might have been triggered by specific climatic conditions.

surface scatter from one small settlement is actually the downslope erosional remains from two separate settlements’ (Rupp et al. 1994). On the other hand some valley sites might have been covered by alluvium. However, the likelihood of this in river valleys of Western Cyprus are relatively rare as the rivers are marked by a braided morphology, which is not conducive to the preservation of archaeological sites. The dynamic processes, especially the periodic high-energy flows, destroy most sites situated on bars and banks of a braided river. Artefacts are swept from the surface of these sites and transported into a secondary context. However, a possible example of a site buried by alluvial sediments was encountered in the geoarchaeological survey. It concerns a possible quarry site covered under five metres of sediment. It has often been suggested that the raw material for lithic artefacts was recovered from river beds on Cyprus (e.g. Elliott 1991: 95-105). However, this hypothesis has until now never been documented by real archaeological finds. The lack of such archaeological finds is probably due in part to a lack of substantial architectural remains at these places as well as the fact that these sites are mainly located in unstable areas, either covered by metres of alluvium or eroded by river incision. In the alluvial fan located at Souskiou (Dhiarizzos) several lithic artefacts were found in the lower units of the fan. The lithic artefact specialist Dr. Carole McCartney identified some tested cores and suggested that the gravel bed may represent a quarry area (Fig. 5). These cores would have been discarded due to the inferior quality of the raw material. Moreover, core reduction debris was also identified which seems to confirm this evidence. The diagnostic lithic artefacts suggest an Early Prehistoric date. Clearly, the sample was rather small and needs further investigation. However, OSL-dates on the sediment just above this unit (Fig. 4) provided a date of 11 ± 6.5 ka BC, which indicates that this sediment was deposited between 17600 and 4600 BC. Although this date is relatively imprecise due to some difficulties in dating alluvial sediments, it seems to confirm the Prehistoric date for the quarry site and its possibility to be located in situ.

3.3. Improved understanding of the impact of the environment on humans Fluvial systems had impact on humans, human behaviour and human genetics. At the alluvial deposits along the Agriokalamos (sections KAGA-D), near the Chalcolithic settlement of Lemba-Lakkous, located in the Ktimna Lowlands. Palaeopathological research at this site indicated a high incidence of thalassemia (Lunt et al. 1998: 82). Thalassemia is a genetic adaptation and a disease, rendering people less susceptible to the malaria parasite (Greene and Danubio 1997: 1-5). Malaria is caused by a parasite living in malaria mosquitoes and is transmitted through mosquito bites. The malaria mosquitoes breed in stagnant pools and swamps. Drying river beds are also often mentioned among the favourite breeding places for the mosquitoes (Russell 1963: 203-214). Section KAGC along the Agriokalamos contains a complex landscape story, which will not be discussed in detail here as this will be published elsewhere. Of importance in this discussion is the occurrence of rip-up clasts in the bedload deposits KAGC9. Rip-up clasts are laminated mudstones deriving from a local lake, possibly an abandoned meander of the former river, ripped up by river action and rolled through transport. They indicate that swampy conditions favourable for mosquito breeding prevailed. As to the timing of these deposits some problems were confronted. Initially, two Prehistoric sherds in the deposits and the occurrence of several palaeosols above indicated a possible Prehistoric date for the deposits. To gain better insight into the deposition date of these deposits, four OSL-dates on the sequence were submitted. However, they gave dates too old to contain Prehistoric sherds, which may be due to incomplete resetting of the sediment although four OSLdates on other sediments gave results consistent with the other evidence. Hence, further dating is necessary to establish the correlation between swampy conditions in the river valley and the incidence of thalassemia in the Chalcolithic settlement of Lemba-Lakkous.

Hence, we may say that site visibility at the modern surface is neither a reliable, nor complete indication of what might still be present in the archaeological record. 3.2. Improved understanding of human impact on the landscape

4. Conclusion Alluviation, the deposition of sediments in the river valleys, can be the result of human impact on the landscape. Through lithological provenancing of the alluvial sediments from section EZG along the Ezousas (Fig. 1 and Fig. 6), it was possible to connect this alluvial deposition with only one source of erosion (cf. geological map of the Polis-Paphos area – Geological Survey Department, Cyprus). Specifically, the frequently occurring chalk, silicified chalk and limestones in the alluvial deposits in section EZG, could only derive from one specific Lefkara formation source to the east around Asproyia and Pano Panayia. Interestingly, at the location

Although further research is necessary, this paper certainly indicates the importance, possibilities and necessity of alluvial research on Cyprus. Alluvial research can offer landscape reconstructions, improves our understanding of settlement and site patterns, improves our understanding of human impact on the landscape and opposite of the impact of the environment on humans. A geoarchaeological survey is imperative to gain understanding of the landscape changes. We may say that anthropogenic induced erosion is not only a recent problem on Cyprus, but probably took place in the Frankish period as well. Mining and smelting 29

activities were probably anthropogenic erosion. 5. o

o o o o o o o o o o

an

important

cause

for Landscape Evolution. Levant Newsletter, 6-7. Elliott C. 1991. Rock Sources of Ground Stone Tools of the Chalcolithic Period in Cyprus. Bulletin of the American School of Oriental Research 283, 95105. Greene L S. and M.E. Danubio (eds) 1997. Adaptations to Malaria. The Interaction of Biology and Culture, Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach. Lunt D.A. 1998. Mortuary Practice. In: E. Peltenburg, D. Bolger, P. Croft, E. Goring, B. Irving, D.A. Lunt, S.W. Watt, C. Elliott-Xenophontos, E. Baxivani, B. Finlayson, T. Lawrence, L. Maguire, D. Miles, C. Petres, A. Quye, S. Ritson, F. Stephen, R. Tipping, M. Tite and P. Wilthew, (eds), Lemba Archaeological Project. Vol.II.1.A. Excavations at Kissonerga-Mosphilia 1979-1992, (Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology, 70: 2), Göteborg: Paul Aström Forlag, 65-92. Peltenburg E., D. Bolger, P. Croft, E. Goring, B. Irving, D. A. Lunt, S.W. Watt, C. Elliott-Xenophontos, E. Baxivani, B. Finlayson, T. Lawrence, L. Maguire, D. Miles, C. Petres, A. Quye, S. Ritson, F. Stephen, R. Tipping, M. Tite and P. Wilthew, (eds), 1998. Lemba Archaeological Project. Vol.II.1.A. Excavations at Kissonerga-Mosphilia 1979-1992, (Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology, 70: 2), Göteborg: Paul Aström Forlag. Rupp D.W., J.T. Clark, C. D;Annibale, J. Critchley and P.W. Croft 1994. Preliminary Report of the 1993 Field Season of the Western Cyprus Project at Prastio-Agios Savvas tis Karonis Monastery (Paphos District, Cyprus). Report of the Department of Antiquities Cyprus (1994), 315328. Russell P.F., L.S. West, R.D. Manwell and G. Macdonald 1963. Practical Malariology, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Spencer J.Q. and D.W. Sanderson 2002. Optically Stimulated Luminescence Dating of Fluvial Sediments from Western Cyprus. In: K. Deckers, Cypriot Archaeological Sites in the Landscape: An Alluvial Geo-Archaeological Approach. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Edinburgh 2002.

for

Locational details of the investigated sections KAGA-KAGD: cadastral map XLV.49 and 50, plots 48, 46 and 43. Investigated bulldozed exposures are bordering a track which is leading to the coastal road. SOA: cadastral map LII.25. Prominent exposure at edge of the village of Souskiou. XA: locality Kouklia-Maratheri, bordering the recent river and exposed by it. Cadastral LI.47. EZA: at the locality Ayia Varvara-Pervoloudhin on edge of modern floodplain, 350 metres northwest of village Ayia Varvara. Cadastral LI.22, plot 51. MB: cadastral XLVI.61, on corner of plot 403. The section at Kithasi is located at the bridge over the Dhiarizzos to Kithasi, cadastral XLVI.54, western edge of plot 259. EZD: cadastral LI.14, E edge of plot 236. Section exposed by bulldozing activities PR1: cadastral LII.4, on border between plot 117 and 158. EZG: cadastral XXXVI.49, at eastern edge of plot 400. KOL1: cadastral LI.48, at a natural exposure on western bank of the present river bed XD: cadastral LI.47, plot 281. XD was located in a quarry south of the new main road. The quarry cobbles were used for the construction of the new bridge. Visiting the site half a year later, the sections had disappeared and the ground was levelled out.

Acknowledgements This survey would have been impossible without the splendid help of the students in the Western Cyprus Geoarchaeological Survey in April and August 2000. I am grateful for the financial support. Research was conducted under a SAAS-award a Belgische Stichting Roeping Award and a Belgian Benevolent Society Award. Furthermore, a CBRL grant made the dating aspect of the project possible. Additional financial support came from a Small Projects Grant (University of Edinburgh), a Prehistoric Society Research Grant, several Abercromby Grants (University of Edinburgh) and a Cyprus Grant (University of Greenwich). Dr. Carole McCartney identified the lithic artefacts. Dr. David Sanderson and Dr. Joel Spencer (SURRC – East Kilbride) performed the OSL-dates on the sediments. Bibliography Deckers K. 2002a. Cypriot Archaeological Sites in the Landscape: An Alluvial Geo-Archaeological Approach. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Edinburgh. Deckers K. 2002b. The Western Cyprus Geoarchaeological Survey: Establishing a Chronology 30

Figure 1: The Western Cyprus Geo-archaeological Survey area : investigated rivers and soil sections indicated.

Figure 2 : An example of some rolled sherds retrieved from section PR1 (Prastio – Dhiarizzos).

31

Figure 3 : Drawing of section PR1 (PrastioDhiarizzos). Location of dated sherds indicated on drawing.

Figure 4 : Drawing of section SOA. OSLdates on sediments indicated.

32

Figure 5 : Lithic artefacts from the alluvial fan at Souskiou.

Figure 6 : Picture of section EZG (Ezousas). Length of section is approximately 2.6 m (trowel as scale). 33

Figure 7: Picture of section KAGC (Agriokalamos). Unit KAGC9 with rip-up clasts indicated with arrow. Length of section is approximately 2.25 m

34

Chapels and Navigation in Medieval Gozo Timothy Gambin Department of Archaeology, University of Bristol, Bristol, UK [email protected] Keywords: Maritime Landscapes – chapels – navigation – Gozo finding and comparing similar coastal sites and navigational practices of various regions and periods but also in systematic archaeological investigation. The study of the relationship between sacred buildings and navigation is still in a nascent form. Studies carried out so far that cover the subject in a somewhat detailed manner include those covering prehistory (Grima in press), ancient Greece (Morton 2001) and a general study up to the Middle Ages (Horden and Purcell 2000). From an archaeological perspective it may be opportune to start looking at certain sites from a maritime as well as a traditional point of view. This is true for coastal sites which fall within a broader survey project as well as others that are excavated.

Abstract In the 13th century the Islands of Malta and Gozo experienced a major cultural change: the choice between conversion and expulsion for the local Muslim population. The converted inhabitants as well as new arrivals from Europe took it on themselves to construct numerous chapels throughout the islands. Some of these were built on the coast clearly visible to mariners approaching from southern Italy and Sicily as well as North Africa. This paper explores the role that these chapels came to play as navigational aids as well as in the lives of mariners and seafarers. It also seeks to explore similar practices in the Mediterranean and beyond.

2. Sources 1. Introduction There are five main sources used for the study of maritime cultural landscapes (Westerdahl 1992: 7): i. Shipwrecks: although these are usually very important for a variety of reasons such as a precise means of dating, to this date no wrecks around Gozo dating to the period under discussion have been discovered. ii. Land remains: there is ample scope for the study of land remains in relation to maritime landscapes. These may include both purpose-built structures such as lighthouses as well as others that may, over the years, have developed a maritime significance. This concept has recently been the subject of an excellent study by Horden and Purcell (Horden and Purcell 2000: 438-445). With regards to the sites discussed below most of the chapels in Gozo mentioned no longer exist with the exception of the chapel on Comino. In Qala an early modern chapel was built over the Medieval structure. The other sites can be deduced from alternative sources listed below but their exact location has yet to be determined. iii. Place names: the present author recommends a cautious approach. However, if looked at within a broader framework, the study of place names can make an important contribution. Place names are also essential for the location of potential archaeological sites related to the chapels, as well as the remains of other features of a maritime culture. iv. The study of natural topography – natural havens: natural features such as headlands are all-important to mariners and play a vital role in the location of a harbour or anchorage. It is not unusual that such important features were considered as hallowed and sometimes marked with sacred buildings (Horden

The study of maritime landscapes has only recently been embraced within the broader discipline of maritime archaeology and has grown out of the need to explore ‘the archaeological concept of combining sea and land’. This concept is described by Westerdahl as the ‘maritime cultural landscape’ (Westerdahl 1992: 5), a notion requiring a multi-disciplinary approach. This paper is part of a broader study conducted by the present author on the ‘Maritime Landscapes of Gozo’, a study which attempts to perceive the coasts of the island by those whose lives were directly affected by the sea that surrounds it. Although the period discussed covers approximately the three centuries preceding the arrival of the Knights of St. John in 1530 references will be made to navigational practices, maritime traditions and other cultural aspects that fall outside these dates. This is done in order to avoid the isolation of such a study, an isolation which could impede the understanding of any continuity that may transcend cultural and other changes. The late Middle Ages was a period of turmoil and dramatic cultural change during which some of the indigenous Muslims were converted whilst those remaining were finally expelled in AD 1249. The building of numerous chapels is an integral part of this phase of the island’s history and through this paper the author intends to probe the reason why these places of worship were built in remote coastal areas as well as to illustrate the use and significance of these chapels to the inhabitants of the island and to visiting mariners. One may also consider this paper as an introduction to the potential of this subject. Such potential lies not solely in 35

v.

island traffic and to vessels sailing to and from the Levant. Such was the case of the Bristol merchant Robert Sturmy who in the mid fifteenth century was sailing off Gozo on his way back from the Levant when his vessel was ambushed and captured by Genoese pirates (Carus-Wilson 1967: 70).

and Purcell 2000: 440). Tradition of usage: this consists mainly of ethnographic studies conducted on persons whose lives have been intimately linked to the sea and who can share an otherwise untapped source of evidence. Such persons include mariners, fishermen and boat builders. The difficulty with this source is that ‘there is always the problem of applying present-day findings to the ancient past without projecting present-day experience and observations into the past’ (Gould 1997: 379).

2.1.1. Some observations on navigational practices Despite the obvious dangers posed by corsairs, vessels did make it safely to the coasts of Gozo, either for shelter in one of the islands’ havens or to pick up a cargo of cotton, the main cash crop of the islands during the Middle Ages (Wettinger 1982: 17). Mariners on board these vessels would probably have made use of the portolani mentioned earlier or other similar ones. It is not sure whether such instructions were carried on board or whether reference was made prior to starting a journey. Early charts would have complemented the information contained in the portolani, helped by maritime prospects or visual representations of approaches and places for anchorage. Some features such as reefs were marked with little crosses, but depth soundings are completely missing from Medieval charts (Biadene 1990: 10).

To these one must add documentary evidence. This is especially true in the case of this paper because important evidence is gleaned from three Medieval portolani, or sailing instructions similar to the periploi of antiquity. These are the anonymous Lo Compasso de Navegare of AD 1296 and probably of Pisan origin, a 15th century Venetian work entitled Chompasso de tuta la starea della marina and the Rizo portulan of 1490 also from Venice (Cassola 1992: 47-48). These portolani are significant for three reasons: firstly they constitute some of the only written descriptions of Malta and Gozo dating to the Medieval period. These descriptions are from a maritime perspective and it was these same portolani that originally brought to the attention of the author the use of chapels as navigational aids in the Middle Ages. This was the initial step towards an ongoing project aimed at placing coastal sanctuaries within a maritime perspective.

During the Middle Ages the sounding lead was still one of the main navigational tools available. However, the same limitations that faced mariners in antiquity continued to apply during this period. That is, one of the drawbacks of this tool was the limited depth at which soundings could be taken, approximately 150 metres (Hutchinson 1994: 175). Ships approaching Gozo from any direction except the Malta channel would have had difficulty using the sounding lead due to the depth of the waters that surround the island. It is only within half a mile of the island that depths rise above the 150 metre mark, making knowledge of landfalls and other tell-tale signs, through portolani or otherwise, indispensable for the safe arrival of the vessel.

2.1. Gozo and the shipping routes in the central Mediterranean The islands of Malta, Comino and Gozo lie on the longer but safer of the two routes available to mariners crossing between present day Tunisia and Sicily and on the direct route between some parts North Africa, especially Libya, and Southern Italy. Both the Phoenicians and Carthaginians took advantage of this strategic position for naval and commercial shipping, using the islands as a stopover where vessels could replenish supplies and shelter from adverse weather.

Buildings situated on such landfalls provided increased visibility as well as facilitating recognition of the land that has just been sighted. In antiquity mariners used a variety of buildings and structures for this purpose including tombs and sanctuaries. This practice can be deduced from writings such as Strabo’s geography here quoted from Morton: ‘On the right, as one sails towards the city [of Samos], is the Poseidonion, a promontory with which Mt. Mykale forms the seven stade strait; and it has a temple of Poseidon…’ (Morton 2001: 198). The continued use of such structures for navigational purposes is attested to in Medieval epics such as Beowulf where the hero’s tomb is placed on a headland where ‘it was high and broad, visible from far to all seafarers’ (Barber 1998: 303).

These routes remained in use, in varying degrees of importance, throughout the Roman, Byzantine and Muslim periods of the Maltese archipelago. In the late Medieval period the island of Gozo was the preferred hunting ground for Christian and Muslim corsairs, both of whom used the island as a place were they could ambush vessels undertaking the east-west route across the Mediterranean, a route which connected the Levant to the Atlantic. This particular route had become increasingly important to the commercial exploits of the Italian maritime states of Genoa and Venice, the former having reopened the route in the latter half of the 13th century (Scammell 1981: 164).

What is also of relevance here is the apparent continuity with which important landmarks and harbours were, throughout the ages, marked with sacred buildings. One such case is Marsaxlokk, the southernmost harbour of the Maltese islands. The Punic sanctuary at Tas-Silg dominates this harbour as well as the surrounding landscape and was in continued use throughout the Roman period. Recent studies are indicating that the site itself was used as a

It therefore comes as no surprise that in the late Middle Ages corsairs are recorded as having occasionally wintered on Comino (Sammut-Tagliaferro 1993: 125-127), choosing the area due to the proximity of the islands to busy shipping routes. Corsair vessels wintering or simply waiting near Malta and Gozo posed a threat to local inter36

of Malta discussed ‘the presence along the shore of Gozo of a Moorish corsair vessel which is a threat to the brigantines arriving from Sicily’ (Wettinger 1993: 479). This illustrates the Moorish knowledge of the approaches used by Maltese and other vessels. The Gozo channel was also an important waypoint for outward-bound journeys. Distances from the Maltese islands to other ports in the Mediterranean are measured from this channel.

centre of exchange by visiting mariners (Bruno 1999: 79). Archaeological excavations have shown that following a somewhat obscure transtionary period in the fifth and sixth centuries AD a Byzantine church was built on the ruins of the sanctuary. The same excavations also revealed the remains of a mosque built over those of the Byzantine baptistery. The Norman conquerors of the island again chose to erect a small church on the site but this structure no longer stands today (Cagiano De Azevedo 1975: 8990). A few metres away from these archaeological remains one finds today a 17th century chapel dedicated to the Madonna of Tas-Silg in an equally dominant position in the landscape overlooking the harbour.

When approaching Marsalforn, the first anchorage in Gozo available to those sailing from Sicily, mariners were informed of certain natural features such as two low reefs (faragloi), not to be mistaken for lighthouses, and a cave in the form of an oven, hence the name of the bay, Marsalforn, Marsa being Semitic for harbour and forn meaning oven or kiln. Some have taken the place name to indicate the presence of limekilns in the area (Wettinger 2000: 364). One of the significant factors of this Semitic place name is that it highlights continuity in the toponomy of the island as well as continuity in the maritime use of the area dating at least to the Islamic period.

In the early modern period it can be said that the majority of buildings noted on pilot books of the Mediterranean are either of a military or religious nature. This is true for both the northern and southern Mediterranean. One such book, drawn up by a pilot of the navy of the Order of St. John uses the minarets of prominent mosques to illustrate the points of entry into harbours found along the North African coast and safe areas for anchoring (Agostiniano 1728: 39).

According to the Chompasso once inside the bay, two churches in specific areas, one dedicated to Santa Maria and the other to San Paolo, confirm the locality of where one has arrived:

In ancient times vessels had altars built on the poop and these were used to give thanks to deities upon the sighting of a known landfall (Casson 1995: 182) which would have often been marked by a temple, as in the case of Ras ilWardija at the north-west tip of Gozo, or upon the safe arrival in a port of call (Casson 1994: 66). The altars were also used in rituals at the start of a voyage in supplication of safety. The practice of directing thanksgiving and other offerings to the divine was in no way limited to antiquity and is also attested to in Medieval times. It also seems to have been a practice amongst Islamic mariners. Ibn-Jubayr writing in AD 1183 describes a vessel’s arrival into a particularly difficult anchorage:

Item de ver ponente si e’ una mota plana sovra ‘l cavo, la ch’e la varda de piere seche e una gliesia de Sancta Maria, et e statio uno prodexi ala ponta e le anchore per levante. Item per levante si e’ la gliexia de San Polo (Cassola 1992: 50).

It would not be unreasonable to assume that besides being used as navigational aids Medieval mariners may have also directed their prayers of thanksgiving to the deities of the two chapels upon their safe arrival to or departure from Marsalforn. The practice of such supplication is attested to at the church dedicated to St. Gregory in Zejtun on Malta where Medieval ex-voto ship graffiti are to be found on the exterior walls (Muscat 2002: 106).

it is extraordinary how they bring it through the narrow channels and lead it among them like a rider on a horse which is sensitive to the rein and easy under the bridle; and in this they show marvellous skill difficult to describe. At noon on Tuesday the 4th of Rabi al-Akhir, we entered Juddah, praising God… (Hourani 1995: 122).

Other information given in the portolani includes the distances to and from the various other havens in Gozo, including bearings and descriptions of natural features in the landscape to be observed on the way. Also given are distances from the havens to the castello and its suburb which was the main inhabited area of the island. The inclusion of these distances indicate the use of more than one specific haven for boats calling into Gozo and the links of these havens with the urban centre. The bay of Mgarr is noted in the same portolan for its supply of water and a church also dedicated to Santa Marija, the latter is used as a means of identifying the location of this bay. Vessels anchored at the nearby island of Comino could replenish their water supply from Mgarr. Sailing instructions are given on how to enter the various anchorages offered by Comino in diverse weather conditions. One of the anchorages is the bay of Santa Marija complete with a church of the same dedication which is again used to identify the best anchorage of this island: ‘Item a Comin al cavo de ver griego si e una chala de Sancta Maria, e la

In the Christian tradition the affinity of seafarers with the divine was not limited to the Mediterranean. In Medieval Bristol, for example, shrines marked the most treacherous point of the journey up the Avon (Parker 1999: 339). 3. The maritime landscapes of Medieval Gozo As mentioned above Medieval portolans such as the Chompasso de tuta la starea della marina of AD 1490 are a valuable source for the subject of maritime landscapes. This portolan in particular describes the approach to Gozo from Sicily providing a mental prospect to the reader. The description starts from a distance with the sighting of ‘tre monti’, still the emblem of the island today (Cassola 1992: 50). Gozo was also an important landfall for those sailing from Sicily on to Malta. In April of AD 1473 the town council 37

and Gozo (Fig. 1). This chapel is said to have been a place of worship in Medieval times and remained a destination for pilgrimages from both Gozo and Malta, a practice lasting at least until the early 1900s (Grech 1999: 122). Observing the dominant geographical position of this chapel it is easy to understand why it remained important to local mariners who paid for part of its upkeep and to whom the channel represented a vital link between the two islands (Theuma 2002). Numerous maritime graffiti adorn the exterior walls of this chapel illustrating the significance of this site to local seafarers and fishermen (Fig. 2).

gliexia si e in fondi dela chala’ (Cassola 1992: 51). The other bay on Comino is named San Niklaw probably after St Nicholas of Myra the patron saint of travellers. The practice of using religious buildings as navigational aids, in this case to help identify the havens of the islands, is also true for the bay of Xlendi. Although not noted in the portolani mentioned above, this haven had at least three chapels in the Medieval period that were distinctly visible from the sea. One of these was dedicated to Santa Katerina situated on the cliffs above a cave that still bears the saint’s name (Grech and Mizzi 1999: 47).

4.1. Origins of chapels 4. The Gozitans and the sea One can be quite sure that these chapels were not built specifically as navigational aids and their original builders remain elusive mainly due to the lack of documentary evidence. However one cannot simply dismiss the fact that chapels were present at places of navigational importance such as harbours or anchorages, as in Xlendi, Marsalforn and Comino, springs as in Mgarr and headlands as in San Dimitri, the latter being an important waypoint on the voyage between Sicily and Malta (Fig. 3). Their prominence on an otherwise bare landscape (Fig. 4) definitely aided those at sea to establish their precise whereabouts, as well as offering spiritual reassurance to those on board.

The Middle Ages was a period when the inhabitants of Gozo must have developed an ambivalent attitude towards the sea. On the one hand they were subject to frequent raids on land as well on the sea. On the other, the sea provided the inhabitants with an outlet for their produce which in turn made it possible to finance the importation of the grain required to sustain the population. Fishing and other maritime activities such as the production of salt continued in Malta throughout the Middle Ages (Dingli 1999: 21) as it did on Gozo. It could well be that the chapels also offered shelter to fishermen seeking some form of refuge in one of the havens. This was certainly the practice in Medieval Scandinavia where coastal chapels were used by fishermen to store nets and other implements over the winter period (Westerdahl 2001: 12). It is also known that some of the rural chapels on both Malta and Gozo were used by peasants to store seed, tools and sometimes even animals (Kilin 2000: 61).

The present author believes that the phenomenon of building numerous chapels on Gozo must have been part of a cultural expression coinciding with the reChristianisation of the islands. No fewer than 84 chapels in Gozo alone were recorded in 1545 (Grech 1999: 10) most of which were built prior to the arrival of the Knights of St John 1530, a convenient date used to mark the end of the Medieval period in Malta. These chapels may have been part of a zealous effort to show how closely the freshly converted landowner had embraced the new faith. Over time, the presence of coastal chapels, so clearly visible from the sea, would have left mariners and travellers approaching the island in no doubt as to the spiritual allegiance of its inhabitants. In an area of the Mediterranean, which lay on the border of two opposing ideologies, such a statement would have been of reassurance to those of the same faith, as well an act of defiance, albeit symbolic, to those of an opposing faith.

Besides reflecting a strong Marian devotion amongst the inhabitants on the island of Gozo, the positioning of these churches so near the coast may also shed light on other practices. One must consider that these chapels were built away from the main Medieval settlement at Rabat and close to areas where man maintained contact with the sea. It is possible that these places of worship were erected by locals on the premise that the Blessed Virgin may watch over them whilst out at sea, or as a thanksgiving for deliverance from a storm or corsair attack. A 19th century account of an early modern journey off the coast of Malta gives some insight into how chapels were perceived by locals when in peril at sea. Whilst on a crossing from Malta to Comino a Maltese helmsman realised that the vessel was in imminent danger of being overpowered by some slaves on board. He directed his prayers to St Paul, the Madonna of Mellieha and the Madonna of Qala (Devot ta’ Marija 1893: 94). The saints mentioned reflect some of the coastal chapels en route from Valletta to Comino which were built in prominent places that covered important sections of the journey.

4.2. Saints and the sea in the central Mediterranean The relationship between popular religion and those involved with the sea existed throughout most Christian parts of the western Mediterranean. Nautical charts in Medieval and early modern periods are often depicted with representations of the Madonna, illustrating the importance attached to Marian devotion by those involved with the sea (Astegno 2000: 63). The positioning of churches and chapels dedicated to the Madonna so near the coast may also shed light on other broader and widespread practices in the Mediterranean. The cult of the Blessed Virgin is widespread in both Sicily and Southern Italy. It could well be that those who sailed in this specific area of the central Mediterranean were accustomed to the availability of such

This practice of votive offerings would also continue into early modern times. In Qala, for instance, there exists a chapel dedicated to the Immaculate Conception strategically built overlooking the channel between Malta 38

sanctuaries both as recognisable navigational aids as well as places of worship.

Bibliography Admiralty 1978. Admiralty Hydrographic Department. Admiralty Sailing Directions: Mediterranean Pilot Volume 1, London. Agostiniano G.A. 1728. Nuovo Specchio De Naviganti, Palermo. Astegno C. 2000. La cartografia nautica mediterranea dei secoli XVI e XVII, Genoa. Biadene S. 1990. Carte Da Navigar, portolani e carte nautiche del museo correr 1318-1732, Venice: Marsilio. Barber R. 1998 (ed.), British Myths and Legends, London: The Folio Society. Bruno B. 1999. Economia Maltese in Eta’ Romana e Bizantina: Le Anfore Rinvenute Negli Scavi Della Missione Archeologica Italiana A Malta, Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Pisa. Cagiano De Azevedo M. 1975. Medieval buildings excavated at Tas-Silg and San Pawl Milqi in Malta. In: A.T. Luttrell (ed.), Medieval Malta: Studies on Malta before the Knights, London: British School at Rome, 88-95. Carus-Wilson E.M. 1967. Medieval Merchant Venturers: Collected Studies. London: Methuen. Cassola A. 1992. The Maltese Toponomy in three Ancient Italian Portulans (1296-1490). Al-Masaq Studia Arabo-Islamica Mediterranea International Journal of Arabo-Islamic Mediterranean Studies, Leeds 5, 47-64. Casson L. 1994. Travel in the Ancient World, Princeton: John Hopkins University Press. Casson L. 1995. Ships and Seamanship in the Ancient World, Princeton: John Hopkins University Press. Dingli P. 1999. A Resource from the Sea: A Spatial Study of Salt Pans around the Maltese Islands. Unpublished BA thesis: University of Malta. Delgado J. (ed.) 1997. British Museum Encyclopaedia of Underwater and Maritime Archaeology. London: British Museum. Gambin T. In Press. The Ancient Harbours of Gozo. In: P. Camilleri and T. Gambin (eds), Proceedings of the Conference ‘Maritime Archaeology in Malta 2002, Malta: Archaeology Society of Malta. Gould R. 1997. Shipwreck Anthropology. In: J. Delgado (ed.), British Museum Encyclopaedia of Underwater and Maritime Archaeology. London: British Museum, 377-380. Grech H. and D. Mizzi 1999. Xlendi, A Typical Fishing Village and a Developing Tourist Resort. Unpublished B.Ed thesis: University of Malta. Grech P. 1999. Exploring the Chapels of Gozo, Malta: Progress Press. Grima R. 2002 In Press. Attitudes to the Sea in the Late Neolithic. In P. Camilleri and T. Gambin (eds), Proceedings of the Conference Maritime Archaeology in Malta 2002, Malta: Archaeology Society of Malta. Horden P. and N. Purcell 2000. The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History. Oxford: Blackwell. Hourani G.F. 1995. Arab Seafaring. Princeton: Princeton

These buildings would have been used as references or waypoints throughout the voyage as well as indicators of havens where one could take refuge from a storm or anchor to take on water. The coasts of Sicily and Southern Italy from Reggio to Amalfi are dotted with towns whose chapels or churches are dedicated to, amongst others, the Madonna Porto Salvo and Madonna di Mare. Likewise, many anchorages and harbours of the southern coast of Italy as well as some on the islands off these same coasts are named after the Madonna. These include Cala Santa Maria in Ustica, Santa Maria Salina in the Aeolian Islands, Santa Maria La Scala near Catania and Santa Maria al Bagno in the Gulf of Taranto (Admiralty 1978: 205-265). 5. Conclusion From the Punic sanctuary at Ras il-Wardija to the chapels of Medieval Gozo and the later Baroque churches, it seems that places of worship were used as navigational aids from antiquity until the present. Even in today’s pilot books, the village of Xaghra is noted to have ‘a prominent church with a red dome’ and that of Nadur as having ‘a conspicuous church tower’ (Admiralty 1978: 181). There seems to be continuity in the practice of building of sanctuaries in places of navigational importance. Although there exist no references to or remains of Islamic coastal sanctuaries on Gozo, the remains found at Tas-Silg in Malta show that there must also have been some form of continuation of this practice throughout the Islamic period. Here it is important to note that due to its geographical setting the Maltese Archipelago may have been observed with a sense of wonder approaching mariners and travellers. These were islands that stood at the meeting place of two seas. As the map in figure 5 shows the islands of Malta were perceived and depicted as dividing the seas of Africa and Sicily. During the Middle Ages the chapels may have formed part of a symbolic landscape that informed the observer of the identity of the inhabitants of this peripheral place. Due to their existence on the border of two seas dominated by opposing powers, the islanders must have been keen to illustrate their sense of belonging. One way of doing this was to create clear and visible signs of one’s faith on the landscape. Acknowledgements This paper is dedicated to Mr Nathaniel Cutajar. I thank him for his inspiration. Thanks to Dr A.J. Parker for introducing me to the concept of ‘Maritime Landscapes’ and for his continued guidance. Thanks to Christer Westerdahl for his comments and for providing a copy of his excellent paper ‘Ritual Landscapes’. Thanks also go to Dr A. Ganado for allowing the reproduction of the 1561 map. Thanks to Ann Brysbaert for her patience and to the two persons that reviewed the paper. Last but not least I thank the Malta Maritime Authority whose backing enables the continuation of my research. 39

University Press. Hutchinson G. 1994. Medieval Ships and Shipping. Leicester. Kilin 2000. A Hundred Wayside Chapels of Malta and Gozo. Valletta: Heritage Books. Luttrell A.T. (ed.) 1975. Medieval Malta: Studies on Malta before the Knights, London: British School at Rome. Morton J. 2001. The Role of the Environment in Ancient Greek Seafaring. Brill. Muscat J. 2002. Il-Graffiti Marittimi Maltin. Pieta’: PIN Books. Parker A.J. 1999. A Maritime Cultural Landscape: The Port of Bristol in the Middle Ages. The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 28.4, 323-342. Parker A.J. 2001. Maritime Landscapes. Landscapes 1, 2241. Samut-Tagliaferro A. 1993. The Coastal Fortifications of Gozo and Comino. Valletta: Midsea Books. Scammell G.V. 1981. The World Encompassed, The First European Maritime Empires, c.800-1650, London; New York: Mathuen. Theuma, F. 2002. A View over the Water: The Qala Ship Graffiti in Context. Paper read at the first conference of the Mediterranean Maritime History Network, Malta 2002. Westerdahl C. 1992. The Maritime Cultural Landscape. The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 22, 5-14. Westerdahl C. 2001. Ritual Landscapes. Paper read at the 3rd conference of Maritime Archaeology in the Baltic, Rostock, 2001. Wettinger G. 1982. Agriculture in Malta in the Late Middle Ages. Proceedings of History Week 1981, 1-48. Wettinger G. 1993. Associazone di Studi Malta-Sicilia Centro di Studi Filologici e Linguistici Siciliani, Acta Iuratorum et Consili Civitas et Insulae Maltae. Palermo: Associazione di Studi Malta – Sicilia. Wettinger G. 2000. Place-Names of the Maltese Islands ca.1300-1800. San Gwann: PEG.

40

Figure 1. The Gozo channel as seen from the chapel of the Immaculate Conception in Qala (T. Gambin).

Figure 2. A ship graffito on the exerior wall of the chapel dedicated to the Immaculate Conception in Qala (T. Gambin).

41

Figure 3. Map of Gozo highlighting the position of the coastal chapels in Medieval Gozo (T. Gambin).

Figure 4. A typical coastal landscape devoid of any buildings (T. Gambin). 42

Figure 5. The 16th century Munster map showing the Maltese archipelago as a meeting place of two seas. Coastal chapels are only depicted on the island of Malta (A. Ganado collection). 43

44

The Burial Landscape of Late Bronze Age III Karpathos Mercourios Georgiadis University of Liverpool, School of Archaeology, Classics and Oriental Studies [email protected] Keywords: Karpathos – south-eastern Aegean – landscape dimensional maps, but as an omnipresent factor playing an active role in people’s lives. The spatial approach considers space as part of human action that differs according to the society, group, individual and time in question. People must be placed in their past space so as to understand them as well as the socio-cultural conditions of their time. In this way people become active social and cultural agents, negotiating opposing interests, interacting, choosing, using strategies to overcome problems and manipulating spatial and temporal contexts and meanings.

Abstract The impact of environment and culture in a region are two important variables in the formation of a local character, especially when one is discussing an island. Additionally the degree of interaction, both quantitative and qualitative, with other areas supplements this process. This paper focuses on Karpathos, an island situated in the south-eastern part of the Aegean between Crete and Rhodes. I will look at the burial tradition of the island in order to achieve a better understanding of LB III Karpathos and more importantly the information that its landscape setting can provide us. Thus the character and the extent of interaction between Karpathos and the wider South-eastern Aegean will be assessed.

The daily human action of all individuals form, reform and alter space that in reality is a social product (Tilley 1994: 10). The interaction between humans and the physical world is a multi-level relationship. Tilley (1999: 180) also underlines the fact that places are physical, cultural and historical simultaneously, not separately, as well as being seen, heard, touched, felt and smelled. Bender (1992: 742744) extends this idea by arguing that nature and culture are undivided and consequently the topography is anthropomorphised and mythologised. Therefore the reading of any landscape should seek to understand how people comprehend and operate in their social and cultural setting inside their own temporal and spatial context (Bender 1992: 735).

1. Introduction The purpose of this paper is the appreciation of the geographical and historical setting of Karpathos in relation to the use of the landscape in burial practices during the Mycenaean period. In the region of the South-eastern Aegean the Mycenaean culture appeared with the introduction of chamber tombs as the main burial tradition from the Late Helladic (LH) IIB/IIIA1 period. This new cultural condition will be seen in conjunction to the position of Karpathos between Rhodes and Crete. Moreover the funerary context, will be assessed as far as its landscape context, whilst the ritual and structural characteristics of the tombs will be reviewed. Thus the interaction of environment, culture and agent will be seen and the character of the island will be better understood. Additionally this paper aims to test the hypothesis proposed by Patton (1996: 133-134) that Karpathos during the Late Bronze Age (LB) III period was isolated and characterised by cultural conservatism.

Nevertheless temporality and space are inextricably linked since every generation inherits a landscape and alters it according to new needs, forming an amalgam of new and old. More importantly Barrett (1999: 255-256) believes that the pre-existing meanings in a society serve as a compass in contemporary acts, but the messages of a monument or a landscape may be differently interpreted by both agents and societies (Crumley 1999: 272).

2. The landscape approach

All these indicate that the landscape is never complete, but always under construction. In that sense separating the ‘physical’ from its ‘artificial’ aspects is a futile distinction since landscape is a totality and in its essence a palimpsest (Ingold 1993: 162; Knapp and Ashmore 1999: 1; Olwig 1995: 308; van Dommelen 1999: 277). Landscapes may become arenas of social cooperation, contest and negotiation according to interests of individuals or groups (Bender 1992: 750). Thus understanding the symbolisms in the landscape or decoding them is an important aspect and depends upon the perception and knowledge of contemporary social, political, economic and cultural relations (Bender 1992: 752). The social changes are expected to be reflected in the landscape through the re-use of monuments, abandonment or continuity and perhaps new or different symbolisms attributed to them.

By using landscape in our analysis we will be able to demonstrate the spatial context of the sites under review. This is especially important for this region, where the vast majority of the sites are cemeteries. The landscape approach used here is based on phenomenology and the writings of Heidegger (2000), Bourdieu (1977, 1979) and Foucault (1991). All concentrate their attention on the interrelation of the human agent with space, ideas that have affected recent archaeological thought. Thus since the early 1990s space was no longer treated by some archaeologists as a neutral idea based on two45

Richards (1999) emphasises this through the role of history, landscape and ritual in the case of Egypt for the maintenance of the cosmological and social order. The landscape is a common ground of dwelling of humans, kings, gods and the dead, a cosmos that shares the same landscape and all play their role in the maintenance of cosmic order (Richards 1999: 87).

space can be controlled, not the subjects (Thomas 1993: 93). Other rituals for example, that take place in more marginal areas, or beliefs that are more fluid and difficult to control, pose a threat to the social order (Bradley 2000: 159). Thus landscape can represent order and control and at the same time turmoil, chaos and disorder, depending the context (Children and Nash 1997: 1).

Rituals are a very useful tool in the processes of social reproduction since their performance is not discussed, but protected and preserved as something precious (Bradley 1998: 89). The fundamental social/‘universal’ beliefs are beyond ordinary time, they are timeless and consequently natural, the centre of cosmos and order (Bradley 1998: 89). Nonetheless the continuous use of the same ritual does not necessarily mean stability, as different interpretations and new meanings can be ascribed to pre-existing ones (Bradley 1998: 89). Metaphorical meaning is connected with imagination, images, emotions and subjectivity that exist in the environment, and is fundamental for human communication and interpretative understanding of the world (Tilley 1999: 4). The best way of transmitting these messages is through ritualised actions in specific places at the appropriate time. Thus the burial context becomes a central arena of socio-cultural symbolisms and meanings.

The tomb is integrated in the landscape and at the same time the landscape is encultured by the tomb itself and the artefacts that it contained (Tilley 1995: 78; Nash 1997: 18). The internal space of tombs can be equally important with symbolic values in its design and arrangement, creating a microcosm. The disarticulation of bones or the orientation of the corpse inside the tomb can be indicative of ideas such as the dehumanisation or the process of transforming the deceased to ancestor. At the same time the continuation in use of the same tomb or cemetery could have served as a manifestation of a sequence linking the past with the present (Barrett 1999: 262). Visual contact with monuments is of great importance and allows the viewer to see what is open to view, and more generally he/she has an interaction with the place through movement and senses. Tombs are placed for their visual effect on the landscape, as a prominent topographic entity in some cases or clearly demarcated in one specific area (Nash 1997: 21). For Nash (1997: 17) the orientation of tombs is quite important, as their passage and chamber alignment might be connected to prominent landscape features such as rivers, streams, valleys, uplands, lowlands, ridges, spurs, hills or mountains. Tomb form, orientation, its geographical setting and the artefacts in it connect death, time and social conditions (Rault 1997: 5). In the case of successive deposition of the deceased, the rearrangement of the bones in tombs was of great significance transforming the deceased to anonymous, but common ancestors.

Death is not only a physical reality, but also a social and religious transition to a new state (Damm 1991: 43; Edmonds 1999: 64). Society is reorganized and new relationships among the individuals are created, since power, authority and social bonds are not simply inherited after the death of a person, as property and descent are in some cases (Buikstra and Charles 1999: 204-205). Kinshared tombs and cemeteries serve as a repository of longterm memory for the social group and underline duration and continuity through the living memory of the ancestors (Edmonds 1999: 61). Architecture can relate time and space in people’s life, a significant point of reference whose manipulation allows control and power (Richards 1995: 148-149). Access is limited in some tombs, where long and low entrance passages link the outside with the inside. The small dimensions restrict movement and visual contact with the inside, emphasising secrecy and limited accessibility in these tombs (Richards 1995: 151; Tilley 1995: 82). Nevertheless the attempts to control the reading of a monument are limited, since its significance does not remain the same through time, but is reinterpreted (Bradley 2000: 158).

Solar movement and orientation were sometimes highly symbolic for the deceased and the community (Nash 1997: 22). Rivers and the seacoast are points of reference and are in some cases related to tombs by their axes (Nash 1997: 20; Rault 1997: 15; Tilley 1995: 59). However it must be noted that the visibility of the sea is not necessarily related to the proximity of the monument to the sea (Tilley 1994: 93). The association of the deceased with the sea is common to many cultures, although it can be expressed in very different ways (Bradley 2000: 135). 3. The landscape of Karpathos

Restricted access is related to power over rather than power to; in other words the control of landscape through visual access creates inequalities (Children and Nash 1997: 3). This can be viewed in the control of funerary space through access to restrictions imposed upon it or restriction to it, re-creating or re-organising social relations, underlining the existence of hierarchies (Kirk 1993: 199). Space can be controlled, although every participant will not understand the same thing. Nonetheless the channelling of bodily action is a way of influencing the reading and interpretation of space (Thomas 1993: 79). Ultimately

Karpathos is situated in the south/south-eastern part of the Aegean between Crete and Rhodes (Fig. 1). It has a north/south axis and is of medium size for an Aegean island (301km2). The island was occupied at least since the final Neolithic period and continued to be so during the Early Bronze Age (Sampson 1987: 107-108, 117). From the Middle Bronze and early Late Bronze Age a number of finds indicate the increase of interaction and the close ties between Karpathos and Crete. Although no proper excavation has taken place a number of sites have 46

produced a large quantity of Minoan sherds both imported and locally made (Melas 1985: 173-176; Patton 1996: 161).

suggests that the cemetery area was quite close to the settlement to the south-west, whilst to the south-east of the settlement the Tsaousopoulos tomb was situated.

From the LH IIB period more Mycenaean pottery appeared in the South-eastern Aegean along with the first chamber tombs. During the Late Minoan (LM)/Late Helladic (LH) IIIA1 period chamber tombs started appearing on Karpathos for the first time. Chamber tombs have so far been reported at five sites across the island and continued to be used at least until the LM/LH IIIB period (Fig. 2).

In the northern part of the island a number of finds were excavated and taken to the British Museum from a chamber tomb excavated in the Diafani region (Fig. 2). Hope Simpson and Lazenby (1962: 161; Melas 1985: 43) have proposed that this tomb was in the Kambi site, five hundred metres south-east of Diafani village. There the shape of the hill resembles a promontory bounded by ravines and is rather steep from the west and its slopes are relatively fertile. To the north-west of the hill a stream forms an area that could have been part of the settlement and the cemetery (Melas 1985: 44). Diafani offers a good anchorage in the northern part of the island, as well as access to the western part of the island.

At the site of Tou Stavrou to Kefali (Fig. 2), in the southern part of the island, a single chamber tomb has been found (Melas 1985: 32). It is placed below the north summit of a low hill, facing a deep ravine with a stream and a low hill. The top of the hill is visible to the south as well as part of the extensive southern plain limited by the sea. The hill slopes can be viewed to the west, whilst to the east of the tomb the stream, the gentle slopes of the hills and a limited arable land are seen. The vegetation in the area around is low and relatively fertile.

A chamber tomb has recently been found (Karantzali pers. comm.) at the site of Avlona (Fig. 2) in the north of the island on the west coast. The specific details of the site are unknown as it was excavated by the local community. The area around Avlona is the most fertile in the north of the island (Melas 1985: 44). Almost two kilometres north of Avlona is the site of Brykous, where Hope Simpson and Lazenby (1962: 161-162) recovered evidence of LB III occupation. The site is on a rocky promontory forming a good harbour that could have easily served the local settlement as much as that of Avlona.

On the road that connects Menetes with Arkassa at the site of Vonies (Fig. 2), a chamber tomb was found (Melas 1985: 39; Zachariadou 1978: 249). A low hill dominates to the south and its slope can be seen to the east. To the west low hills and a limited lowland area is visible, whilst to the north, where the dromos faced, a small fertile valley extends limited by low hills. This area has fig, pine and olive trees as well as a close access to Arkassa and its harbours.

4. The architectural remains and the burial traditions From the tombs identified so far on Karpathos only two chamber tombs have been excavated systematically (Charitonidis 1961/ 1962 2; Zachariadou 1978). Even these two were found by locals and many of their features were destroyed before any documentation could take place.

Pigadia seems to have been the capital of the island since antiquity, providing a good anchorage below an acropolis, with small valleys around it (Fig. 2). There is evidence that a large cemetery existed there during the LB III period, supporting the hypothesis that this site was the centre of the island in that era (Hope Simpson and Lazenby 1962: 159). Melas (1985: 28) offers information about a chamber tomb at the Diakonis’ Hotel plot on the lower part of the Embasi hill. The tomb seemed to have a north orientation looking towards a gentle slope and mainly to the seascape that dominates the scenery. The local hill limits the view to the south, while the fertile gentle slopes to the east and west can be partially seen. In the Makelli area, just to the south-east side of Embasi hill, several tombs have been allegedly found by locals (Melas 1985: 28). Only one of these tombs has been published by Charitonidis (1961/1962: 32). It was carved in a flat part below the Embasi hill and had an orientation towards the east, where the gentle slopes of the hills were visible, limited by the acropolis and Sisamos hill. To the north the sea dominates the view and to the south further gentle slopes can be partly seen. The Embasi hill dominates the scenery to the west. Hope Simpson and Lazenby (1962: 160) have reported another chamber tomb almost a hundred metres south of the Acropolis hill, at the Tsaousopoulos house, but no more information is provided. Hope Simpson and Lazenby (1962: 160; 1970: 68-9) have gathered a number of LH III sherds around the Xenona Hotel plot, perhaps signifying part of the Late Bronze Age settlement. This

The tombs at Makelli and Vonies (Fig. 2) were most probably constructed in the LM/LH IIIA1 period and were in continuous use until LM/LH IIIB. As for their dromoi, only that of the Makelli tomb was partly excavated. It had a width of 1.2m, and the chamber height of the same tomb was measured at 1.5m. Moreover no stone wall blocking the stomion has been reported in any of the tombs. The chamber shape of both of these tombs was circular with the first being 6.28m² and the latter 7.07m² in size. These appear to be relatively large when compared with other tombs in the south-eastern Aegean. From the available data it is clear that of the five cemetery sites on the island four produced a single chamber tomb. Nonetheless this is partly due to the fact that none was systematically excavated and none of the areas was surveyed thoroughly. Pigadia is the exception, where a number of tombs have been reported (Melas 1985: 28-30). It is possible that either two clusters of tombs existed, one to the east close to the acropolis and one to the west around the Embasi hill, or that the cemetery surrounded the whole settlement and was located at its edges. If the first case is confirmed a close parallel would come from Rhodes, Kos and Muskebi, while if the latter is confirmed it seems 47

rather than different ethnic elements. This is reinforced, in my opinion, by the coexistence of these customs since all are expressed in the same burial context perhaps symbolising the same funerary beliefs. It is also striking that although Karpathos is closer to eastern Crete and Palaikastro in particular, the tombs in use seem canonically Mycenaean, from LH IIIA1, and are not cave tombs as in Palaikastro and Olous (Bosanquet 1901/1902 2; Dawkins 1904/1905; 1905/1906; Kanta 2001: 60). As for the disposal of the deceased, the lack of primary burial and the practice of secondary treatment at Makelli underlines a good knowledge of the Mycenaean tradition. Perhaps the role of communal burials and the scattering of the bones inside the tombs indicate the new role attributed to ancestors in the social structure that was formed in the LB III period. Additionally it seems that family or kin is more important in this period as the character of the tombs testify, indicating their importance in the socio-political structure of this period on the island. This underlines that Karpathos was following the changes that are attested in the whole south-eastern Aegean and was in close contact to the whole region.

closer to Cretan practices and more specifically the ones seen at Knossos (Hood 1981: 5-6; Kanta 1980: 30) and Palaikastro (Kanta 1980: 193; Pini 1968: 89). It still remains unclear to what extent the chamber tombs were used by the local population. Nevertheless the number of tombs recovered at Pigadia perhaps suggests a widespread use of this kind of tomb as the main disposal method. As far as the internal arrangement in the tombs is concerned, from the available information from Karpathos it can be said that on average two burials are recovered per tomb (median two), with 36.4 pots (median 15) and four small finds (median two). The deliberate breaking of pottery in the dromos is not reported, but as stated earlier, the dromoi were not systematically excavated. Inside the chambers no primary burial was found in situ and instead the bones were scattered, indicating the practice of secondary treatment. At Tou Stavrou to Kephali the deceased was most probably placed inside an amphoroid krater, but it is unclear whether this was an inhumation or a cremation. Nonetheless at Vonies a better picture of the local funerary traditions can be seen, since a larnax containing bones was recovered with the head of the deceased placed to the south along with pottery offerings. The type of larnax and its widespread use in burials, ranging from EM to LM III, come from Crete. However on the west side of the Vonies tomb an ash layer was found containing bones and sherds. It was probably the remains of a cremation, but the state of its recovery does not allow us to be conclusive. If this were indeed a cremation it is one of the earliest in the Aegean, since the tomb was in use from LM/LH IIIA1 to LM/LH IIIB. The tradition of cremation seems to come from central Anatolia and Troy to the Mycenaean world affecting first the south-eastern Aegean and Karpathos in particular, that were geographically closer (Melas 1984: 24-33; 2001: 17).

All these elements allow us to gain a better understanding of the character of the island than we would if treating each characteristic individually. The picture presented here is one that derives from the burial context, which may or may not correspond entirely with that of the beliefs and everyday life of the contemporary people. Despite the limited evidence it is clear that Cretan, Mycenaean and Anatolian elements of different character and importance coexisted at Karpathos creating a hybrid cultural unity. This local character was the result of cultural interaction and the geographical setting of the island rather than being the result of different ethnic groups living on the island (Fig. 1). Furthermore the evidence argues against the idea that the island was merely a cultural or political Cretan protectorate. Thus it seems that the characterisation of Karpathos as an example of insular conservatism during the LB III period is rather superficial (contra Patton 1996: 133-134). Although information from the settlements is much needed, the burial context suggests the strong local character and wide interaction of Karpathos during the Late Bronze Age III period.

5. Conclusions Karpathos is an island of special interest with material that allows us to assess the role of the island through its burial context. Although in most cases the relationship between cemetery and settlement is unknown, the example of Pigadia testifies to their close association and proximity. The landscape surrounding Tou Stavrou to Kefali, Vonies, and Avlona seems to indicate interest in inland and lowland areas that are good for occupation and have arable land. In contrast the seascape coexists with the lowlands at Diafani and most importantly at Pigadia, underlining the role of the sea in the case of these sites. These landscape characteristics are not unique, but parallels to these preferences can be found on Rhodes.

Acknowledgements Many thanks are owed to my supervisor Prof. C.B. Mee for his comments and advise, to Dr. A. Karnava, Eva and Sophia Roussaki for their help in my fieldwork on Karpathos, as well as Dr. E. Karantzali and Dr. T. Marketou for their encouragement. Bibliography Ashmore W. and A.B. Knapp (eds) 1999. Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary Perspectives, Oxford: Blackwell Barrett J.C. 1999. The mythical landscapes of the British Iron Age. In: W. Ashmore and A.B. Knapp (eds) Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary Perspectives, Oxford: Blackwell, 253-265.

The presence and practice of cremation on the island is highly probable. Moreover the existence of a larnax in tombs reveals a wide and deep cultural interaction encompassing Anatolia and Crete. The penetration of different burial traditions reveals the degree of interaction, 48

Bender B. 1992. Theorising landscape, and the prehistoric landscapes of Stonehenge. MAN 27, 735-755. B. Bender (ed.) 1995. Landscape Politics and Perspectives, Oxford: Berg. Bosanquet R.C. 1901/1902. Excavations at Palaikastro I. Annual of the British School at Athens 8, 286-316. Bourdieu P. 1977 (translated by R. Nice). Outline of A Theory of Practice, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bourdieu P. 1979 (translated by R. Nice). Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, London: Routledge. Bradley R. 1998. The Significance of Monuments: On the Shaping of Human Experience in Neolithic and Bronze Age Europe, London: Routledge. Bradley R. 2000. An Archaeology on Natural Places, London: Routledge. Buikstra J.E. and D.K. Charles 1999. Centering the ancestors: cemeteries, mounds, and sacred landscapes of the ancient North American Midcontinent. In: W. Ashmore and A.B. Knapp (eds) Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary Perspectives, Oxford: Blackwell, 201-228. Charitonidis S.I. 1961/2. Thalamoeidis taphos Karpathou. Archaeologikon Deltion 17 Meletai, 32-76. Children G. and G. Nash 1997. Establishing a discourse: the language of landscape. In: G. Nash (ed.), Semiotics of Landscape: Archaeology of Mind, (British Archaeological Reports International Series 661), Oxford: BAR Publishing, 1-4. Crumley C.L. 1999. Sacred Landscapes: Constructed and conceptualised. In: W. Ashmore and A.B. Knapp (eds), Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary perspectives, Oxford: Blackwell, 269-276. Damm C.B. 1991. Burying the Past: An Example of Social Transformation in the Danish Neolithic. In: P. Garwood, D. Jennings, R. Skeates and J. Toms (eds), Sacred and Profane Oxford: Oxford University Press, 43-49. Dawkins R.M. 1904/5. Excavations at Palaikastro iv. Annual of the British School at Athens 11, 258-92. Dawkins R. M. 1905/6. Excavations at Palaikastro v. Annual of the British School at Athens 12, 1-8. Edmonds M. 1999. Ancestral Geographies of the Neolithic: Landscapes, Monuments and Memory, London: Routledge. Foucault M. 1991 (translated by A. Sheridan). Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, London: Penguin. Garwood P., D. Jennings, R. Skeates and J. Toms (eds) 1991. Sacred and Profane Oxford: Oxford University Press Heidegger M. 2000 (translated by J. Macquarrie and E. Robinson). Being and Time, Oxford: Blackwell. Hood M.S.F. 1981. Archaeological Survey of the Knossos Area, London: British School at Athens. Hope Simpson R. and J.F. Lazenby 1962. Notes from the Dodecanese. Annual of the British School at Athens 57, 154-175. Hope Simpson R. and J.F. Lazenby 1970. Notes from the Dodecanese ii. Annual of the British School at

Athens 65, 47-77. Ingold T. 1993. The temporality of the landscape. World Archaeology 25, 152-174. Kanta A. 1980. The Late Minoan III Period in Crete, A Survey of Sites, Pottery and their Distribution, (Studies In Mediterranean Archaeology 58), Göteborg. Kanta A. 2001. The cremation of Olous and the custom of cremation in Bronze Age Crete. In: N.C. Stampolidis (ed.), Kauseis Stin Epohi tou Halkou kai tin Proimi Epohi tou Sidirou, Athens: Mesogeiaki Archaeologiki Etairia, 59-68. Kirk T. 1993. Space, Subjectivity, Power and Hegemony: Megaliths and long mounds in earlier Neolithic Brittany. In: C. Tilley (ed.), Interpretative Archaeology, Oxford: Berg, 181-223. Knapp A.B. and W. Ashmore 1999. Archaeological Landscapes: Constructed, Conceptualized, Ideational. In: W. Ashmore and A.B. Knapp (eds), Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary Perspectives, Oxford: Blackwell, 1-30. Mee C.B. 1975. The Dodecanese in the Bronze Age, vol. 12, Unpublished PhD Thesis: University of London. Melas E.M. 1984. The origins of Aegean cremation. Anthropoligika 5: 21-36. Melas E.M. 1985. The Islands of Karpathos, Saros and Kasos in the Neolithic and Bronze Age, (Studies In Mediterranean Archaeology 68), Göteborg. Melas E.M. 2001. Kauseis nekron: pros mia archaeologia phobou In: N.C. Stampolidis (ed.), Kauseis stin Epohi tou Halkou kai tin Proimi Epohi tou, Athens: Mesogeiaki Archaeologiki Etairia, 15-29. Nash G. 1997. Monumentality and the Landscape: the Possible Symbolic and Political Distribution of Long Chambered Tombs around the Black Mountains, Central Wales. In: G. Nash (ed.), Semiotics of Landscape: Archaeology of Mind, (British Archaeological Reports Int. Series 661), Oxford: Montgomery, J., Budd, P. and Evans, J. 2000., 17-29. Nash G. (ed.) 1997. Semiotics of Landscape: Archaeology of Mind, (British Archaeological Reports Int. Series 661), Oxford: BAR Publishing. Olwig K.R. 1995. Sexual Cosmology: Nation and Landscape at the Conceptual Interstices of Nature and Culture; or, What Does Landscape Really Mean? In: B. Bender (ed.), Landscape Politics and Perspectives, Oxford: Berg, 307-343. Patton M. 1996. Islands in Time: Island Sociogeography and Mediterranean Prehistory, London: Routledge. Pini I. 1968. Beiträge zur Minoischen Gräberkunde, Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag. Rainbird P. 1999. Islands Out of Time: Towards a Critique of Island Archaeology. JMA 12, 216-34. Rault S. 1997. From Anneville to Zedes: a Ritual Seascape? Megaliths and Long-Distance Contacts in Western Europe. In: G. Nash (ed.), Semiotics of Landscape: Archaeology of Mind, (British Archaeological Reports International Series 661), Oxford: BAR Publishing, 5-16. 49

Richards

C. 1995. Monumental Choreography: Architecture and spatial representation in late Neolithic Orkney. In: B. Bender (ed.), Landscape Politics and Perspectives, Oxford: Berg, 143-178. Richards J.E. 1999. Conceptual Landscapes in the Egyptian Nile Valley. In: W. Ashmore and A.B. Knapp (eds), Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary Perspectives, Oxford: Blackwell, 83-100. Sampson A. 1987. I Neolithiki Periodos sta Dodekanisa, Athens: Ekdosi tou Tameiou Archaeologikon Poron kai Apallotrioseon. Stampolidis N.C. (ed.) 2001. Kauseis stin Epohi tou Halkou kai tin Proimi Epohi tou Sidirou, Athens: Mesogeiaki Archaeologiki Etairia. Thomas J. 1993. The Hermeneutics of Megalithic Space. In: C. Tilley (ed.), Interpretative Archaeology, Oxford: Berg, 73-97. Tilley C. 1994. A Phenomenology of Landscape, Oxford: Berg. Tilley C. 1995. Art, Architecture, Landscape [Neolithic Sweden]. In: B. Bender (ed.), Landscape Politics and Perspectives, Oxford: Berg, 49-84. Tilley C. 1999. Metaphor and Material Culture, Oxford: Blackwell. Tilley C. (ed.) 1993. Interpretative Archaeology, Oxford: Berg. van Dommelen P. 1999. Exploring Everyday Places and Cosmologies. In: W. Ashmore and A.B. Knapp (eds), Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary Perspectives, Oxford: Blackwell, 277-285. Zachariadou O. 1978. Thalamoeidis taphos stin Arkasa Karpithou. Archaeologikon Deltion 33 Meletai: 249-295.

50

Figure 1 : the South-Eastern Aegean

51

Figure 2 : Karpathos: the LB III sites

52

Constructing the Memory of the Persian Wars in Athens Astrid Lindenlauf German Archaeological Institute, Athens, Greece [email protected] Keywords: Athens – Persian Wars – memory hoplite society, yet other aspects, such as the fall of Miletos and the destruction of Athens in 480 and 479 BC (but recently Ferrari 2002), have been neglected. Consequently, I will emphasise the perception of the latter events and touch upon the construction of the former only briefly. Owing to the nature of data, attempts to reconstruct the collective mental life of the inhabitants of Athens is primarily based on the archaeological record.

Abstract For nearly half a century, several Greek city-states were involved in a series of wars against the Achaemenid Empire which have become known to us as the Persian Wars. This paper examines the way the Athenians actively constructed the memory of the Persian Wars, a narrative which encompassed episodes as diverse as defeats, victories and the destruction of cities across time. It discusses which aspects the Athenians considered worthy to memorialise, and which facets of the Persian Wars, by exclusion, they chose to suppress. I will focus on potentially negative events such as the Ionian Revolt and the destruction of Athens in 480 and 479 BC, rather than on the victorious battles which have already received much scholarly attention.

2. Aspects of the Persian Wars and their remembrance 2.1 The fall of Miletos and the Ionian revolt (c. 500-494 BC)

1. Introduction

The great confrontation between Greeks and Persians began about 500 BC, when the Greek city-states of Asia Minor revolted against the Persian Empire. Among other Greek poleis, Athens and Eretria sent ships to support Miletos, the centre of the revolt, and took part in the destruction of Sardis in 498 BC. This Ionian revolt was a short-term failure, as the combined Greek forces were beaten in the crucial naval battle of Lade in 495 BC. Greek cities, most notably Miletos, were sacked and their inhabitants slaughtered or sold into slavery. In his account of Phrynichos (VI.21) Herodotus notes that the Athenians were so deeply touched by the fall of Miletos that the mere representation of the Ionian revolt on stage could cause a whole theatre audience to break out in tears. The polis authorities, therefore, prohibited any reminder of this calamity for all time and obliged Phrynichos to pay a fine of 1,000 drachmae as a kind of compensation for communal suffering.

The past played a significant rôle in ancient Greece. That Greek communities were concerned with their history can be deduced from the works of Herodotus and Thucydides who, among others, wrote history in the modern sense of the word (Schnapp 1996: 43-51) and the phenomenon of Archaism (Rhodes 1995: 151-152). Ancient Greeks were aware that the knowledge of past times, cities, objects, peoples and heroes were only preserved through memory. This consciousness of memory was clearly expressed by Herodotus (cf. Linders 1996) and, more analytically, by Aristotle (cf. Forty 1999: 2-6). The degree to which individuals and states engaged in the creation of memory can be deduced from their investment in matters of cultural and iconic memory (e.g. Gehrke 1994; Hölkeskamp 2001: 331, 335), and the removal of honorary statues from public spaces of remembrance as a punishment (e.g. Lykurgos, Leokrat. 117).

Herodotus’ historical account is interesting for two reasons. It documents that the Athenian government took active steps in suppressing the memory of the first phase of the Persian Wars. By permanently excluding the disastrous Athenian failure from the narrative of the Persian Wars, Athenians de facto denied any active involvement in the events that eventually led to the Persian invasions of mainland Greece and the sack of Athens. This obscuring of cause and effect, together with Herodotus’ non-political, emotional explanation for such manipulation gave rise to the view that Athens was a victim of Persian barbarity, first expressed in the Oath of Plataiai (cf. 2.3.1, 2.3.1.3) and frequently repeated by European scholars even today (cf. Lindenlauf 1997: 81).

The reception of historical events across time and the process of history-making will be examined in this paper in respect to one particular chapter in the history of Athens, the Persian Wars (c. 500-449 BC). I will analyse the construction of the story of the Persian Wars in Athens with a view to discussing which events out of the immense pool of information, events and images the Athenians considered worthy to memorialise and which aspects, by exclusion, they chose to suppress. Special emphasis will be placed on the re-crafting of the Persian Wars in Athens across time, since the selective evocation of the past is guided by people’s interests and future plans. In addition, I will discuss the rôle of material culture in the deliberate construction, negotiation and manipulation of communal memory. The reception of certain aspects of the Persian Wars has received much scholarly attention, for example the attitudes towards victorious battles and military encounters which were important for the self-image of a

2.2 Commemorable battles (490-460 BC) Of the two Persian invasions, the first launched by Darius in 492 BC and the second ten years later by his successor 53

the Greco-Persian Wars. The Athenians no longer understood and interpreted the triumphs over Darius and Xerxes in practical or logistic terms, but rather in religious and moral terms. Consequently, they reduced the complex story of the Persian Wars to an archetypal narrative, a battle between good and bad, man and woman, citizen and wild animal, free and servant, subject and object, justice and violence, law and disorder, etc. (Castriota 1992: 12; Hölscher 1998b: 176-180).

Xerxes in 480/479 BC, it is the battles of Marathon (490 BC), Thermophylae (480 BC, Salamis (480 BC), Plataia (479 BC) and later at the Eurymedon (460 BC) that were kept alive in the memory of the city-states fighting on the Greek side. Whilst the battle at Thermophylae became celebrated in Greek literature as an example of heroic resistance against great odds, the other battles glorified the defeat of the Persian army. Each of the victorious battles were commemorated in a number of ways at various places, recalling either the locality of the victory or honouring the parties involved. Marathon, for example, was commemorated with a festival and ceremonies on the former battlefield (Gould 2001: 417). The memorials to the dead warriors on the battlefields and in the cities reminded the survivors to whom they owed their freedom. Other monuments drew attention to the crucial rôle of military leaders such as Themistokles or Miltiades in the successful defeat of the Persians. Thus, the painting by Mikon or Panainos in the Stoa Poikile in the Athenian agora glorified Miltiades’ rôle in the battle of Marathon (Castriota 1992; Miller 1997: 6 with n.15). Likewise, divine support was acknowledged through dedications to the gods, ranging from war booty to monuments financed by spoils and cash (e.g. Gauer 1968; Schneider and Höcker 2001: 105). Such monuments included over-life-size metal statues, such as the statue of Athena Promachos on the Acropolis. This statue, the site of the base of which is marked on figure 2 (Korres 1996: 11; cf. Rhodes 1995: 110), glorified both victorious Athens and its patron goddess Athena. Entire buildings were also used as monuments, as has been suggested for the socalled Older Parthenon (cf. Fig. 2, no. 1; Rhodes 1995: 30).

2.3 Destructions of Athens (480 and 479 BC) When Xerxes’ army withdrew from Athens in 479 BC it looted and burned the Acropolis, burning also the lower city, and demolishing the fortification walls, sanctuaries and houses. There remained only a few short stretches of the city walls and some of the houses in which highranking Persians had been quartered (Thompson 1981: 344). Owing to the state of the evidence (Tölle-Kastenbein 1983: 581-582 with n. 74), the reconstruction of the treatment of Persian debris in post-war Athens is restricted to the following three places: the Acropolis, the agora and adjacent private houses, and the Kerameikos outside the city-wall (cf. Fig. 1 (Connolly and Dodge 1998: 88-89)). These public places differed in their primary function. The Acropolis was the main sanctuary of Athens, dominating its urban landscape, whilst the agora was the civic and commercial heart of the ancient city, yet also with space for related religious activities. The Kerameikos hosted workshops, graves, and a brothel and was the starting point of the main festival of Athens, the Panathenaia. 2.3.1 The Acropolis Although the treatment of Persian debris after the second destruction of the Acropolis in 479 BC is well documented, the chronology of the post-war transformation of the Acropolis is still quite obscure. I will present my assessment of the events by first critically discussing earlier views, and will then attempt a more interpretive approach, which will enable me to distinguish three significant phases (cf. 2.3.1.1-3).

The perception of successful military operations was revised over the course of time. Before 460 BC, all battles that contributed to the decisive victory over the powerful oriental empire were considered equally important for the Athenians. In the 460s, it suited Athens to play up the significance of the battle of Marathon by recalling that the earliest successful victory against the Persians was fought almost single-handed by the Athenians (Miller 1997: 32; Hölkeskamp 2001). By then, the Greek city-states, including Athens and Sparta, were no longer united in the communal effort against the Persians, but competed openly between each other over their rôle in the Persian Wars (Hölscher 1998a: 88-97). The importance of the Persian Wars in the construction of the identity of different poleis can be deduced by the replacement of primary tropaia (trophies) with more permanent monuments in stone (Hölscher 1998b: 157) and the immense investments made in public monuments that ostensibly commemorated the events that brought them into being (Gauer 1968). Given this historical context, Athenian investment in the monumental memory of the battle of Marathon up to a full generation after 490 BC (Miller 1997: 31) and the official story that the booty taken at Marathon had defrayed the expenses for the construction of the statue of Athena Promachos – although these expenses had most likely been covered by the booty of the battle of the Eurymedon in the early 460s (Miller 1997: 39-40) - make perfect sense. The 460s also mark another turning point in the perception of

It is still disputed as to precisely when the pre-Persian building material was ostensibly employed to construct sections of the citadel wall. The sections under discussion include the lower part of the south citadel wall, as can be seen in Figure 2, no. 7, and two sections of the Acropolis wall facing the agora. One of the latter was reconstructed in part from more than 40 unfluted column drums of the half-finished Older Parthenon, as can be seen in Figures 2 (no. 8) and 3 (German Archaeological Institute, Hege 2285), whilst the other was constructed from the architrave, frieze, and cornice of the so-called Dörpfeld temple set in their correct positions relative to one another at the top of the wall, as can be seen in Figures 2 (no. 9) and 4 (German Archaeological Institute, Hege 1810). I follow the general opinion that the north sections were built under Themistokles or Kimon, whilst the south citadel wall was erected under Kimon or Perikles (cf. Lindenlauf 1997: 71-73; Hurwit 1999: 313; add Lambrinoudakis 1999). The remaining Persian debris, 54

of the earliest, if not the earliest reminder of the destruction of Athens. To the Persians, they might have been a symbol of the unbroken force of Athens, similar to the idea underlying Herodotus’ olive-tree story (cf. section 2.3.1.2. below). To the Athenians, they may have acted as an incentive to fight and to defend the homeland.

which consisted of ash, potsherds and sculptural and architectural fragments was removed from sight and served as levelling and construction fill. The exact date of these deposits is not known, but their contents suggest that they resulted from small-scale clean-up episodes lasting well into the Periklean restoration programme (Hurwit 1989: 41).

It is safe to assume that the ruins and the patchwork sections of the north citadel wall had acquired a negative symbolic meaning by 460 BC, as the Persian Wars were now discussed and explained in terms of binary oppositions, human flaws and weakness being attributed to the Persians and good and noble qualities to the Athenians, as well as the superiority of Hellenic ethos over that of foreigners (cf. 2.2.). In this larger ideological construct, the concepts of hybris (lack of restraint) and sophrosyne (temperance) played a key role (Castriota 1992: 17-28, 35; Ferrari 2002: 30) and it is likely therefore that they were also applied to the Persian debris of the Acropolis. The ruins would not have been understood and interpreted in terms of Persian revenge, but as symbols of the arrogant and unrestrained aggression of Asiatic imperialism and lawless violence. This version of the history presents a propagandistically-distorted vision of the past, as the Athenians themselves used the destruction of sacred sites as a military strategy (cf. Raaflaub 1998: 17).

It has become a commonplace that the destroyed religious heart of Athens served at some point as a war memorial. Modern scholars, however, disagree on two points: (1) the original meaning attributed to the ruins in antiquity; and (2) precisely when the destroyed temples and the north citadel wall came to be conceived of as consciously constructed memorials. As to the first point, modern authors have viewed the patchwork walls (e.g. Kreutz 2001: 62) and the destroyed temples (e.g. Ferrari 2002: 11) as war memorials. These meanings are regarded as universal and self-evident, and are stated without further reference to the ancient sources or a historical and contextual analysis. As to the second point, the so-called Oath of Plataia (said to have been sworn by the Greek allies on the battlefield and to have contained a passage prohibiting the rebuilding of destroyed temples) and the Kallias Decree (a treaty with the Persian king on the occasion of the Peace of Kallias, which formally annulled the ban thus enabling Perikles to initiate the re-building of the Acropolis) have frequently been referred to by those favouring the view that the image of the ruined Acropolis was developed as a war symbol even before the temple of Athena lay in ruins (e.g. Kreutz 2001; Ferrari 2002: 26). This conclusion has been seriously called into question by those scholars who believe that the Oath of Plataia was a creation of the fourth century (e.g. Kreutz 2001: 58-59). In my opinion, Siewert’s (1972) study in favour for the Oath of Plataia as a fourth-century document is still the most detailed and conclusive study on this subject, and it has become even more convincing in the light of Johannson’s recent article (2001: 91-92) questioning the authenticity of other fourth-century texts on the glorious days of Athens.

2.3.1.2 Periklean monumental reconstruction (c. 449406 BC) A generation after the Persian sacks, the entire Acropolis was rebuilt except for the citadel walls and the so-called Dörpfeld temple, as can be seen in Figure 2 (no. 2; cf. Ferrari 2002: esp. 11). This is the first unequivocal evidence that ruins of the Persian Wars were being constituted as a historical memorial, comparable to the Heraion of Athens and the sanctuary of Apollo in Abai (Kreutz 2001: 62) as well as the conspicuously-displayed damaged architectural features associated with the Trojan War in third-century Troy (Rose 1999: 42). Many PrePersian architectural features were replaced by new ones on the Athenian Acropolis in the course of the so-called Periklean building programme, for example the Older Parthenon by the Parthenon, the early-fifth-century gateway by the Propylaia, and the shrine of Athena Nike by the Nike Temple. Yet, it is wrong to refer to this scheme as a bizarre case of counter-iconoclasm - the conscious remaking of something in order to forget - for two reasons. Firstly, even the successors respected the destroyed buildings (Rhodes 1995: 28, 41-42, 134; Ferrari 2002: 21-23). Secondly, the ruins of the Persian sacks were an integrated part of the new landscape of the Acropolis and thus of the vision of Athens as ‘hero of Greece and victor over the Persians’ (Rhodes 1995: 43). Consequently, it seems more correct to argue with Ferrari (2002: 27-28) that Perikles intended to alter the meaning of the ruins, and thus the meaning of the Persian sacks. Seen against the background of the monumental memory of the Persian Wars and their iconography - such as the mythic transformation of the wars (Castriota 1992), the Temple of Greek Victory, and the statue of Athena Promachos - the ruins functioned as the starting-point of Athens’

2.3.1.1 479-448 BC According to literary and archaeological sources, Athens was dominated by a ruined Acropolis for two decades. Thus, the ruined temple provided the setting for the cult of Athena and was therefore a crucial element of the religious life of Athens, in addition to housing the booty from the Persian Wars (such as ropes from the legendary Pontosbridge over the Hellespont, the throne of Xerxes and the tropaia of the Persian generals; Schneider and Höcker 2001: 105, 156 Fig. 165). Some Athenians might have explained the sacks in terms of Zeus’s will (Gauer 1994: 179, 182). Considering the representation of the Greeks and Persians until 460 BC, it is likely that others viewed simply the ruins as the manifestation of the Persian destruction. For the survivors, they may have evoked a sense of threat (Rhodes 1995: 32) or hatred (cf. Pausanias X.35.2 for the Athenian temple of Hera). If the north sections of the citadel wall were constructed under Themistokles, then these represent one 55

remarkable development, documenting its rise from the ashes into a powerful and wealthy city-state, the sole champion of the anti-Persian League, the funds of which had been transferred from Delos to Athens in 454. In this respect, their symbolic meaning was probably similar to that of Athena’s burnt olive-tree, her gift to the city, which Herodotus (VIII.55) says recovered in spite of its charred condition (cf. Ferrari 2002: 30). When the voices critical of Athens’ style of leadership in the anti-Persian League became louder, the ruins probably also served as a kind of legitimation and justification for the city’s leading rôle.

Europe (e.g. Gauer 1994: 168, 169). 2.3.2 The agora In the course of the rebuilding, the destroyed buildings were stripped of stonework down to their lowest foundations. A building in the southwest corner was patched up out of reused building material, evidently to meet the urgent daily needs of the Councillors. But the first substantial new civic buildings all appear to come somewhat later (Knell 2000: 63-89): the Old Boulouterion, then the Tholos which took the place of the Archaic complex, the Pnyx in the first period, probably also the Heliaia in its earliest monumental form, and the Stoa Basileios. The houses and shops bordering the agora seem to have been rebuilt within the first half of the fifth century (Thompson 1981: 345). They were mostly restored along much the same lines as their predecessors. Alongside the construction work, the agora was cleared on a large scale from Persian debris shortly after 479 BC, as Shear’s (1993) analysis of the ceramic deposits suggests. The practical use of pre-Persian building material and the large-scale cleanup of Persian debris shows that the Athenian polis authorities intended to return to normal life at the civic and political centre of Athens. Persian debris employed as building material as well as the foundations of the temple of Apollo Patroos (Knell 2000: 87) reminded the visitors of the destruction of their city. However, no Persian debris was used to construct a memorial of these events for future generations. Apparently, the Athenians were keen to suppress any reminder of the cataclysmic event from communal memory at this public place and to commemorate instead more glorious episodes of the Persian Wars such as the battle of Marathon showcased in the Stoa Poikile - the Painted Stoa (Neils 2001: 18-19) and the erection of the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios pronouncing the claim of ‘liberty’ (Hölscher 1998b: 176).

2.3.1.3 Fourth century In fourth-century Athens it was said that the Athenians of 479 decided to leave the shrines and temples of the Acropolis as monuments to barbaric impiety (Lykurgos, Leokrat. 80-1: ØpÒmnhma… tÁj tîn barb£pwn ¢sebe…aj; cf. Diodorus Siculus XI.29.2-3). This ‘Oath of Plataia’ version of the history viewed the past through the ideological framework of the last quarter of the fifth century BC, when charges of impiety were quite common, as we can see in the accusations brought forward against Alkibiades and Sokrates (Furley 1996: 5-6, 108). More importantly, it enabled the Athenians to successfully eliminate from communal memory the logical link between the destruction of the Acropolis and the destruction of Sardis by Greeks and, more generally, the Persian Invasion under Xerxes and the Ionian Revolt. Detaching the destruction of the Acropolis from its historic context, enabled the Athenians to suppress yet another event in the early phase of the Persian Wars from memory, if not the entire Ionian Revolt. Interpreting the ruins as a symbol of asebeia at a time when the Athenians no longer suffered from the Persians, also served to legitimise and justify Athens’ active and leading rôle in the defeat of the Persians (cf. 2.3.1.2.). This reduction of the complexity of the historical events and manipulation of history, in which the rôles of good and bad were clearly allotted to different ethnicities characterised the Athenian reconstruction of the Persian Wars since 460 BC (cf. 2.2.). However, the creation of false historical documents, of which the Oath of Plataia was just one (cf. Johannson 2001), marked a new phase in the re-telling of a significant part of Athenian history. During a period of decline, the glorious rôle of Athens, as presented in public monuments and spaces, could no longer fulfil the needs of the authors of the Oath of Plataia. Athens’ rôle as a victim of Persian barbarism and despotism, on the one hand, and as a triumphant bearer of Greek culture and values such as freedom and democracy, on the other, had to be exaggerated so that the past would not be forgotten. That Athens’ attempt to preserve the Atheno-centric view of the Persian Wars was quite successful both in antiquity and modern Europe can be seen, for example, in the way the Attalids of Pergamon Hellenistic kings of Pergamon and new champions of Greek intellect and culture less than two hundred years after Athens’ fall - presented themselves as heirs to Athens though the employment of symbols of the ‘triumph of civilization over barbarism and for ultimate human achievement(s)’ (Rhodes 1995: 186). We can also note the reception of the Persian Wars in 19th- and 20th-century

2.3.3 Kerameikos The debris in the Kerameikos commonly referred to as Persian debris served functional purposes (Bäbler 2001: 4, 10). Damaged and crudely trimmed Archaic funerary monuments were found built into the lowest courses of the Themistoklean Wall, as can be seen in figure 5 (German Archaeological Institute, A.B. 264; cf. Thucydides I. 8993.2). Alternatively, archaic grave paraphernalia functioned as fill in the construction of a ford over the river Eridanos, as indicated by the traces of wheels on the back of the kouros from the recently excavated deposit located close to the Sacred Gate (Niemeier 2002). The Persian debris in the Kerameikos was not used for the erection of an ideological monument. Judging from the references of ancient Greek writers to the city-wall of 479/478 BC, the building material of the foundations played an unimportant rôle in the stories associated with this monument. For Thucydides and Diodorus Siculus (XI.40.1), the Themistoklean wall was instead a symbol of the democratic ideal of the koinon, the interest in common matters and thus the polis in three respects: the communal effort of constructing fortifications; the priority accorded to the security of the city; the disrespect of private property 56

construction of the memory of the Persian Wars occurred in the fourth century, when Athens, which had lost its power, used the new medium of fake historic documents to support its version of history.

for the sake of communal security. Other ancient authors regarded the walls as a symbol of Themistokles’ deception of Sparta (cf. Bäbler 2001: 4), stressing Athenian superiority at least in the early days of the tensions and conflict between Athens and Sparta.

In this article, I have argued that the physical reminders of the sacking of Athens were treated differently at different public places, implying that the monumental construction of the memory of specific episodes was dependent not only on the historical context, but also on the spatial and social context. More specifically, the city-authorities intended to erase the memory of the destructions of Athens at the agora and the Kerameikos and focused their attention to the most symbolically-laden place in Athens, the Acropolis. Here, I distinguished three versions of the Persian destructions. I have suggested that the sacks were viewed in a matter-of-fact approach soon after 479 BC either as events that could occur in any war or as the manifestation of divine will. Even if the Persian debris was not constructed as a memorial, they may have conveyed meanings and evoked emotions such as the feeling of being threatened and hatred in the surviving population. Negative values, I argued, were attributed to Persian debris in the second half of the fifth century and in the fourth century when the ruins were conceived of as symbols of hybris and impiety. This ideologically-distorted understanding of the Persian sacks served the practical function of legitimising and justifying Athens’ actions after 479 BC. The incorporation of the landscape of ruins in the monumental rebuilding scheme of the Acropolis under Perikles is the first archaeologically datable attempt to create a memorial of the Persian debris and thus the Persian sacks, presenting a third view of the destructions of Athens: the starting point of Athens’ ‘Golden Age’.

The Persian debris of the Kerameikos was, it seems, never perceived as a war memorial at any time. In this respect, the Kerameikos is similar to the agora: the traces of the war were removed from the civic centre and the cemetery so that people could return to their normal lives. Only, the conspicuously-displayed destruction debris of 480/479 BC on the Athenian Acropolis reminded the Athenians of the Persian sack of their city. Apparently, the Classical Acropolis was conceptualised as an ideal setting for the remembrance of all aspects of the history of Athens. The interweaving of various aspects of Athenian history in post-Marathon monuments was not restricted to the Persian Wars, but also included earlier phases. This is suggested, for instance, by the incorporation of the Mycenaean fortification wall in the Propylaia and the hollows built into the base of the Athena Nike bastion, the mere purpose of which seems to have been the provision of ‘an immediate visual (and tactile?) connection to antiquity’ (Rhodes 1995: 40). The reason why the Acropolis was selected as the perfect place for the creation of a monumental landscape of memory out of Persian debris is twofold. Firstly, the Acropolis was the city’s religious heart and linked with its patron goddess, Athena, more than any other area. Secondly, the Acropolis was a symbolic place long before 480 BC, as can be deduced from its occupation by the tyrant Peisistratos and later by the Spartans. In other words, to occupy the Acropolis was synonymous with reigning over Athens or, more generally, the Acropolis stood for Athens.

Bibliography 3. Conclusions Bäbler B. 2001. Die archaischen attischen Grabstelen in der themistokleischen Stadtmauer. Philologus 145, 1-15. Boedeker D. and K.A. Raaflaub (eds) 1998. Democracy, Empire, and the Arts in Fifth-Century Athens, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Castriota D. 1992. Myth, Ethos, and Actuality: Official Art in Fifth-century BC Athens (Wisconsin Studies in Classics), Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Connolly P. and H. Dodge 1998. The Ancient City. Life in Classical Athens and Rome, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ferrari G. 2002. The Ancient Temple on the Acropolis at Athens. American Journal of Archaeology 106, 11-35. Forty A. 1999. Introduction. In: A. Forty and S. Küchler (eds), The Art of Forgetting, Oxford: Berg, 1-18. Forty A. and S. Küchler (eds) 1999. The Art of Forgetting, Oxford: Berg. Furley W. D. 1996. Andokides and the Herms, London: Institute of Classical Studies. Gauer W. 1968. Weihgeschenke aus den Perserkriegen, (Istanbuler Mitteilungen Suppl. 2), Tubingen: Wasmuth.

The Athenians constantly re-crafted the narrative of the Persian Wars in accordance with the specific circumstances of the time and the current social and political pressures, altering their attitudes towards the rôle of Athens in these wars between Greeks and Persians, the moral qualities of the anti-Persian League and the Persians, and the significance of victorious battles, in addition to the changing sympathies for military leaders. Athens’ rôle in the Persian Wars, for example, progressed from that of aggressor in the Ionian Revolt to victim in 480/479 BC, and from winner of the Persian Wars and leader of the Delian League to loser of the Peloponnesian War. A major shift in the interpretation of the Persian Wars occurred around 460 BC, when Athens began to reduce complex realities and potential contradictions to a system of binary oppositions, defining them as the superiority of the Hellenic ethos over that of foreigners, whilst also beginning to compete with other Greek city-states for the hegemony over Greece. Accordingly, the Athenians denied their responsibility for the destruction of Miletos and Athens, by eliminating the former city from the communal memory and detaching their own city from the Ionian Revolt, and played up their nearly single-handed victory of Marathon in monumental memory. Another turn in the 57

Universitatis Upsaliensis, 121-124. Miller M. C. 1997. Athens and Persia in the Fifth Century BC. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Neils J. 2001. The Parthenon Frieze, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Niemeier W.-D. 2002. Der Sensationsfund. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 108, 43. Papenfuß D. and V. M. Strocka (eds) 2001. Gab es das Griechische Wunder?, Mainz: von Zabern. Pöhlmann E. and W. Gauer (eds) 1994. Griechische Klassik, Nurenberg: Nürnberg. Raaflaub K.A. 1998. The Transformation of Athens in the Fifth Century. In: D. Boedeker and K.A. Raaflaub (eds), Democracy, Empire, and the Arts in FifthCentury Athens, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 15-41. Rhodes R. F. 1995. Architecture and meaning on the Athenian Akropolis, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rose C. B. 1999. The 1998 Post-Bronze Age Excavations at Troia. Studia Troica 9, 35-71. Schnapp A. 1996. The Discovery of the Past. The Origins of Archaeology, London: British Museum Press. Schneider L. and C. Höcker 2001. Die Akropolis von Athen. Eine Kunst- und Kulturgeschichte, Hamburg: Primus. Shear T.L. jr. 1993. The Persian Destruction of Athens. Evidence from Agora Deposits. Hesperia 62, 383482. Siewert P. 1972. Der Eid von Plataia, Hannover: Eigenverlag. Thompson H. 1981. Athens faces Adversity. Hesperia 50, 343-55. Tölle-Kastenbein R. 1983. Bemerkungen zur absoluten Chronologie spätarchaischer und frühklassischer Denkmäler. Archäologischer Anzeiger, 573-584.

Gauer W. 1994. Die Perserkriege und die klassische Kunst der Griechen. In: E. Pöhlmann and W. Gauer (eds), Griechische Klassik, Nurenberg: Nürnberg, 168-187. Gehrke H.-J. 1994. Mythos, Geschichte, Politik - antik und modern. Saeculum 45, 239-264. Gould J. 2001. Myth, Ritual, Memory, and Exchange, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hellström P. and B. Alroth (eds) 1996. Religion and Power in the Ancient Greek World. Proceedings of the Uppsala Symposium 1993, (Boreas. Uppsala Studies in Ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern Civilizations 24), Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Hölkeskamp K.-J. 2001. Marathon - vom Monument zum Mythos. In: D. Papenfuß and V. M. Strocka (eds), Gab es das Griechische Wunder?, Mainz: von Zabern, 329-53. Hölscher T. 1998a. Öffentliche Räume in frühen griechischen Städten, Heidelberg: Winter. Hölscher T. 1998b. Images and Political Identity: The Case of Athens. In: D. Boedeker and K.A. Raaflaub (eds), Democracy, Empire, and the Arts in FifthCentury Athens, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 153-183. Höpfner W. (ed.) 1997. Kult und Kultbauten auf der Akropolis, Berlin: Wasmuth. Hurwit J.M. 1989. The Kritios Boy: Discovery, Reconstruction and Date. American Journal of Archaeology 93, 41-80. Hurwit J.M. 1999. The Athenian Akropolis. History, Mythology, and Archaeology from the Neolithic era to the Present, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Johannson M. 2001. A decree of Themistocles? Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 137, 69-92. Knell H 2000. Athen im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. – eine Stadt verändert ihr Gesicht, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Korres M. 1996. Introduction. In: M. Korres, G.A. Panetsos and T. Seki (eds), The Parthenon. Architecture and Conservation, Athens: Foundation for Hellenic Culture, 1-10. Korres M., G.A. Panetsos and T. Seki (eds) 1996. The Parthenon. Architecture and Conservation, Athens: Foundation for Hellenic Culture. Kreutz N. 2001. Der Eid von Plataeae und der frühgriechische Tempelbau, Thetis 8, 57-67. Lambrinoudakis V. 1999. Le mur de l’enceinte classique de l’Acropole d’Athènes et son rôle de péribole. Comptes rendus de l’Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres, 551-61. Lindenlauf A. 1997. Der Perserschutt der Athener Akropolis. In: W. Höpfner (ed.), Kult und Kultbauten auf der Akropolis, Berlin: Wasmuth, 46-115. Linders T. 1996. Ritual Display and the Loss of Power. In: P. Hellström and B. Alroth (eds), Religion and Power in the Ancient Greek World. Proceedings of the Uppsala Symposium 1993, (Boreas. Uppsala Studies in Ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern Civilizations 24), Uppsala: Acta 58

Figure 1: Fourth century Athens with Acropolis (1), agora (2) and Kerameikos (3) © agk images/Peter Connolly

59

Figure 2: Plan of the Acropolis, second century AD © Manolis Korres 1: Parthenon; 2: Dörpfeld temple; 3: Erechtheion; 4: Base for the statue of Athena Promachos; 5: Propylaia; 6: Temple of Athena Nike; 7: South citadel wall; 8: North citadel wall (section with column drums); 9: North citadel wall (section with entablature)

60

Figure 3: North citadel wall, section with column drums © German Archaeological Institute at Athens, Hege 2285

Figure 4: North citadel wall, section with entablature © German Archaeological Institute at Athens, Hege 1810 61

Figure 5: Kerameikos, Dipylon Gate, Wall A, after the removal of an Archaic funerary monument (5th April 1906) © German Archaeological Institute at Athens, A.B. 264

62

Religious Continuity from the Late Bronze to the Early Iron Age: a Contradictory Picture Antonia Livieratou Department of Classics, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, U.K. [email protected] the LBA and the EIA? Moderate opinions, which attempt to bridge the gap between continuity and change, have also been put forward (Sourvinou-Inwood 1989: 51-58; Sourvinou-Inwood 1993: 1-17; Antonaccio 1994: 80; Morgan 1996: 41-57; Pakkanen 2000-2001: 71-88). Besides, there has recently been a trend in scholarly literature to consider the whole question of continuity or rupture in the transition from the LBA to the EIA as an artificial, non-existent problem generated from the disciplinary divide between Prehistoric and Historic Archaeology (Morris 1992: 115; Papadopoulos 1993: 195). Bearing all this in mind, I will first briefly present the evidence that has created the traditional contradiction between religious continuity and rupture and then to reapproach the problem through the example of the sanctuary of Kalapodi.

Abstract The transitional period from the Late Bronze Age to the Early Iron Age was very significant and crucial. Many changes occurred after the collapse of the Mycenaean palatial system that affected every aspect of life, including the world of religion. A long debate has therefore sprung up in scholarly literature regarding the question of religious continuity from the Late Bronze Age to the Early Iron Age. The relevant evidence unfortunately provides us with a contradictory picture. On the one hand, there are some very important surviving elements, but on the other, the cult places with continuous use are scarce. One of the latter is the sanctuary of Kalapodi in Phokis, Central Greece, whose careful and detailed examination can help us re-approach the contradictory picture of religious continuity in mainland Greece and hopefully to interpret it.

1. Introduction

2. The contradictory picture of religious continuity

The transitional period from the Late Bronze Age (LBA) to the Early Iron Age (EIA) in mainland Greece was marked with important changes that occurred in every aspect of life: socio-political organisation, the economy, culture. The collapse of the Mycenaean palatial system at around 1200 BC led to population movements, while many of the Mycenaean skills and fine arts were gradually lost. The short recovery of LHIIIC-middle was interrupted by a new wave of disasters that broke out towards the end of the LHIIIC period and the beginning of the Submycenaean (SM). Population movements must have taken place again at this stage, and further cultural changes occurred (Snodgrass 1971: 304-314, 360-367, 386-388; Desborough 1972: 19-25, 33; Deger-Jalkotzy 1998: 114-128; Lemos 1998: 45-49). Due to the lack of written sources and the relatively scant archaeological evidence from the LBAEIA transition, this period has been known as the Dark Ages (for a full account on the history of periodization of the Dark Ages cf. Morris 1997: 96-131).

2.1. Surviving elements from Mycenaean to Greek religion The scholars who support the idea of religious continuity from the LBA to the EIA place emphasis on certain elements, which appear to have survived from the one era to the other. These include divine names, i.e. the names of Greek deities that have been read on the Linear B tablets (Vermeule 1974: 59-73; Burkert 1985: 43-46). Continuity can also be traced in the custom of dedicating certain kinds of votive offerings, such as the wheel-made terracotta animals or the female figurines with upraised arms. The latter continued to appear uninterruptedly in Crete throughout the EIA, but they seem to have disappeared from the mainland by the end of the 12th century BC. There are, however, the EIA male figurines from Olympia, which repeat the same posture of upraised arms and are considered to revive the Mycenaean figure-type, while the female figurines with upraised arms re-appeared in the eighth century BC (Nicholls 1970: 1-17, 21-22). Surviving elements from the LBA have also been traced in the field of cult architecture. The most eloquent example is the megaron plan, which survived from the Mycenaean palace to the Classical Greek temple (Dietrich 1974: 230-231; Coldstream 1977: 317).

The Dark Ages have been traditionally dealt with in two ways with regard to the field of religion. On one hand, they have been regarded as a phase of transmission of Mycenaean religious elements to the ‘Greek’ era, a concept that was very systematically supported in M.P. Nilsson’s pioneering work (Nilsson 1950: 447-482), with great effect on other scholars in the following years (e.g. Dietrich 1974: 193-228). Alternatively, the Dark Ages have been conceived as a phase of cultural decline and disruption, followed by great religious and other changes that took place in the ‘Greek Renaissance’ of the eighth century BC (Rolley 1983: 112-114; de Polignac 1995: 11-21, 28-31). This scholarly debate can be summarised into the following dilemma: religious continuity or rupture between

2.2. Differences between the Mycenaean and the Greek religious world Nevertheless, there are elements and arguments that contradict this picture of religious continuity. The scholars who oppose the idea of religious continuity put more emphasis on the fact that only half of the prehistoric divine 63

the ancient district of Phokis. On the basis of epigraphical evidence, it has been identified with the sanctuary of Artemis Elaphebolos and Apollo of the city Hyampolis, mentioned by Pausanias (X, 35, 7; Felsch and Siewert 1987: 681-684). The general plan of the sanctuary shows a large Classical temple situated in the northern part of the excavated area, while a smaller Archaic temple is located in the southern part. The two initial cult centres of the sanctuary, dating to LHIIIC, are situated in the sloping area to the east of the temples and beneath the south temple (Felsch 1987: Fig. 3). Both retained their importance in the performance of cult into the historical era.

names survived into later historical times, while some totally new ones appeared in the Olympian pantheon (Burkert 1985: 48). The disappearance of the figurines with upraised arms from the mainland for about 400 years is of greater importance for them than the fact that they reappeared in the eighth century BC (Snodgrass 1971: 399). It has also been stressed that votive dedications were in general of greater value in the EIA than in the LBA, when riches were mainly deposited in tombs (Rolley 1983: 113114; de Polignac 1995: 11-15). Additionally, the spatial organisation and location of Greek sanctuaries in relation to settlements were totally different from those of the Mycenaean cult places. The form of the temenos, in particular, appears to have been invented in the eighth century BC (Burkert 1985: 50; de Polignac 1995: 15-21). It has been concluded that all the above changes reflect a break between Mycenaean and Greek religion and are more important than the surviving traditions (Rolley 1977: xxviii; Rolley 1983: 113-114).

In the southern area, the sequence of cult activity has not been fully restored mainly due to the overlying structures, which have limited the excavation to a very small part of the interior of the south temple. Here, a deep sounding revealed a round and shallow clay tub, dating to LHIIIC (Felsch 1987: 5; Felsch 1991: 86; Jacob-Felsch 1996: 4-5, 11, 93). This tub was covered by a burnt floor and a fill of late Protogeometric (PG) to Subprotogeometric (SPG) date (Catling 1982/1983: 34). It is possible that a temple was built here in the Geometric period (Felsch 1987: 11). Its successor, an early Archaic temple, contained a small rectangular structure, probably an adyton, built directly above the Late Mycenaean tub (Felsch 1987: 14-17; Felsch 1991: 86). This temple was destroyed at around 600-580 BC, and it was soon succeeded by an Archaic one, which must have also contained an adyton (Felsch 1987: 17-19). The adyton’s existence can be assumed from the fact that the same spot continued to be the centre of cult in Classical times as well. It was here that a rectangular cult structure, a Cultshacht or bothros, was built after the Persians had destroyed the sanctuary at around 480 BC (Felsch 1991: 86).

Moreover, the evidence from most of the mainland cult places does not seem to support the idea of religious continuity, although it has been claimed for many Greek sanctuaries. It is even doubtful whether some of them were used as cult places in the LBA, since it is often difficult to distinguish between secular and sacred when examining the evidence from a potential cult site. Renfrew’s exceptional contribution to this field should be noted here, since he has provided us with a theoretical framework of criteria, which can lead to a rather secure identification of an LBA cult place (Renfrew 1985: 20-25; for a revised version of his list of criteria cf. Pilafidis-Williams 1998: 121-125). Several cases of presumed cult sites have actually failed to meet these criteria; such are Delphi (Müller 1992: 475-488), Delos (Desborough 1964: 45-46), Eleusis (Mazarakis-Ainian 1997: 147-150, 347-348), and Olympia (Eder 2001: 201-208). Of other sanctuaries, such as those of Amyklai (Morgan 1999: 382-384), of Aphaia on Aigina (Pilafidis-Williams 1998: 160) and of Apollo Maleatas at Epidauros, it is not possible to prove whether or not they were continuously used as cult places, due to the missing material evidence, as far as the transitional phase from the LBA to the EIA is concerned (Snodgrass 1971: 395-397).

In the eastern area, the continuity of cult has been more successfully reconstructed. A small rectangular stone structure, most probably a shrine, was built here in the middle of LHIIIC, while a hearth was installed very close to it to the west. The small shrine was abandoned in the SM period, but cult activity continued with a series of successive hearths that were all installed close to or even above the old shrine in the following centuries. This succession of hearths was only interrupted in the transition from the middle PG to the late PG period, when a conflagration caused serious destruction to the sanctuary, but after that it resumed until the early seventh century BC, when a new terrace covered the area. On the new level that was created, a rectangular stone structure was built in order to serve as an ash deposit. Finally, in the early sixth century BC, this old ritual area was levelled, in order to create enough space for the erection of the two large peripteral temples in the western area of the Archaic sanctuary (Felsch et al. 1980: 63-67; Nitsche 1987: 36, 4149; Jacob-Felsch 1996: 11-13, 98-104; Felsch 2001: 194). Nothing is preserved from this time onwards regarding the eastern part of the sanctuary, but it is certain that the area remained an important cult centre through the transition from the LBA to the EIA. Moreover, similar cult practices (sacrifices and dedication of offerings) were performed here from LHIIIC until the seventh century BC. A change

This gap of evidence does not really surprise us, if we take into account all the socio-political, economic and cultural upheavals from which the mainland suffered after the collapse of the Mycenaean palatial system at around 1200 BC. What seems perhaps more surprising is the case of the sanctuary of Kalapodi, an undeniable case of cult continuity from LHIIIC until later historical times. In order to understand the case of Kalapodi, we need to study first in detail all the relevant archaeological data, which will be briefly presented here, and then to place it in its geographical and socio-political context. 3. The sanctuary of Kalapodi 3.1. The archaeological evidence The sanctuary of Kalapodi is situated in central Greece, in 64

in activity must have occurred at this stage, since there are no more votives found in the seventh century BC layers. This was still however, the area where the sacrificial ashes were deposited.

with the older cult. According to the excavator, it is Artemis that was worshiped at Kalapodi from LHIIIC and continuously in later years, while it was the cult of Apollo that was introduced later on (Felsch 1998: 219-224).

An important change took place at the sanctuary in the middle or second half of the ninth century BC, when a new cult centre was established in the northern area with the installation of a hearth (Felsch 1987: 5, 1991: 87). A Geometric building, most probably a temple, was built here in the eighth century BC, and was followed by its early Archaic and Archaic successors. Each one contained a hearth right above the spot where the first hearth was installed at around 850 BC (Felsch 1983: 124-126; Felsch 1987: 11, 13-14). After the Persians had destroyed the sanctuary, a Classical peripteral temple was built in the northern area. In the phase between the destruction of the sanctuary and the complete erection of the new temple, cult practices continued to take place in a provisional cult room, built above the earlier hearth. When the Classical temple was completed, the provisional shrine was abandoned after the performance of a last sacrifice and buried through a kind of a funerary ritual process, including all the implements that were used in the ceremony. Its form has therefore survived intact and provides us with one more indication of cult continuity from the LBA to the EIA in the sanctuary of Kalapodi. In particular, this shrine finds great parallels among the Late Mycenaean cult buildings, since it comprises a hearth in front of a cult bench, upon which the cult statues and votives were laid. Such cult benches have been found in the cult rooms of Knossos, Mycenae and Tiryns, while an exact parallel to the shrine of Kalapodi is the temple of Dreros, which comprises both a bench and a hearth (Felsch et al. 1980: 85-91, 1981: 88, 1991: 88-90).

3.3. The sanctuary of Kalapodi in its geographical and socio-political context

3.2. The question of religious continuity at Kalapodi

We should also take into consideration the fact that the areas of Phokis, Lokris and Boeotia appear to be members of a LHIIIC-middle Aegean koine formed by several communities, which were in contact with each other and shared pottery styles and common ideas. Other members of this Aegean koine were of course Euboia and Thessaly, whose influence was to become more evident in the PG and SPG periods through the pottery and other artefacts (e.g. fibulae) deposited at the sanctuary (Lemos 1998: 45, 55-56). Kalapodi could therefore be conceived as ‘one of the sites where cultural links were reinforced through common cult practices’ (Lemos 1998: 56).

3.3.1. LHIIIC period The sanctuary of Kalapodi was installed in an area marginal to the palatial world in LHIIIC. In addition to being a religious centre, it must have also played the role of a gathering place for the populations that lived in the surrounding area. The archaeological research in the area of northeastern Phokis has reconstructed the LHIIIC settlements in this area as small-scale villages, situated not very close to each other which relied on agriculture for subsistence and which had no central economic or political authority to control them. It is therefore possible that these scattered populations needed to establish a religious centre as a meeting place, which could have also played some political role through its unifying power in this early society (Felsch 1981: 81-82; Morgan 1997: 176-179). The votaries who used to visit the sanctuary at the early stages of its history possibly came from the other side of the later Phokian border as well, i.e. from Lokris, or even from Boeotia. Therefore, the LHIIIC gatherings at the sanctuary could be reconstructed as ritual meetings with a potential agricultural aspect, to which Phokian and also probably Boeotian and Lokrian people would come to sacrifice animals, offer their votives to the deity, drink and dine together (Jacob-Felsch 1996: 103-104; Morgan 1997: 176-178).

The above brief presentation of the sanctuary points to the uninterrupted use of the site, its cult character and the survival of similar cult practices from the foundation of the sanctuary in LHIIIC until later historical times. Many changes can be observed, however, in the field of cult practices if we look in detail at the several different kinds of material evidence, such as the remains of sacrifices or the votive offerings that were deposited at the sanctuary throughout the centuries (for more details cf. Felsch 1999: 165-169). Moreover, there is the question of whether cult beliefs were altered or not. The continuity in the use of the place and the survival of certain cult practices could probably indicate that the same deity that was worshiped at this place and through these practices from the LBA continued to be worshiped later on as well. This would not mean of course that the deity’s character and personality were not at all altered through the centuries.

The fact that a sanctuary is established in Phokis for the first time in LHIIIC, as far as we know, might be related to some previous links of the area with a palatial or other important Mycenaean centre (Morgan 1996: 48). After these links had been dissolved because of the destruction of the Mycenaean centres at around 1200 BC, the populations of northeastern Phokis might have suddenly felt rather isolated. This could have led them to take up some action in order to maintain contact with each other and to remain unified. In terms of religion moreover, the loss of contact with a palatial centre might have meant for local people the loss of a religious centre and the need to establish a new one, independent of any central authority.

There is one important change in the structure of beliefs that is archaeologically attested: the new cult centre that was added to the LBA ones in the middle or second half of the ninth century BC in the northern area of the sanctuary. This is probably related to the introduction of a new cult, which was going to survive and be performed side by side 65

political context, that only by studying the latter can we approach and comprehend the emergence and development of the cult as well. This process can also teach us that change is an integral part of continuity, which one cannot disregard or diminish, since it is dictated by constantly altering historical circumstances. Therefore, we need to overcome the traditional contradiction between continuity and rupture by understanding how much interconnected tradition and change are. Having this theoretical background in mind, we then need to examine each case separately and in detail, while always placing it in its socio-political context, as we did with the sanctuary of Kalapodi.

It is therefore possible that the local visitors to the sanctuary carried on the Mycenaean religious tradition, which they probably followed before the fall of the palaces. Not only is the Mycenaean culture evident in the archaeological evidence from the sanctuary and the area in general, but also the dedication of psi-figurines and wheelmade bovides, which is attested at Kalapodi (Felsch 1981: 87-88), is one of the most characteristic Mycenaean customs, especially at the level of popular religion (Nicholls 1970: 9; Kilian 1990: 185-197). There are, however, some other cult elements attested at the sanctuary, which are not expected in the context of Mycenaean religion. An example is the well-known Greek custom of dedicating a portion of the sacrificed animal to the deity by burning it on the pyre. This custom takes place at the sanctuary of Kalapodi from LHIIIC, as the lack of the pelvic bones and the tail from the bone-assemblages of all species testify. Such evidence could probably indicate that new cult practices were introduced at Kalapodi by some new population elements and were combined with the Mycenaean tradition in LHIIIC (Felsch 2001: 196198). This is indeed an interesting hypothesis, which needs to be carefully examined in the future. For the time being, it should be pointed out that there is also another important difference in LHIIIC cult at Kalapodi, as compared with that of other Mycenaean cult sites: it takes place independently from any palatial authority, and this might also relate to the introduction of new religious customs.

Acknowledgments I would first like to thank Dr Irene Lemos, who has helped me in numerous ways in the research that led to this article, by supporting me with her patience and knowledge, reading and commenting on my work. I would also like to thank Mrs S. Demaki for kindly showing me around in the Museum of Atalante. Finally, I am particularly grateful to Dr Felsch for discussing with me about the sanctuary and the issue of religious continuity and offering me his expert advice. Bibliography Alcock S.E. and R. Osborne (eds) 1994. Placing the Gods. Sanctuaries and Sacred Space in Ancient Greece, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Antonaccio C. 1994. Placing the Past: the Bronze Age in the Cultic Topography of Early Greece. In: S.E. Alcock and R. Osborne (eds), Placing the Gods. Sanctuaries and Sacred Space in Ancient Greece, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 79-104. Bats M. and B. d’Agostino (eds) 1998. Euboica. L’Eubea e la Presenza Euboica in Calcidica e in Occidente. Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Napoli, 13-16 novembre 1996, Napoli: Centre Jean Bèrard: Instituto universitario orientale, Dipartimento del mondo classico. Burkert W. 1985. Greek Religion, Archaic and Classical, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Catling H.W. 1982-83: Archaeology in Greece, 1982-83. Kalapodhi. Archaeological Reports 29, BSA, 3234. Coldstream J.N. 1977. Geometric Greece, London: E. Benn. Deger-Jalkotzy S. 1998. The Last Mycenaeans and Their Successors Updated. In: S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition. Thirteenth to Early Tenth Century BCE, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 114-128. Desborough R.V.d’A. 1964. The Last Mycenaeans and Their Successors, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Desborough R.V.d’A. 1972. The Greek Dark Ages, London: E. Benn. Dietrich B.C. 1974. The Origins of Greek Religion, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Eder B. 2001. Continuity of Bronze Age Cult at Olympia? The Evidence of the Late Bronze Age and Early

3.2.2. Transition from the LBA to the EIA Although the last phase of LHIIIC and the SM period were crucial for many areas of the Aegean world, which seem to present a gap at this stage, this was neither the case for Kalapodi nor for Phokis and Lokris in general. At Delphi, there were certainly SM burials. At Elateia, the excavators report that this was the most flourishing period at the cemeteries. Kynos in East Lokris has also produced SM evidence. SM burials have also been traced in Boeotia, Thessaly and Euboia - Lefkandi (Lemos 1998: 47-49 for relevant bibliography). The point is that not only the surrounding regions of the sanctuary, but also the areas in its periphery continued to be inhabited at this crucial stage. In this respect, it is easier to understand how the sanctuary of Kalapodi continued to be visited uninterruptedly and most possibly retained the role of a gathering place, whereas other religious places in the Greek mainland were temporarily or permanently abandoned at about this time. 4. Conclusions Finally let us see how the case of Kalapodi can help us reapproach the traditional contradictory picture of religious continuity. On one hand, this could be regarded as one of the rare cases that support the idea of religious continuity from the LBA to the EIA. The changes, however, that occurred throughout its history in many aspects, such as the structure of beliefs or the cult practices, seem to contradict this idea. Therefore, Kalapodi does not appear to give a direct answer to our question. It rather shows us that a sanctuary’s history is so much interwoven with the socio66

199. Felsch R.C.S. (ed.) 1996. Kalapodi I: Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen im Heiligtum der Artemis und des Apollon von Hyampolis in der Antiken Phokis, Mainz: P. von Zabern. Felsch R.C.S., H.J. Kienast and H. Schuler 1980. Apollon und Artemis oder Artemis und Apollon? Bericht von den Grabungen im Neu Entdeckten Heiligtum bei Kalapodi 1973-1977. Archäologische Anzeiger 1980, 38-123. Felsch R.C.S. and P. Siewert 1987. Inschriften aus dem Heiligtum von Hyampolis bei Kalapodi. Archäologische Anzeiger 1987, 681-687. Gitin S., A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds) 1998. Mediterranean Peoples in Transition. Thirteenth to Early Tenth Century BCE, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Golden M. and P. Toohey (eds) 1997. Inventing Ancient Culture: Historicism, Periodization and the Ancient World, London: Routledge. Hägg R. (ed.) 1983. The Greek Renaissance of the 8th century BC: Tradition and Innovation. Proceedings of the Second International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 1-5 June, 1981, Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen; Lund: Paul Åströms Förlag. Hägg R. and N. Marinatos (eds) 1981. Sanctuaries and Cults in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the First International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 12-13 May, 1980, Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen; Lund: Paul Åströms Förlag. Hägg R. and G.C. Nordquist (eds) 1990. Celebrations of Death and Divinity in the Bronze Age Argolid. Proceedings of the Sixth International Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens, 11-13 June 1988, Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen; Göteborg: Paul Åströms Förlag. Harris B.F. (ed.) 1970. Auckland Classical Essays Presented to E. M. Blaiklock, Auckland: Auckland University Press. Hellström P. and B. Alroth (eds) 1996. Religion and Power in the Ancient Greek World. Proceedings of the Uppsala Symposium, (Boreas 24), Uppsala: Ubsaliensis S. Academiae. ID’ Ephoreia Proistorikon kai Klassikon Archaiotiton (ed.), I Periphereia to Mikinaikou Kosmou. A’ Diethnes Diepistimoniko Simposio, Lamia, 25-29 Septembri 1994, Lamia, Ipourgeio Politismou – ID’ E.P.K.A. Jacob-Felsch M. 1996. Die Spätmykenische bis Frühprotogeometrische Keramik. In: R.C.S. Felsch (ed.), Kalapodi I: Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen im Heiligtum der Artemis und des Apollon von Hyampolis in der Antiken Phokis, Mainz: P. von Zabern, 4-105. Kilian K. 1990. Patterns in the Cult Activity in the Mycenaean Argolid: Haghia Triada (Klenies), the Profitis Elias Cave (Haghios Hadrianos) and the Citadel of Tiryns. In: R. Hägg and G.C. Nordquist (eds), Celebrations of Death and Divinity in the Bronze Age Argolid. Proceedings of the Sixth

Iron Age Pottery. In: R. Laffineur and R. Hägg (eds), Potnia. Deities and Religion in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 8th International Aegean Conference, Göteborg University, 12-15 April 2000, (Aegaeum 22), Austin: Université de Liège, University of Texas at Austin, 201-209. Étienne R. and M.T. Le Dinahet (eds) 1991. L’Éspace Sacrificiel dans les Civilisations Méditerranéennes de l’Antiquité. Actes du Colloque Tenu à la Maison de l’Orient, Lyon 4-7 Juin 1988, Lyon: Bibliothèque Salomon-Reinach, Université Lumière-Lyon 2; Paris: Diffusion de Boccard. Felsch R.C.S. 1981. Mykenischer Kult in Heiligtum bei Kalapodi? In: R. Hägg and N. Marinatos (eds), Sanctuaries and Cults in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the First International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 12-13 May, 1980, Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen; Lund: Paul Åströms Förlag, 81-89. Felsch R.C.S. 1983. Zur Chronologie und zum Stil Geometrischer Bronzen aus Kalapodi. In: R. Hägg (ed.), The Greek Renaissance of the 8th century BC: Tradition and Innovation. Proceedings of the Second International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 1-5 June, 1981, Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen; Lund: Paul Åströms Förlag, 123-129. Felsch R.C.S. 1987. Kalapodi. Bericht über die Grabungen im Heiligtum der Artemis Elaphebolos und des Apollon von Hyampolis 1978-1982. Archäologische Anzeiger 1987, 1-99. Felsch R.C.S. 1991. Tempel und Altäre im Heiligtum der Artemis Elaphebolos von Hyampolis bei Kalapodi. In: R. Étienne and M.T. Le Dinahet (eds), L’Éspace Sacrificiel dans les Civilisations Méditerranéennes de l’Antiquité. Actes du Colloque Tenu à la Maison de l’Orient, Lyon 4-7 Juin 1988, Lyon: Bibliothèque Salomon-Reinach, Université Lumière-Lyon 2; Paris: Diffusion de Boccard, 85-91. Felsch R.C.S. 1998. Kalapodi und Delphi – Zur Frühzeit des Apollonkultes in Mittelgriechenland. In: R. Rolle and K. Schmidt (eds), Archäologische Studien in Kontaktzonen der Antiken Welt, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 219-236. Felsch R.C.S. 1999. To Mikinaiko Iero sto Kalapodi: Latreia kai Teletourgiko. In ID’ Ephoreia Proistorikon kai Klassikon Archaiotiton (ed.), I Periphereia to Mikinaikou Kosmou. A’ Diethnes Diepistimoniko Simposio, Lamia, 25-29 Septembri 1994, Lamia, Ipourgeio Politismou – ID E.P.K.A., 163-170. Felsch R.C.S. 2001. Opferhandlungen des Alltagslebens im Heiligtum der Artemis Elaphebolos von Hyampolis in den Phasen SHIIIC – Spätgeometrisch. In: R. Laffineur and R. Hägg (eds), Potnia. Deities and Religion in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 8th International Aegean Conference, Göteborg University, 12-15 April 2000, (Aegaeum 22), Liège: Université de Liège; Austin: University of Texas at Austin, 19367

Pakkanen P. 2000-2001. The Relationship Between Continuity and Change in Dark Age Greek Religion. A Methodological Study. Opuscula Atheniensia 25-26, 71-88. Papadopoulos J.K. 1993. To Kill a Cemetery: the Athenian Kerameikos and the Early Iron Age in the Aegean. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 6/2, 175-206. Pilafidis-Williams K. 1998. The Sanctuary of Aphaia on Aigina in the Bronze Age, München: Hirmer Verlag. de Polignac F. 1995. Cults, Territory, and the Origins of the Greek City-State, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Renfrew C. 1985. The Archaeology of Cult. The Sanctuary at Phylakopi, (Annual of the British School at Athens Suppl. Vol. No 18), London: Thames and Hudson. Rolle R. and K. Schmidt (eds) 1998. Archäologische Studien in Kontaktzonen der Antiken Welt, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. Rolley C. 1977. Rupture et Continuité dans les Âges Obscurs. Y Avait-il des Sanctuaires Mycéniens? Revue des Études Grecques 90, xxvi-xxix. Rolley C. 1983. Les Grands Sanctuaires Panhelléniques. In: R. Hägg (ed.), The Greek Renaissance of the 8th century BC: Tradition and Innovation. Proceedings of the Second International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 1-5 June, 1981, Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen; Lund: Paul Åströms Förlag, 109-114. Snodgrass A.M. 1971. The Dark Age of Greece, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Sourvinou-Inwood C. 1989. Continuity and Change in Greek Religion. Review of B.C. Dietrich, Tradition in Greek Religion, Berlin 1986. Classical Review 103, 51-58. Sourvinou-Inwood C. 1993. Early Sanctuaries, the Eighth Century and Ritual Space. Fragments of a discourse. In. N. Marinatos and R. Hägg (eds), Greek Sanctuaries: New Approaches, London: Routledge, 1-17. Vermeule E. 1974. Götterkult, (Archaeologia Homerica III, chapter V), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht.

International Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens, 11-13 June 1988, Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen; Göteborg: Paul Åströms Förlag, 185-197. Laffineur R. and R. Hägg (eds) 2001. Potnia. Deities and Religion in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 8th International Aegean Conference, Göteborg University, 12-15 April 2000, (Aegaeum 22), Austin: Université de Liège, University of Texas. Lemos I.S. 1998. Euboia and its Aegean koine. In: M. Bats and B. d’Agostino (eds), Euboica. L’Eubea e la Presenza Euboica in Calcidica e in Occidente. Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Napoli, 13-16 novembre 1996, Napoli: Centre Jean Bèrard: Instituto universitario orientale, Dipartimento del mondo classico, 45-58. Marinatos N. and R. Hägg (eds) 1993. Greek Sanctuaries: New Approaches, London: Routledge. Mazarakis-Ainian A. 1997. From Rulers' Dwellings to Temples. Architecture, Religion and Society in Early Iron Age Greece (1100-700 BC), (Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology Vol. CXXI), Jonsered: Paul Åströms Förlag. Mitchell L. and P. J. Rhodes (eds) 1997. The Development of the Polis in Archaic Greece, London: Routledge. Morgan C. 1996. From Palace to Polis? Religious Developments on the Greek mainland during the Bronze Age/ Iron Age Transition. In: P. Hellström and B. Alroth (eds), Religion and Power in the Ancient Greek World. Proceedings of the Uppsala Symposium, (Boreas 24), Uppsala: Ubsaliensis S. Academiae, 41-57. Morgan C. 1997. The Archaeology of Sanctuaries in Early Iron Age and Archaic Ethne. A Preliminary View. In: L. Mitchell and P.J. Rhodes (eds), The Development of the Polis in Archaic Greece, London: Routledge, 168-198. Morgan C. 1999. Isthmia VIII. The Late Bronze Age Settlement and Early Iron Age Sanctuary, Princeton: the American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Morris I. 1997. Periodization and the Heroes: Inventing a Dark Age. In: M. Golden and P. Toohey (eds), Inventing Ancient Culture: Historicism, Periodization and the Ancient World, London: Routledge, 96-131. Morris S.P. 1992. Daidalos and the Origins of Greek Art, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Müller S. 1992. Delphes et sa Région à l’ Époque Mycénienne. Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique 116, 445-496. Nicholls R.V. 1970. Greek Votive Statuettes and Religious Continuity, c. 1200-700 BC. In: B. F. Harris (ed.), Auckland Classical Essays Presented to E. M. Blaiklock, Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1-37. Nitsche A. 1987. Protogeometrische und Subprotogeometrische Keramik aus dem Heiligtum bei Kalapodi. Archäologische Anzeiger 1987, 35-49. 68

69 Figure 1: Plan of the sanctuary at Kalapodi (Felsch 1987: fig.3)

70

Raettaui Rasha Metawi School of Archaeology, Classics and Oriental Studies, Department of Archaeology The University of Liverpool, Liverpool, England, Faculty of Arts [email protected] Keywords: Egypt – religion – solar goddess – Raettaui – identification goddess herself is not otherwise seen before the reign of Seti I (Christophe 1955: column 84).

Abstract Despite the great interest of Egyptologists in the ancient Egyptian solar worship, and the number of studies devoted to that subject, not one provides information about the solar goddess Raettaui and her cult which survived until Roman rule.

The present paper aims, firstly, at providing, for the first time, a preliminary collection of evidence for this obscure goddess and, secondly, to provide the basis of a much needed and forthcoming study that aims to cast light on Raettaui and her cult. As such, this paper does not provide an issue for discussion since this can only be achieved once the newly obtained set of data becomes part of a framework where the goddess Raettaui is integrated in the solar pantheon of ancient Egyptian religious studies.

Raettaui or ‘Raet of the two lands’ was first introduced to Egyptian religion at the time of the New Kingdom as a female double for the sun god Ra. Then she became associated with Montu as his consort and the mother of his son Hor-pa-Ra. She had a cult of her own with temples and priests. The scenes on which she was depicted can be easily traced on various monuments dating from the New Kingdom to the Graeco-Roman Period. She was associated with many other goddesses, such as: Hathor, Isis, Tjenenet, Amunet and Neith. She is frequently seen wearing the sun disk between cow horn on a vulture headdress.

2. Scenes and monuments Raettaui was first seen in the great hypostyle hall at Karnak, where she appeared in three scenes. These show her following Montu who receives a Hs vase from Seti I (Christophe 1955: column 84); following Amun-Ra as he receives incense and a libation from Ramesses II on the inner west wall (Porter and Moss 1972: 33, scene 117); and finally following Montu as Ramesses IV offers him his name on a nb sign (Christophe 1955: column 118).

The present paper provides a preliminary collection evidence for this obscure goddess in order to provide the much needed bases for a late study that aims to cast light on Raettaui and her cult.

1. Introduction Since Egyptology became a research discipline there always has been a great interest in solar aspects of ancient Egyptian worship. This reflects very much the importance of that aspect in ancient Egyptian religion and its practice and in its various ways of being depicted on any possible medium. Despite this fact, no study until this date provides adequate or any information about the solar goddess Raettaui and her cult which survived until Roman rule. Raettaui or ‘Raet of the two lands’ was first introduced to the Egyptian religion at the time of the New Kingdom as a female double for the sun god Ra. Her appearance in the history of Egyptian religion, frequently seen wearing the sun disk between cow horn on a vulture headdress, was comparatively late but rather abundantly present as we will see through the data presented in detail below. She had, for instance, a cult of her own including temples and priests. Furthermore, scenes with her depiction can be easily traced on various monuments dating from the New Kingdom to the Graeco-Roman Period. Raettaui was well integrated into the ancient Egyptian pantheon. This shows clearly in her association with many other goddesses, such as: Hathor, Isis, Tjenenet, Amunet and Neith. The earliest reference to her name dates to Hatshepsut, in a scene found in her chapel at Karnak, where the queen is shown offering wine to Tjenenet-Raettaui (Lacau et Chevrier 1977-1979: 359, plate 10 (bl.251)). In this scene, the name of Raettaui was probably used as an epithet for Tjenenet, as the

In two scenes dating to the reign of Ramesses II, Raettaui appears as an independent goddess, receiving bread in the temple of Wadi El-Sebua (Gauthier 1912: plate lxv(B)); and wine in the Small Temple of Abu Simbel (L.D.III: Lepsius, R. 1849-1859 plate 188(d)). Under Ramesses III, she was shown, receiving incense in his temple at Karnak as can be seen in Figure 2 (Nelson 1936: plate 105). Then again, she appears with Montu and Montu-Ra in three scenes dating to Herihor from the late 20th Dynasty found in the Temple of Khonsu at Karnak (The Epigraphic survey 1979: plates 37, 88, 93). Later, she accompanied Khonsu in a libation scene belonging to Pinndjem from the 21st Dynasty also from the Temple of Khonsu (The Epigraphic survey 1981: plate 121). In a 25th Dynasty scene, found in the Temple of Montu at North-Karnak, she appears for the first time as a mother goddess suckling king Taharqa, who is depicted as Hor-pa-Ra (Leclant 1961: 259, Figure 2). Raettaui was also depicted on private stelae and block statues starting from the 19th Dynasty, which provide evidence that she was also introduced in the funerary cult of the ancient Egyptians. She appears on two stelae from Deir El Medina. The first was found in the tomb of NebImentet from the 19th Dynasty (now in Voronezh, no. 157). 71

with the variant spellings of which are Raettaui, Rattoui, Raet-tawy, Rattaouy, means ‘the sun goddess of the two lands’. This clearly indicates her solar origin, as it identifies her as Raet, the female counterpart of Ra. Her solar character may be also demonstrated by a variety of records. In the Temple of Deir El-Shelwit, she appears with the titles ‘Raet the great’ (Rat wrt), and ‘lady of the circuit of the sun disk’ (Hnwt n Sn-n-itn) (Zivie 1986: scene 145). She is also referred to as ‘born on the lotus flower beside the sun-child’ (pr.s Hr qAb Hna xy Hr nxb) (Zivie 1986: scene 142). A scene found on the outer face of the propylon of the Temple of Khonsu at Karnak, describes her as ‘the one who shines in Nun with the radiance’( psD m nwn Hna iAxw) (Clère 1961: plate 8; Text in Urk VIII, Sethe und Firchow 1957: 63c). Here, the word iAxw or radiance, seems to refer to the sun as a primeval creator. Also other solar titles like ‘mistress of the sky’ (nbt pt), and ‘eye of Ra’ (irt Ra) were frequently given to her.

This represents the deceased following goddess Tjenenet, who is facing Montu and Raettaui (Berlev and Hodjash 1998: 51, plate 77(IV17)). The second came from the tomb of In-her-kha from the 20th Dynasty (now in the Turin Museum no. 50032). It represents the deceased standing before Amun-Ra, Montu, and Amenhotep I in the upper register, while in the lower register his father is shown standing before Raettaui and queen Ahmosi-Nefertari as can be seen in Fig. 3 (Tosi and Roccati 1971: 64, 65, Stela 50032). She also appears on a block statue from the 22nd Dynasty, found below the jambs of the entrance to the court of the Temple of Montu at North-Karnak. The scene, which is depicted on the front face of the statue, represents the owner ‘Djed-Thot-iouf-ankh’ fourth prophet of Amun, kneeling in a praying attitude before the seated Montu-Ra and Raettaui as can be seen in Fig. 4 (Robichon 1954: plate CXXIII). The majority of her scenes are of Graeco-Roman date, and can be classified in three categories. The first are the scenes showing Raettaui following Montu as he receives offerings from the king. These scenes are standard, and can be found on various monuments of Graeco-Roman date. The second category is of the scenes showing Raettaui as a mother goddess, either giving birth or suckling the childgod, and accompanied by other maternity deities as can be seen in Fig. 5 (L.D IV Lepsius 1849 – 1859 plate 59c). These scenes are only found in the Temple of Montu in Armant (L.D IV: plates 61g, 64b, 64c). The third category is of the scenes depicting Raettaui as an independent goddess, receiving offerings of sistra, menat collars or mirrors. Such scenes can be easily traced on the walls of different Ptolemaic Temples. For example, she is shown receiving a menat collar from Ptolemy III in the Temple of Khonsu at Karnak (Clère 1961: plate 24), also from Ptolemy VII in the Temple of Opet at Karnak (De Wit 1962: plate 8(XIII)). She receives two sistra from Cleopatra VII in the Temple of Armant (L.D. IV, Lepsius 1849 - 1859 plate 62e); and a menat collar and a sistrum from Ptolemy XVI also in Armant as can be seen in Figure 6 (L.D. IV, Lepsius 1849 – 1859, plate 62f). She is seen receiving mirrors from Ptolemy VII in the Temple of Opet at Karnak (De Wit 1962: plate 8 (XIII)), and from Cleopatra VII in the Temple of Armant (L.D. IV, Lepsius 1849 – 1859, plate 65a).

4. Role in Egyptian religion In the New Kingdom, Raettaui was first worshipped as the female double of the sun god Ra. There was even a female double of Ra-Atum called Raet-Temet, whose name appears on a stela from the 22nd Dynasty, as an epithet for the Heliopolitan goddess Nebet-Hetepet (Nbt-Htpt Rat-tmt pri m tm) or ‘Nebet-Hetepet, Raet-Temet, who comes fourth from Atum’(Vandier 1968: 137-138). Then, she became associated with Montu as his consort, who as the lord of Southern Heliopolis (Iwnw Sma), was equated with Ra-Atum, the god of Heliopolis. In the Ptolemaic Period, Raettaui appears as Montu’s chief consort, being more commonly seen with him than his two other consorts Tjenenet and Iounet. She is seen on his different monuments at Thebes, Armant, Medamud, and Tod, where she was given the titles ‘chief of’ (Hryt-tp) and ‘residing in’ (Hryt-ib), as an implication of her supremacy over those sites. She also appears as Montu's consort in the Ptolemaic triads of Armant and North-Karnak, with Hor-pa-Ra as their child. The cult of Raettaui flourished in Thebes until the Roman Period (Hornung 1982: 85). At least three demotic ostraka in the British Meuseum refer to the existence of a Theban temple of Raettaui that continued to be in use until the reigns of Hadrian (A.D. 117-38) and Antoninus Pius (AD 138-61). These ostraka belonged to ‘god’s fathers’ and ‘wab priests’ of the goddess (Wångstedt 1963: 54-7; 1967: 40-1). There is also some documentary evidence for a cult of Raettaui in the central Delta (Hornung 1982: 85). A headless block statue of a prophet called Mermay, found in the village of Kafr El-Deir (Markaz Minia El-Kamh, Sharqiya Governorate), gives the names of six generations of prophets of Raet from the 25th and 26th Dynasties, thus showing that the goddess was among the most important deities of the Delta area (Habachi 1967: 33-35). The text on the front of the statue is addressed to two goddesses, Mert-Ra which stands here for the female counterpart of Ra and Weret-Hekau, who is sometimes referred to as the daughter of Ra. Apart from the title ‘prophet of Raet’ which is held by the owner of the statue, his son, father, and forefathers, were all given the title of ‘prophet of

Finally, two important Ptolemaic monuments are found for her in the Temple of Nag El- Medamud: the upper part of a small stela, that shows Montu and Raettaui before an offering table (Bisson De La Roque et Drioton 1931 and 1932: Inv. 5506, Figure 40) and four pairs of statues of bull-headed Montu and Raettaui, probably dating to the Early Ptolemaic Period. The first pair is now in the Cairo museum (J.E. 50033-4), and the second is in the Louvre (E. 12922-3), while the third and the fourth pairs are still in situ (Inv. 2210 and Inv. 2479) (Bisson De La Roque et Drioton 1926: Figures 63, 64, 65; Drioton and Janvier 1931: 259-270). 3. Name and character Her name, which appears in the academic publications 72

Firchow 1957, no.2).

Ptah’, who is described in the text as residing in Per-WertHekau. Per-Weret-Hekau would be therefore, the religious name of the ancient site on which the village of Kafr EdDeir is built. In his article (Habachi 1967: 36-39), the author points to a place mentioned in the Golenischeff papyrus called Per-Raet which lies between Tell ElYahudiya, Per-Ptah and Mendes, a position which well fits Kafr–Ed-Deir. Since Raet was one of the main goddesses of the town as proved by the statue of Mermay, Per-Raet is probably another name of the site of Kafr-Ed-Deir.

She was identified with Isis, probably as the mother of Hor-pa-Ra as a form of Horus. This identification is clearly referred to in three Ptolemaic scenes in the Temple Opet at Karnak, where she is described as: ‘Isis who protects her brother Osiris, who makes his protection through her excellent spells’ (Ist xw sn.s Wsir ir mk.f m DAisw iqrw.s) (De Wit 1958-1968: text 22, plate 11(c)); ‘Isis who protects her brother’ (Ist xw sn.s) (De Wit 1958-1968: text 114, plate 3(IX)); and ‘Isis the great……who protects her son Horus on the throne of his father’ (Ist wrt……xw sA.s @r Hr nst it.f) (De Wit 1958-1968: text 145, plate 6(VIII)). In another Ptolemaic scene found in the Temple of Montu at North-Karnak, she is referred to as ‘the lady or queen of the common folk (an epithet usually given to Isis), who protects her son, who raises her Horus to the horizon, and hides his body with her spells’ (nbty-rxyt xw sA.s rdi Hr.s n Axt imn Dt.f m sAxw.s). Her identification with Isis is also echoed by the fact that 12 out of the 13 preserved Roman scenes of Raettaui are found in two temples dedicated to Isis: the Temples of Deir El-Shelwit and Shanhor (a small village situated between Coptos and Thebes).

In the Ptolemaic Period, Raettaui clearly figures as an important mother goddess. In the Temple of Armant, she was depicted in many scenes, either giving birth or suckling the solar-child-god (Hor-pa-Ra), accompanied in some of them by other maternity deities like Hathor, Isis, Meskhenet, Buto, Nekhbet, Bes, and Bubastis. In an important scene, also from Armant, she appeares as the mother of the Buchis bull (bX bA), being described as ‘the great cow, who bore Ra’ (iHt wrt msi Ra), and ‘the divine mother of the golden falcon’ ( mwt nTrt n bik n nwb) as can be seen in Figure 1 (L.D IV, Lepsius 1849 – 1859, plate 64a). In many Ptolemaic scenes, Raettaui was linked to Thoth, as his mother. In the Temple of Thoth, known as Qasr El-Aguz, she was called ‘Senek-Neith, mother of Isden’ (snq Nt tmAt n Isdn) (Mallet 1909: 40, Figure 12). In the Temple of Isis at Deir El-Shelwit she was described as ‘Senek-Neith, the excellent, mother of Thoth’ (snq Nt iqrt tmAt n ©Hwty) (Zivie 1986: scene 142 ). In the Temple of Opet at Karnak she was called ‘Senek-Neith, mother of Thoth, who shines on the lotus flower in the primeval pond’ (snq Nt mwt n ©Hwty wbn m sSn m xnt Sa) (De Wit 1958-1968: text 55, plate 1(b)). Similar titles also accompanied her in many scenes at the Temple of Armant, and the Temples of Khonsu, and Montu at Karnak. According to the tradition of Hermonthis, a female figure called Senek-Neith engendered the god of the Moon and Knowledge (Thoth). This feminine figure is a local aspect of Raettaui, although sometimes Senek-Neith appears as a separate divine entity (El-Sayed 1969: 75)

Raettaui was further identified with Amunet and Neith who were mothers of the sun god, and she accompanied them in some of her scenes. As Senek-Neith, she was also seen as the mother of the moon-god (Thoth). Raettaui was associated with Tjenenet, an older consort for Montu, who is known since the 11th Dynasty first in Tod, then in Armant in the 12th Dynasty (Derchain-Urtel 1979: 6). The two goddesses appear together in many scenes. They were also joined in one figure and worshipped as TjenenetRaettaui. 6. Iconography Raettaui is usually depicted wearing the sun disk between cow horns, sometimes with a small uraeus attached to the front. Her Hathoric crown was either set on a diadem of cobras, or on a plain base that varies in size and shape, or was fixed directly on the vulture headdress, which she wears in most scenes. Only one scene, found in the temple of Thoth, shows her wearing a vulture headdress surmounted by the sun disk without the cow horns (Mallet 1909: Figure 12). In another rare scene at Deir El-Shelwit, she was crowned with the double crown, which is directly fixed on her wig (Zivie 1981: scene 48). Like most female deities, she usually holds the anx sign in the near hand and the papyrus sceptre in the other, or just the anx sign in the near hand, raising her other hand behind the head of the god whom she follows.

5. Association with other goddesses Raettaui was identified with the cow goddess Hathor, not only because of the Hathoric crown worn by her in all scenes, but also because many scenes show her receiving sistra and menat collars (two cult objects of Hathor), or watching kings and queens playing sistra before her as she suckles the child-god. Moreover, she enjoyed some of the characteristic titles of Hathor, such as ‘The golden of the gods’ (nwbt nTrw) in the Temple of Thoth (Mallet 1909: 40, figure12), and the epithets ‘Lady of drunkenness, mistress of joy, whose heart comes with what is desired [////] to the great flood water’ (nbt tx Hnwt Awt-ib iw ib.s m Abi [////] n nwy wr), which appear in the Temple of Isis at Deir El-Shelwit (Zivie 1986: scene 140), and are usually given to Hathor, with whom drunkenness is associated as a positive attribute. Also in a wine offering scene at the Temple of Montu at North-Karnak, identified with Hathor, she replies to the king’s offering with the spiritual gifts of drunkenness, and happiness or joy of heart without stopping (Varille 1943: plate V; text in Urk VIII, Seth and

7. Conclusion As we have seen, Raettaui had a comparatively late appearance in the history of Egyptian religion. Her figure can only be traced back to the 19th Dynasty, reign of Seti I. Her scenes can be found on various monuments dating from the New Kingdom to the Graeco-Roman Period. Her name clearly reflected her solar character as the feminine form of Ra. She was first worshipped as the female double 73

Médamoud. Chronique d’Égypt 11, 259-269. El-Sayed R. 1969. Thoth n’a-t-il vraiment pas de mère? RdE 21, 71-76. Gauthier H. 1912. Les Temples Immerges de la Nubie, Le Temple de Ouadi Es-Seboua, (IFAO), Le Caire. Habachi L. 1967. Per-Raaet and Per-Ptah in the Delta, Chronique d’Egypt 42, Bruxelles, 30-40. Hornung E. 1982. Conception of God in Ancient Egypt, the One and the Many, (translated by J. Baines). London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Lacau P. and H. Chevrier 1977. Une Chapelle d’Hatshepsout à Karnak, (IFAO), Le Caire. Leclant J. 1961. Sur un Contrepoids de Menat au Nom de Taharqa. Mélanges Mariette, (IFAO), 251-284. Lepsius, R. 1849-1859. Denkmäler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien 12 vols., Leipzig. Mallet D. 1909. Le Kasr El-Agoûz, (IFAO), Le Caire. Nelson H. 1936. Reliefs and Inscriptions at Karnak, Rameses III’s Temple Within the Great Enclosure of Amon vol. II, (OIP 35), Chicago. Porter B. and R.L.B. Moss 1972. Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Text, Reliefs, and Paintings, vol. II. Theban Temples, Oxford. Robichon C.L. 1954. Karnak-Nord IV (1949-1951), (IFAO), Le Caire. The Epigraphic survey 1979. The Temple of Khonsu, (OIP 100), Chicago. The Epigraphic survey 1981. The Temple of Khonsu, (OIP 103), Chicago. Tosi M. and A. Roccati 1972. Stele e Altre Epigrafi di Deir El Medina n. 50001-n. 50262, Catalogo del Museo Egizio di Torino vol.I, Torino. Vandier J. 1968. Iousâas et (Hathor)-Nébet-Hétépet, RdE 20, 136-148. Varille A. 1943. Karnak I, (IFAO), Le Caire. Wångstedt S.V. 1963. Einige demotische Urkunden der Ostrakonsammlung im British Museum, Orientalia Suecana 12, 54-57. Wångstedt S.V. 1967. Demotische Steuerquittungen nebst Texten andersartigen Inhalts, Orientalia Suecana 16, 40-41. Zivie C.M. 1981. Le Temple De Deir Chelouit I, (IFAO), Le Caire. Zivie C.M. 1986. Le Temple De Deir Chelouit III, (IFAO), Le Claire.

of the sun god Ra although she was important enough to have a cult of her own. Then she became associated with Montu as his chief consort. She also figured as his wife in the triads of North Karnak, and Armant, with Hor-pa-Ra as their child. She, furthermore, appeared as the mother of the bull of Medamoud and the mother of Thoth. Six generations of prophets of Raet are known from the central delta during the 25th and the 26th dynasties, and a Theban temple of hers was still flourishing under Hadrian (AD 117-38) and Antoninus Pius (138-61). Raettaui was associated with many other deities, such as: Hathor, Isis, Tjenenet, Amunet and Neith. She was depicted in most scenes wearing a vulture headdress surmounted by the sun disk between cow horns. In this paper I aimed, first of all, at providing a much needed collection of evidence for a rather obscure goddess with solar character in the ancient Egyptian pantheon: Raettaui. I composed this collection of evidence by analysing her presence and meaning through an intensive study of scenes and monuments where she was depicted and through an iconographical study of how she was depicted in Ancient Egyptian Art. Furthermore, an analysis of her name and character including her association with other goddesses and an analysis of her role in Ancient Egyptian Religion completed the data set. By bringing together this collection of evidence I aimed, secondly, at providing the basis of a forthcoming study that aims to cast light on Raettaui and her cult. As such, this study needs to be seen as preliminary and will provide the arena for discussion once the data can be integrated into the framework of solar worship studies where Raettaui will feature where she deserves to be after having been ignored for far too long. Bibliography Berlev O. and S. Hodjash 1998. Catalogue of the Monuments of Ancient Egypt from the Museums of the Russian Federation, Ukraine, Bielorussia, Caucasus, Middle Asia and the Baltic States, OBO 17: Fribourg and Göttingen. Bisson de la Roque F., É. Drioton, C. Cotteielle-Giraudet and Cotteielle-Giraudet 1927. Rapport sur les Fouilles de Médamoud (1926), (IFAO), Le Caire. Bisson de la Roque F., É. Drioton, C. Cotteielle-Giraudet and C. Cotteielle-Giraudet 1934. Rapport sur les Fouilles de Médamoud (1931 et 1932), (IFAO), Le Caire. Christophe L.A. 1955. Temple d’Amon à Karnak, Les Divinités des Colonnes de la Grande Salle Hypostyle et Leur Épithètes, (Bulletin d’Egypt 21), Le Caire. Clère P. 1961. La Porte d’Évergète à Karnak, (IFAO), Le Caire. Derchain-Urtel M.T. 1979. Synkretismus in Ägyptischer Ikonographie. Die Göttin Tjenenet, Wiesbaden. De Wit C. 1958-1968. Les Inscriptions du Temple d'Opet à Karnak, (Bibliotheca Aegyptiaca XI-XII), Bruxelles. Drioton É. (Janvier) 1931. Les Quatre Montou de 74

Figure 1: Cleopatra before Buchis Bull, Monthu and Rattaui. Temple of Armant. After L.D IV: pl.64a

Figure 2: Ramesses III Offering incense to Rattaui. Temple of Ramesses III at Karnak. After Nelson, OIP vol.35, 1936: pl.105

75

Figure 3: Stela from the Tomb of In-Her-Kha at Deir El Medina (now in Turin Museum no. 50032). After Tosi and Roccati, 1971: p.64, 65, Stela.50032

Figure 4: Djed-Thot-Iouf-Anch Kneeling before Monthu and Rattaui. Block Statue of Djed-Thot-Iouf-Anch. Temple of Monthu in North Karnak. After Robichon, 1954: pl. CXXIII 76

Figure 5: Rattaui sitting on a couch suckling the child god, followed by Hathor, before her stands a goddess, followed by two cow goddesses faced by a third goddess, and four seated goddesses suckling children. Temple of Arment. After L. D. IV: pl.59c

Figure 6: Ptolemy XVI presenting sistrum and mnit collar to Rattaui. Temple of Arment. After L.D. IV: pl. 62f

77

78

What a state we’re in: nationalism and archaeology in Cyprus Angela S. Michael Department of Archaeology, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, UK [email protected] Keywords: Nationalism – archaeology – Cyprus

although nationalism is used by both nation states and by disparate groups within the nation (Sa’ar 1998: 215). Three major scholars have been involved in the study of nationalism as a political programme: Ernest Gellner (1983); Elie Kedourie (1993); and Anthony D. Smith (1979). Their discussions of nationalism have all focused on different aspects but the central elements that they all assign to it are as follows: that the world is naturally divided into units that are politically and geographically bounded entities, i.e. the nation; that the citizens of these units should have cultural and territorial hegemony; this can be cultural, ethnic, linguistic, religious or historic; that these units should be governed by their citizens, in the form of national self government. These points are central to nationalism and form the basis of my definition of it for the purposes of my research. Other scholars like Benedict Anderson (1991) have looked at nationalism in its ideological sense and have shown how enlightenment philosophy coupled with the demise of religious modes of thought led to a void that nationalism was well equipped to fill (Anderson 1991: 11). In order for it to be successful the group that employs nationalism needs to feel a bond. This is attained through a sense of historical, religious, cultural or ethnic collectivity (Smith 1979: 2), which in turn is achieved through mass education and acculturation (Gellner 1983: 35) and through such institutions as the mass media and state educational systems (Anderson 1991: 114). Nationalism necessarily promotes a bounded, homogenic version of reality and identity (Hamilakis 1996: 977). Through nationalism every state attempts to justify its own existence and it does this through such disciplines as history, education, and archaeology: it is in this sense that it is crucial for us as archaeologists to consider nationalism and to be aware of its possible consequences when we embark on research.

Abstract In this paper I discuss issues of nationalism and the ways in which it can be appropriated by individual states in order to create or enhance a national consciousness using the island of Cyprus as an example. I begin with a survey of nationalist theory from its earliest stages to the modern conceptions of it. This is followed by a brief background to my reasons for the choice of Cyprus as a case study along with a discussion of how the i. political situation on the island warrants such research. Two brief case studies are given to highlight the relationship between nationalism and archaeology and are followed by a discussion of how all of the issues discussed in the paper provide an innovative, ii. topical and necessary addition to Cypriot archaeology.

1. Introduction

iii.

Nationalism has been linked to archaeology for almost as long as it has existed as a discipline (Díaz-Andreu and Champion 1996b: 3), although theoretical studies of the effects of nationalism on archaeology have only become widespread in the past six or seven years (cf. Atkinson et al. 1996; Díaz-Andreu and Champion 1996a; Kohl and Fawcett 1995; Meskell 1998a). The veritable explosion of archaeological enquiries into nationalism is generally attributed to Bruce Trigger (1984), whose discussion of the three different types of archaeology alongside postprocessual theoretical advances in the discipline, has been central to the appearance of numerous innovative studies. It is my intention that this study draw on these theoretical perspectives in order to add a new dimension to the archaeology of Cyprus. For the purposes of this paper I will be focusing on the different pasts that are presented in Cyprus in a general way, and on the way that politics can affect how this is done and what aspects are given pre-eminence. It is necessary for me to make clear at the outset that I will only be dealing with ‘Greek Cyprus’. As a Greek Cypriot it would be hard for me to access all the material that would be needed for a study of both communities; and moreover I do not believe I could do justice to either community if I were to broaden the focus of my study.

2.2. Nationalism and archaeology Once archaeology was perceived to have a role to play in the formation of a national identity and consciousness its results were appropriated by most states and archaeology departments began to spring up across the academic world (Díaz-Andreu and Champion 1996b: 3). Archaeology serves the national imagination and can become the stage upon which contemporary religious, political, ethnic or national struggles are fleshed out. It can also legitimise and re-invent political and social worlds (Abu El-Haj 1998:

2.1. Nationalism Nationalism has an image of being timeless but emerged about 200 years ago. Its prominent position in the modern world is based on the fact that it has been central in the creation of modern states and in modern state theory, 79

From the late 16th century Cyprus was part of the Ottoman Empire but in 1878 Britain was given administrative control of the island in return for help in dealings with Russia. The island was officially annexed to Britain in 1914 when Turkey aligned herself with Germany in the First World War. Greek nationalism on the island appears to stem in part from the British position of Philhellenism that was central to certain decisions concerning the Greek Cypriots until the late 1920s. This position led to the Greek Cypriots being instructed in Greek and along mainland lines, thereby fostering and encouraging Greek nationalism amongst the educated class. The colonial leniency shown towards Greek forms of education and religion meant that Greek Cypriot nationalism was strongly aligned to that of the mainland (Sant Cassia 1998: 123). By the 1930s the nationalist sentiments of the Greek Cypriots had become a problem for the British administration which started to follow policies that were aimed at tempering this situation (Given 1998a). In the 1950s some Greek Cypriots formed a paramilitary group called EOKA and started to call, and fight, for union with Greece, or Enosis (it is important to note here that there were other anti-colonial movements on the island but that this was the dominant one and has continued to be important in modern Greek Cypriot state rhetoric due to the predominantly conservative nature of Cypriot politics).

167-168). ‘Every new nation, it seems, must choose for itself a “golden age” and a “chosen people”’ (Silberman 1990: 107). As with many other seemingly innocent fields of study, archaeology can be, and is, (mis-)appropriated to political ends and it is down to us as the practitioners of the discipline to restrict the production of easily malleable archaeologies as well as appreciating the political biases that are enmeshed in its production (Given 1998a: 5; Silberman 1998: 113). We need to start emphasising the fluid nature of the archaeological record not only to ourselves but also to the public (Hamilakis 1998: 111) in order to begin to recognise the multiple voices of the past and the present in all societies (Jones 1997: 10). The role of archaeology in nationalist discourse was generally ignored for much of the post-World War II period but became an acceptable area of discussion with the development of archaeological theory. The ‘father’ of studies into nationalism and archaeology is Bruce Trigger (1984). Although he was not the first person to discuss the links between nationalism and archaeology, he was the first person to discuss nationalist uses of archaeology in a modern theoretical sense. Trigger defined nationalist archaeology as the most prevalent type, especially in countries that feel politically threatened: The primary function of nationalistic archaeology, like nationalistic history of which it is normally regarded as an extension, is to bolster the pride and morale of nations or ethnic groups. It is probably strongest amongst peoples who feel politically threatened, insecure or deprived of their collective rights by more powerful nations or in countries where appeals for national unity are being made to counteract serious divisions along class lines (Trigger 1984: 360).

Following almost a decade of bitter clashes Cyprus was given its independence from Britain in 1960, but the political problems on the island did not cease with independence. Extreme nationalism from both Greek and Turkish Cypriots and an unworkable constitution made the situation explosive – literally. By 1963 the two communities were physically separated and following a Greek attempted coup in 1974 the Turkish army invaded and the island has been separated ever since. For all of these reasons the people of the Republic of Cyprus naturally feel somewhat threatened, a condition which fits Trigger’s criteria for the development of nationalist archaeology.

Since this study was published a number of theorists have re-evaluated the archaeology of many nations and groups in order to assess how national principles have affected the research that is done, and how it is presented to the academic community and the public at large. Nationalistic readings of archaeology are important and popular and it is not enough to dismiss them as nothing more than an ‘unobjective’ reading of the past. They are exercises in politics and identity (Hamilakis and Yalouri 1999a: 132) and often tell us about the contemporary political position and insecurities of nation states or groups (Silberman 1990). Archaeological knowledge is made rather than discovered and responds to the needs of groups or societies (Shanks and McGuire 1996: 79). We must therefore take responsibility for the archaeologies that we produce (Shanks and McGuire 1996: 86).

The archaeology of Cyprus has been rather traditional until very recently (Knapp 1994: 430), with theory very firmly in the background as something that other people do (cf. Held 1990). The traditional culture history approach which is used in a great deal of Cypriot archaeology relies on racial stereotypes (Jones 1997: 9) and draws heavily on Hellenism (Given 1998a: 6). The lack of interest in theory has had two linked repercussions: the first is that postprocessual theoretical advances have generally remained in the background of Cypriot archaeology; the second is that post-processual archaeology has generally overlooked Cyprus. This study, and others like it, can begin to redress this imbalance.

3. Cyprus It is now necessary to explain the reasons for my choice of study area. As the Trigger quotation makes clear, nationalist archaeology is strongest in places where the citizen body feels politically threatened. This is certainly true of Cyprus whose recent history includes colonisation, invasion and segregation. In order to begin to understand the formation of nationalism in Cyprus it is first necessary to give a brief historical background to the political events that have led to the contemporary situation on the island.

This paper will look at how the needs of nationalism have played a role in archaeological interpretations on Cyprus by focusing on two areas that are central to the state of Cyprus: education and tourism. These areas have been chosen in order to highlight nationalism in a general sense – education, and to highlight it in a more specific Cypriot sense – tourism. Since the 1970s tourism has been one of 80

substantiated and reinforced by the discipline of archaeology (Silberman 1990: 102). The representation of this golden age is not merely a touristic construction (most LBA sites are far off the tourist trail) but also one that is found throughout all aspects of the island. It is generally the case that any piece of writing relating to (Greek) Cyprus contains a phrase along the lines of: ‘Cyprus was colonised by the Mycenaeans in the Late Bronze Age c.1200 BC and it has been Greek ever since’ (cf. Hellander 2000; Karageorghis 1998; Michaelidou and Zapiti 2001). This colonisation is reinforced through education, the media, the heritage industry, and by political rhetoric. A strong sense of Hellenic nationalism was vital to the EOKA movement which relied heavily on school children as its recruits and is still vital to right wing politicians and political movements on the island (cf. Bryant 1998; Loizos 1998, 1974; Papadakis 1998a, 1998b). In their early days even the Philhellenic British administration promoted this representation of the past, and while the attribution of monumental sites to other races in a colonial situation was generally an attempt to denigrate the indigenous community this did not seem to be the case for the LBA in Cyprus (Given 1998a: 7).

the major sources of revenue on the island, while historical education is central to all states in order to create a sense of national solidarity. While a diversity of influences is emphasised in order to highlight the important strategic position of the island (Hamilakis 1998: 109-110) three main periods crop up time and again in popular representations: the Late Bronze Age; the Classical period; and the peasant lifestyle or ‘folk’ image. When studying the history of Cyprus represented to the general public both at home and abroad one is struck by the fact that two images prevail: these are a timeless peasant lifestyle (Fig. 1, 2, and 3) and the Classical period (Fig. 4, 5, and 6) (this period is mostly marketed abroad). By looking at the images of Cyprus that are marketed to the world at large through the tourist industry on the island it may be possible to see what the Cypriot state feels is a defining image of the island as well as what it thinks the rest of the world expects to find there. The peasant image is prevalent for a number of reasons: firstly because until about 50 years ago the majority of the Cypriot population lived in this way; secondly this lifestyle and its traditions are slowly disappearing; finally this focus is useful in presenting a sense of belonging, place, and continuity to both Cypriot and foreign ‘tourists’. Folklorists focus on this continuity as it connects the present to the past (Hamilakis 1998: 110). The unchanging Cypriot heritage of old men at village coffee shops and old ladies in black wearing headscarves is both comforting to a challenged nation and creates a timeless character for the island. It also connects Cyprus to the wider Mediterranean basin for tourists as well as specifically linking it to Greece as this image presents a certain lifestyle that one might argue people expect to see when travelling in the Mediterranean. This focus on peasant heritage is manifested in the growing number of folk art and ethnographic museums on the island (Fig. 1) as well as the recent focus on ‘eco-tourism’ by the Cyprus Tourist Organisation and a general increased awareness of the value of more traditional arts, crafts (Fig. 2) and building styles (Fig. 3) on the island.

The Greek Cypriot educational system teaches children that the monuments of the LBA are attributed to colonising Mycenaeans and justify long claims to a Greek past, an approach reinforced by a ‘Hellenic-oriented educational policy’ (Persianis 1994). By claiming to have a Greek heritage that dates to the Bronze Age the Cypriots seem to deny themselves any indigenous attributes and yet they continue in some political spheres to deny a modern Greek influence. The attitude of the Greek Cypriots towards this colonisation reinforces the view that the citizens of Cyprus are generally passive victims of external forces due to their geographical position (Loizos 1994: 9). This Mycenaean heritage is not even denied by the left wing political parties that seem to be amongst the few groups in Cyprus to promote a Cypriot past rather than a specifically Greek or Turkish one (Papadakis 1998a; Loizos 1994). By claiming a Mycenaean heritage that dates back to the 13th century BC Greek Cypriots automatically inherit a Greek heritage spanning 3000 years.

The Classical period has mostly been appropriated by the massively lucrative Cypriot tourist industry. This period of the island’s history provides spectacular sites that are used on websites (www.visitcyprus.org.cy), brochures, and in magazines. The connection between the Classical heritage at a number of mainly Hellenistic and Roman sites centred around Paphos (Fig. 4 and 5) and Kourion (Fig. 6) and tourism on the island is also related to the constructed national image. To the average tourist the presence of mosaic floors and columns in a Greek-speaking place is suggestive of Classical Greece and therefore connects Cyprus to ancient Greece in terms of the tourist gaze (Shanks 1996: 77). It may also be the case that most tourists expect to see Classical remains when visiting a ‘Greek’ island.

If the U.N. has been called upon, for the last 30 years or so, to solve what is known as the ‘Cyprus Problem’, a historian should seek its roots in what happened around 1200 B.C.E. (Karageorghis 2000: 255).

The archaeological evidence for this colonisation often appears to be rather scanty as the attribution of sites as Mycenaean tends to rely too heavily on the identification of racial characteristics often with little archaeological evidence to support this (Given 1998: 18). Equally the identification of Mycenaean ‘ethnic’ markers relies heavily on the assumption that past identities are easily recovered with little discussion of the theoretical problems that this raises (cf. Knapp 2001). The Mycenaean/Trojan foundation myths of a number of the Cypriot cities may have been an early factor in the development of a theory of Mycenaean colonisation, but have been attributed by Given (1998: 21) to the fourth century BC.

In terms of education the archaeology of the Late Cypriot Bronze Age (LBA) has been the central focus as it represents the ‘golden age’ of the island’s past (cf. Hamilakis 1998: 109; Silberman 1990: 103). The emphasis on the LBA in Cyprus has meant that national legends are 81

culture of Cyprus’ as well as some ‘educational documentation’ (Karageorghis 1996: 11). The museum itself incorporates an arrow into its design to show the direction from which the ‘original settlers’ came (Fig. 9) (Bruno 1996: 17).

A number of sites are given as clear evidence for the arrival of the Mycenaeans: Enkomi; Hala Sultan Tekke; Kition; Maa-Palaeokastro; Pyla-Kokkinokremos; and Sinda. The evidence from these sites does not provide conclusive proof of any colonisation, let alone a Mycenaean one and seems to draw too heavily on the premise of diffusionism. The problems associated with this proposed colonisation are manifold. First the material culture that is often presented as evidence for a colonisation (cf. Karageorghis 2000) is found all over the eastern Mediterranean at this time and it is unclear why its presence is not simply due to the strong trading connections in the area. Secondly tomb architecture does not change substantially, or at all of the sites mentioned, until towards the end of the 100 year colonisation period. Finally this colonisation is presented as having taken place in a number of waves over a period of up to 100 years, and it was only once the final phase arrived that the first groups felt confident enough to ‘colonise’ the remainder of the island, hence the gradual change in material culture over the period (Iakovou 1999; Karageorghis 1998). However, it is unclear how these different groups were able to come together and create a strong new identity for the island after 50 to 100 years while apparently being thoroughly assimilated into LBA Cypriot culture.

It may well be the case that there was a strong Mycenaean contingent at some, or all, of these sites but this does not mean that these people subsequently went out and altered the identity of the rest of the island. There is certainly Mycenaean material culture found here as is common throughout the region in the LBA. There is also very little evidence for disturbances associated with the initial wave of the so-called Mycenaean colonisers c. 1200 BC. Indeed the evidence for disturbances, changes in the nature of settlements, burials and material culture seem to come in the Early Iron Age, 100 years or so after the Mycenaeans are said to have first arrived (cf. Iakovou 1999; Karageorghis 1998). The role of the LBA in historical education on the island is fairly straightforward. In presenting an unproblematic Greek heritage that spans thousands of years the Greek Cypriots attempt to counteract the problematic political questions on the island. By looking at the focus on the LBA in the education of the island we can begin to see ways in which this period reinforces the national image and the state’s own rhetoric about the political and social realities of Cyprus. While it shows vulnerability (in terms of a colonisation) it also shows a strong Greek heritage that goes far beyond anything that other claimants to the island can draw upon.

In order to illustrate the discussion above I will use the example of the site of Maa-Palaeokastro to show how LBA Cypriot archaeology is used to present a particular kind of history (Fig. 7). This site is central to the identification of a Mycenaean colonisation of the island yet the reason for this attribution seems to stem more from its dating and short habitation than from the archaeology. Situated on a narrow promontory jutting out from the mainland about 10km northwest of Paphos this fortified settlement site appears to have been settled, destroyed, rebuilt and abandoned in the space of 50 to 100 years with its initial construction dating to the end of the LBA c.1200 BC. The earliest levels of occupation in the Bronze Age at Maa were typical of most Cypriot LBA sites according to the excavators (Karageorghis and Demas 1988: 263) yet they claim that the site was settled by Mycenaeans fleeing the ‘Dorian Invasion’. The Mycenaean material evidence at the site is often scanty consisting mainly of some evidence of elite dining, Mycenaean pottery including local imitations, and the existence of central hearths in a small number of the buildings alongside one or two buildings constructed with ashlar masonry. This does not appear to be substantially different to what is found at other comparable sites in the Levant. One of the reasons given for the attribution of the site as Mycenaean is the discovery of ashlar construction on the site, although the excavators have pointed out that this appears to be of a rather haphazard construction suggesting that the blocks were actually robbed out of a nearby building (Karageorghis and Demas 1988: 54). Following the excavation at the site a museum was commissioned which was intended by the architect to be a ‘museum of nothing’ (Bruno 1996: 17). However soon after its construction it was turned into ‘The Museum of the Mycenaean Colonisation of Cyprus’ (Fig. 8) in which are housed copies of artefacts that ‘illustrate the fascinating theme of the Mycenaean impact on the

4. Conclusion In this paper it has been my intention to highlight the basic tenets of nationalism and how it is intrinsically related to archaeology before going on to show the value of looking at Cypriot archaeology in the light of nationalist theory. I hope that this discussion has shown why it is important for us as archaeologists to consider the consequences of our research and to think about the multitude of ways, both positive and negative, in which it can be used. Archaeology is intrinsic to the cultural, ethnic and geographical hegemony that is necessitated by nationalism. By presenting a bounded and unquestioned past the national movement creates a sense of historical truth that is above and beyond everything else. This creates the impression that no matter what else changes the past will always be the same thereby leaving little or no room for multiple pasts, voices and histories. This is certainly true on Cyprus where it appears to be the case that all pasts lead to one thing – a Greek heritage that overrides all that has come since and all other groups on the island. As we have seen Cypriot archaeology is used to present and promote various aspects of the island. The longevity of the Greek character of the island, and therefore ethnic hegemony, is represented by the Bronze Age and to a certain extent the Classical period. Geographical and historical hegemony are represented by the timeless peasant image.

82

Europe, London: UCL Press, 68-89. Díaz-Andreu M. 1999. Multiple Readings of the Same Golden Age. Archaeological Dialogues, 6.2, 136139. Díaz-Andreu M. and T. Champion (eds) 1996a. Nationalism and Archaeology in Europe, London: UCL Press. Díaz-Andreu M. and T. Champion 1996b. Nationalism and Archaeology in Europe: an Introduction. In: M. Díaz-Andreu and T. Champion (eds), Nationalism and Archaeology in Europe, London: UCL Press, 1-23. Gellner E. 1983. Nations and Nationalism, Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Given M. 1997. Star of the Parthenon, Cypriot Melange: Education and Representation in Colonial Cyprus. Journal of Mediterranean Studies 7, 59-82. Given M. 1998a. Inventing the Eteocypriots: Imperialist Archaeology and the Manipulation of Ethnic Identity. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 11, 3-29. Given M. 1998b. Responses. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 11, 126-128. Given M. 2001. The Fight for the Past: Watkins vs. Warren (1885-6) and the Control of Excavation. In: V. Tatton-Brown (ed.), Cyprus in the 19th Century AD: Fact, Fancy and Fiction, Oxford: Oxbow, 255-260. Hamilakis Y. 1996. Through the Looking Glass: Nationalism, Archaeology and the Politics of Identity. Antiquity 70, 975-8. Hamilakis Y. 1998. Archaeology and the Politics of Identity in Cyprus. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 11, 107-111. Hamilakis Y. and E. Yalouri 1996. Antiquities as Symbolic Capital in Modern Greek Society. Antiquity 70, 117-129. Hamilakis Y. and E. Yalouri 1999a. Sacralising the Past: Cults of Archaeology in Modern Greece. Archaeological Dialogues 6.2, 115-135. Hamilakis Y. and E. Yalouri 1999b. Sacred Pasts, Profane Performances: A Reply. Archaeological Dialogues 6.2, 149-160. Held S.O. 1990. Back to What Future? New Directions for Cypriot Early Prehistoric Research in the 1990s. Report of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus 1990, 1-43. Hellander P. 2000. Cyprus, Footscray: Lonely Planet. Hodder I. 1998. The Past As Passion and Play: Çatalhöyük as a Site of Conflict in the Construction of Multiple Pasts. In: L. Meskell (ed.), Archaeology Under Fire: Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East, London: Routledge, 124-139. Iakovou M. 1999a. Excerpta Cypria Geometrica: Materials for a History of Geometric Cyprus. In: M. Iakovou and D. Michaelides (eds), Cyprus: The Historicity of the Geometric Horizon, Nicosia: Archaeological Research Unit, University of Cyprus; Bank of Cyprus Cultural Foundation; Ministry of Education and Culture, 141-166. Iakovou M. 1999b. The Greek Exodus To Cyprus: The

There appears to be no fluidity in the description of the Greek Cypriot past. It is presented as an unquestioned bounded entity that ‘proves’ the right to the land of Greek people. In this way archaeology can be used to counter Turkish claims to the island and to provide a sense of time and place for the Greek Cypriots. By re-evaluating the archaeology of Cyprus in this way it is hoped that more archaeologies will come to the fore. This can only be of benefit to the archaeology of Greek Cyprus and to all the people of the island who deserve a chance to learn to live together. Acknowledgements I would like to thank the editors and organisers of SOMA 2002 for providing a valuable opportunity to present my work. I would also like to thank Prof. A. B. Knapp, Kylie Seretis, Mark Monaghan, Natasja de Bruijn and the anonymous referee for reading an earlier draft of this paper and providing useful comments. Funding from the Council for British Research in the Levant and the British School at Athens was also helpful in the production of this paper. Any errors and opinions are entirely the responsibility of the author. Bibliography Abu El-Haj N. 1998. Translating Truths: Nationalism, the Practice of Archaeology, and the Remaking of the Past and Present in Contemporary Jerusalem. American Ethnologist, 25.2, 166-188. Alexandri A. 1999. Of Acts and Words. Archaeological Dialogues 6.2, 146-149. Anderson B. 1991 (Revised edition). Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, London: Verso Atkinson J.A, I. Banks and J. O’Sullivan (eds) 1996. Nationalism and Archaeology: Scottish Archaeological Forum, Glasgow: Cruithne Press. Bruno A. 1996. The Archaeological Museum of Maa in Cyprus with an Archaeological Introduction by Vassos Karageorghis, Nicosia: A.G. Leventis Foundation. Bryant R. 1998. An Education in Honour: Patriotism and Rebellion in Greek Cypriot Schools. In: V. Calotychos (ed.), Cyprus and its People: Nation, Identity, and Experience in an Unimaginable Community 1955-1997, Oxford: Westview Press, 53-68. Calotychos V. (ed.) 1998. Cyprus and its People; Nation, Identity and Experience in an Unimaginable Community, 1955-1997, Oxford: Westview Press. Davis J. (ed.) 1974. Choice and Change, London: The Athlone Press. Díaz-Andreu M. 1995. Archaeology and Nationalism in Spain In: P. L. Kohl and C. Fawcett (eds), Nationalism, Politics, and the Practice of Archaeology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 39-56. Díaz-Andreu M. 1996. Islamic Archaeology and the Origin of the Spanish Nation. In: M. Díaz-Andreu and T. Champion (eds), Nationalism and Archaeology in 83

See Each Other More Clearly? In: V. Calotychos (ed.), Cyprus and its People: Nation, Identity, and Experience in an Unimaginable Community 19551997, Oxford: Westview Press, 35-51. Meskell L (ed.) 1998a. Archaeology Under Fire: Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and the Middle East, London: Routledge. Meskell L. 1998b. Introduction: Archaeology Matters. In: L. Meskell (ed.), Archaeology Under Fire: Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East, London: Routledge, 1-12. Michaelidou L. and E. Zapiti 2001. Ancient Coins of Cyprus Calendar 2002. Nicosia: Bank of Cyprus Cultural Foundation. Mouliou M. 1996. Ancient Greece, Its Classical Heritage and the Modern Greeks: Aspects of Nationalism in Museum Exhibitions. In: J.A. Atkinson et al. (eds), Nationalism and Archaeology: Scottish Archaeological Forum, Glasgow: Cruithne Press, 174-199. Oren E.D (ed.) 2000. The Sea Peoples and their World: a Reassessment, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania. Papadakis Y. 1998a. Greek Cypriot Narratives of History and Collective Identity: Nationalism as a Contested Process. American Ethnologist 25.2, 149-165. Papadakis Y. 1998b. Enosis and Turkish Expansionism: Real Myths or Mythical Realities? In: V. Calotychos (ed.), Cyprus and its People: Nation, Identity, and Experience in an Unimaginable Community 1955-1997, Oxford: Westview Press, 69-84. Persianis P.K. 1994. The Greek-Cypriot Educational Policy in Cyprus as an Expression of Conflict at the Political, Cultural, and Socio-economic Levels. The Modern Greek Studies Yearbook 10, 89-116. Pollis A. 1998. The Role of Foreign Powers in Structuring Ethnicity and Ethnic Conflict in Cyprus. In: V. Calotychos (ed.), Cyprus and its People: Nation, Identity, and Experience in an Unimaginable Community 1955-1997, Oxford: Westview Press, 85-102. Sa’ar A. 1998. Carefully on the Margins: Christian Palestinians in Haifa Between Nation and State. American Ethnologist 25.2, 215-239. Sant Cassia P. 1998. Commentary on Given. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 11, 123-124. Shanks M. 1996. Classical Archaeology of Greece; Experiences of the Discipline, London: Routledge. Shanks M. and R. H. McGuire 1996. The Craft of Archaeology. American Antiquity 61.1, 75-88. Silberman N. A. 1990. The Politics of the Past: Archaeology and Nationalism in the Eastern Mediterranean. Mediterranean Quarterly 1, 99110. Silberman N.A. 1998a. Whose Game Is It Anyway? The Political and Social Transformations of American

Antiquity of Hellenism. Mediterranean Historical Review 14.2, 1-28. Iakovou M. and D. Michaelides (eds) 1999. Cyprus: The Historicity of the Geometric Horizon, Nicosia: Archaeological Research Unit, University of Cyprus; Bank of Cyprus Cultural Foundation; Ministry of Education and Culture. Jones S. 1997. The Archaeology of Ethnicity: Constructing Identities in the Past and Present, London: Routledge. Karageorghis V. and M. Demas 1988. Excavations at MaaPalaeokastro 1979-1986, Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, Cyprus. Karageorghis V. 1996. Maa-Palaeokastro and the Late Cypriote Bronze Age. In: A. Bruno, The Archaeological Museum of Maa in Cyprus with an Archaeological Introduction by Vassos Karageorghis, Nicosia: A.G. Leventis Foundation, 1-11. Karageorghis V. 1998. Cypriote Archaeology Today: Achievements and Perspectives, Glasgow: Cruithne Press. Karageorghis V. 2000. Cultural Innovations in Cyprus Relating to the Sea Peoples. In: E.D. Oren (ed.), The Sea Peoples and their World: a Reassessment, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 255-279. Kedourie E. 1993 (4th edition). Nationalism, Oxford: Blackwell. Knapp A.B. [with S.O. Held and S.W. Manning] 1994. The Prehistory of Cyprus: Problems and Prospects. Journal of World Prehistory 8.4, 377453. Knapp A.B. 2001. Archaeology and Ethnicity: a Dangerous Liaison. Archaeologia Cypria IV, 2946. Knapp A.B. and S. Antoniadou 1998. Archaeology, Politics and the Cultural Heritage of Cyprus. In: L. Meskell (ed.), Archaeology Under Fire: Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East, London: Routledge, 13-43. Kohl P.L. and C. Fawcett (eds) 1995a. Nationalism, Politics, and the Practice of Archaeology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kohl P.L. and C. Fawcett 1995b. Archaeology in the Service of the State: Theoretical Considerations. In: P. L. Kohl and C. Fawcett (eds), Nationalism, Politics, and the Practice of Archaeology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 3-20. Kotsakis K. 1998. The Past is Ours: Images of Greek Macedonia. In: L. Meskell (ed.), Archaeology Under Fire: Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East, London :Routledge, 44-67. Loizos P. 1974. The Progress of Greek Cypriot Nationalism in Cyprus, 1878-1970. In: J. Davis (ed.), Choice and Change, London: The Athlone Press, 114-133. Loizos P. 1994. Understanding 1974, Understanding 1994. The Cyprus Review 6, 7-19. Loizos P. 1998. How Might Turkish and Greek Cypriots 84

Biblical Archaeology. In: L. Meskell (ed.), Archaeology Under Fire: Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East, London: Routledge, 175-189. Silberman N.A. 1998b. Playing With Matches. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 11, 113-116. Silberman N.A. 1999. From Sacralising to Sacrilege? Possible Alternative Relationships of Religion, Nationalism, and Archaeology. Archaeological Dialogues 6.2, 139-141. Smith A.D. 1979. Nationalism in the Twentieth Century, Oxford: Martin Robertson. Sutton D. 1999. Continuities: Essentialist Or Sensory? Archaeological Dialogues 6.2, 142-146. Tatton-Brown V. (ed.) 2001. Cyprus in the 19th Century AD: Fact, Fancy and Fiction, Oxford: Oxbow. Tierney M. 1996. The Nation and National Identity. In: J.A. Atkinson et al. (eds), Nationalism and Archaeology: Scottish Archaeological Forum, Glasgow: Cruithne Press, 12-21. Trigger B.G. 1984. Alternative Archaeologies: Nationalist, Colonialist, Imperialist. MAN 19, 355-370. van Dommelen P. 1998. Between Academic Doubt and Political Involvement, Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 11, 117-121.

85

Figure 1: Traditional scene of a village room showing a traditional costume from the Ethnographic Museum in Dherinia.

Figure 2: Loom from the Ethnographic Museum in Dherinia.

Figure 4: Mosaic depicting the musical contest between Apollo and Marsyas from the House of Aion in Nea Paphos.

Figure 3: Traditional street scene from the old village at Kakopetria.

86

Figure 5: Mosaic depicting Theseus and the Minotaur from the Villa of Theseus in Nea Paphos.

Figure 6: Reconstructed columns from the Temple of Apollo Hylates at Kourion.

Figure 7: View of Northern defensive wall, modern hotel construction and Building I at Maa-Palaeokastro.

87

Figure 8: Entrance sign at the site of Maa-Palaeokastro.

Figure 9: The Museum of the Mycenaean Colonisation of Cyprus at Maa-Palaeokastro showing the arrow pointing towards the Greek mainland

.

88

Pastoral Settlements: a Case-Study of Complex Pastoral Sites on the Island of Sardinia (Italy) in Modern History Antoon Cornelis Mientjes Department of Archaeology, University of Wales, Lampeter, U.K. [email protected] Keywords: Sardinia – pastoralism – co-operation – land – settlements The scope of this article is limited to attempting to demonstrate that variations in the layout and geographical position of pastoral settlements can be related to historically-constituted types of pastoral co-operation - the collaboration between shepherds in terms of labour and capital (domestic animals and land) - and concomitantly modes of access to pasture.

Abstract Animal enclosures and shepherds’ huts are an important category of archaeological evidence in developing a sound knowledge of the variation of pastoral strategies in land use throughout time and space. So far pastoral settlements have been studied mainly from an ethnoarchaeological perspective. Similarly the case-study presented in this article is an ethnoarchaeological research into modern pastoralism (19th and 20th century) on the island of Sardinia, Italy. I argue that a socio-historic perspective, which accounts for different forms of socio-economic organisation of pastoral production, offers new potentials to create a structural understanding of the architectural layout and location of pastoral settlements in the countryside. It will be demonstrated that there is a connection between these material features and different systems of access to and property of pasture in combination with forms of pastoral co-operation. In this context special attention will be paid to pastoral settlements displaying complex architectural layouts.

The case-study examines pastoral economies in modern times (19th and 20th centuries) on the island of Sardinia, Italy (Mientjes 2002). Archaeological and ethnohistoric evidence is drawn from two regions: the village territories of Fonni in the central mountains, and of Solarussa in the western coastal lowlands (Fig. 1). Fonni will receive special attention since it was a rural community mostly dominated by a pastoral economy in recent history (cf. Angius 1834/1856: 723; E.R.S.A.T. 1987: 6). Characteristic of Fonni’s pastoral economy was the transhumant pattern of pastoral production, which persisted until approximately the 1970s after which a modernised and settled kind of pastoralism started to dominate. The territory of Solarussa was seasonally visited by shepherds from Fonni and their flocks. A particular group of settlements in the countryside constructed and occupied by these transhumant shepherds will be discussed. It will become apparent that these pastoral settlements significantly deviate from ethnographic descriptions for the island.

1. Introduction The archaeological study of ancient pastoralism - i.e. rural economies characterised by the herding of domestic animals - is still in its infancy in the Mediterranean (cf. Chang and Koster 1986: 97). This is mainly due to archaeological difficulties with detecting pastoral practices as a consequence of the supposed ephemeral nature of pastoral material culture (e.g., Barker and Grant 1991: 84; Chang 1981: 14). To date most studies conducted are, therefore, confined to ethnoarchaeology and examine modern examples of pastoral economies in order to create methodologies useful to the study of the archaeological past.

2.1. The ethnohistory of pastoral production and settlements The ethnographic studies available for Sardinia show a tendency to present functional descriptions when discussing animal enclosures, animal shelters and shepherds’ huts (e.g., Angioni 1975, 1989; Caltagirone 1989; Masuri 1984; Meloni 1984). However, they offer a valid starting point to confront the archaeological information on pastoral settlements recorded in the territories of Fonni and Solarussa.

An ethnoarchaeological study will be presented here arguing for a study of settlement and landscape as the most promising approach in tracing pastoral activities (cf. Chang 1992: 66). Within this approach pastoral settlements are generally the clearest and richest material testimonies of pastoral practices (cf. Chang and Koster 1986: 115, 132). I will argue that historical dynamics in pastoral economies in terms of the socio-political and socio-economic organisation of pastoral production have to be addressed fully in order to understand the form and location of pastoral settlements. This entails an archaeological approach, which is not only able to distinguish between the mere presence/absence of pastoral activities, but can also reveal differences in pastoral strategies in space and through time.

Critical in relation to the structural layout of pastoral settlements is the difference between summer pasture in the mountains and winter pasture in the valleys and coastal lowlands related within a seasonal pattern of transhumance. This meant that during winter and less frequently late summer and early autumn shepherds descended with their flocks to the valleys and coastal lowlands. 89

night and bad weather. For other Sardinian regions less or more enclosures inside pastoral settlements located on winter pasture are known.

As a result the annual cycle of pastoral production at Fonni can be outlined as follows. Officially the pastoral year started on September 29, when shepherds made contracts for pastoral co-operation. Sheep, gathered in a single flock, were pregnant in this period after being fecundated at the beginning of July. At the end of November and beginning of December shepherds moved with their flocks to the valleys and coastal lowlands, where on arrival the sheep started to lamb. After approximately 20 days most of the male lambs were sold for slaughter. Milk and cheese production, the main pastoral product for Fonni and Sardinia generally, then lasted until approximately June. After this milk production gradually decreased until September, when the sheep became non-productive. Ordinarily most of the milk production was and still is taken to private cheese factories in the valleys and coastal lowlands, which make cheeses of the pecorino romano type for a regional and (inter)national market. The flock was divided into several parts at the beginning of December. The principal groups were: (1) sheep with newborn male lambs; (2) sheep with new-born female lambs; and (3) the group containing the non-productive sheep including the rams. It was important to keep these groups apart for at least a considerable part of the day and night, to prevent the milk-giving sheep being disturbed by the nonproductive. Moreover, strategies in herd management aimed to shorten the period of the weaning of lambs by their mother sheep as quickly as possible in order to use the milk for cheese-making. As a consequence lambs were sheltered during the night and were pastured separately for considerable parts of the day. The flock was re-united mostly towards the end of April, when the shepherds would return to the mountains. Here cheese-production was directed to local and regional markets, and generally done by the shepherds themselves. Finally, some of the shepherds from Fonni would return to the valleys and coastal lowlands in mid-August until the end of October to graze their flocks on the stubble left on the crop fields after the harvest in June. At the end of October they moved again to the territory of Fonni for approximately a month to join finally the other shepherds with their flocks for the winter transhumance towards the valleys and coastal lowlands.

2.2. The archaeology of pastoral sites: the case of complex pastoral settlements The ethnohistoric picture suggests that few archaeological remains of pastoral settlements will be visible after long periods of abandonment. As a rule all types of sheep corrals in the mountains, valleys and coastal lowlands were constructed of perishable materials such as wooden branches, scrub and/or cane. The most important reason was the need to move sheep enclosures regularly. Milking pens, for example, were moved every couple of days or weeks depending on weather conditions. Firstly sheep droppings would rapidly cause unhygienic conditions, and secondly spreading animal dung over the pasture area was a good strategy to regenerate the grass vegetation the following year. Furthermore in the valleys and coastal lowlands stone building material was scarcely available. The archaeological evidence for the village territories of Fonni and Solarussa broadly confirms this ethnohistorical image of the ephemeral character of pastoral structures. Although pastoral settlements at Solarussa would have been more extensive, consisting of more animal enclosures than the ones at Fonni, generally only the remains of the stone base of shepherds’ huts remained. However, in some zones at Fonni and Solarussa distinctive kinds of pastoral settlements were present. They will be described as complex pastoral sites, and consist of a minimum of two clearly definable stone-built structures. As such they deviate significantly from the pastoral settlements described in the ethnographic studies. The zone at Fonni where complex pastoral sites are concentrated is locally called the Comunale or Monte Nuovu. The first term can be translated as the ‘Commons’ and the latter as the ‘New Mountain’. Both words convey the two distinctive characteristics of this zone. Firstly land was communally used almost exclusively for pastoral production until the mid-1990s, whereas in the other parts of Fonni’s territory land was mostly privately owned since at least the middle of the nineteenth century. The ‘New Mountain’ refers to the historical fact that this zone was added to the territory of Fonni during a relatively recent period. Monte Nuovu, situated in the most south-eastern periphery of the territory of Fonni, is part of the Gennargentu massif, which is the most mountainous region of Sardinia. In the studied part of Monte Nuovu in total four pastoral complexes were identified, which local shepherds described as ovili centrali (literally meaning ‘central sheep corrals’). From west to east these are Su Pisargiu, Cuile sa Mela, Cuile su Seragu and Cuile sas Iscalas (Fig. 2; Fig. 3). They are all located on the northfacing slope towards the bottom of the valley.

Bearing in mind the annual cycle of the pastoral economy of Fonni the differences between summer and winter settlements can be explained, although both consisted of a shepherd’s hut and one or more sheep corrals. Corrals in the zones of summer pasture consisted of one enclosure, constructed of barriers of branches in which the flock sheltered from bad weather and shepherds milked the sheep. In the zones of the winter pasture pastoral settlements contained more sheep corrals. For instance, in the region of the Ogliastra in eastern Sardinia (Fig. 1) various different sheep enclosures could be distinguished. An enclosure constructed of wooden fences functioned to contain the flock during the milking. A small covered enclosure built of wood was used to shelter the new-born lambs. Another enclosure constructed of wooden fences and sometimes covered by a roof of branches served to wean the new-born lambs. A fourth enclosure of branches was sometimes constructed to shelter the flock during the

The exact recent historical periods in which these pastoral complexes were established and used are difficult to define. Most pastoral sites both at Fonni and Solarussa are 90

types of pastoral co-operation came into use between the 15th and 17th century (Berger 1986: 205). The first two types of pastoral co-operation existing at Fonni were established between a patron and a pastoral labourer. As a consequence they can be defined more as an unequal contractual relationship made either orally or in writing than genuine co-operation. The former possessed all or most of the flock while the latter was the dependent party, who did most or all of the pastoral labour. The patron was responsible for the rent of pasture, although he often owned part of it either at Fonni or in the valleys and coastal lowlands. In both types of contracts the output of the milk production and lamb meat was divided annually in equal parts. In the su cumpangiu type of contract the pastoral labourer received twelve milk-producing sheep after one year, and in the a umone contract half of the initial flock after a period of five years. In short the relationships between the various shepherds were established in a patron-client fashion, which fits within the general Mediterranean picture of asymmetrical relations in rural production (e.g. Boissevain 1966; Wolf 1966: 86-87). The (semmos) a unu type of co-operation, however, existed between shepherds of generally equal status, who shared both labour and products. It differs from the other two types of pastoral co-operation that as a rule more shepherds were involved in the same productive unit, which could amount often to more than seven shepherds compared to the around two or three shepherds engaged in the two other contractual forms of pastoral work. Although the importance of asymmetrical arrangements among shepherds and between shepherds and landowners at Fonni and in Sardinia more generally is not denied (cf. Koster 2000), the focus here will be on the reciprocal arrangement of the (semmos) a unu type to illustrate how the layout of pastoral settlements can relate (though not merely reflect) to certain socio-economic forms of pastoral co-operation.

built in a standard manner, and as a result do not allow precise dating. The sole clear and datable disjunction for pastoral settlements is the 1950s, according to oral information about changes in construction materials. The period of the establishment of the complex pastoral settlements at Monte Nuovu is therefore unknown, but almost certainly lies before the 1940s and probably in the 19th century. Oral accounts collected for the period going back to the 1930s and historical evidence about the continuance of certain socio-economic forms of pastoral production during the 19th and early part of the 20th centuries suggest these pre-Second World War periods of establishment and use. Patterns of re-use and finally total abandonment after the 1950s are mainly indicated by roof constructions and associated portable artefacts. Materials such as corrugated metal, concrete building bricks and plastic were introduced, replacing the organic pastoral items used before approximately the Second World War. For example at Cuila sa Mela Hut (A) has the remains of a roof constructed of wooden beams and corrugated metal. Similarly at Solarussa one complex pastoral settlement was identified adjacent to a well-preserved Bronze Age tower called Nuraghe Meddaris (Fig. 4). In total four huts and six animal enclosures are clustered at this location (Fig. 5). This pastoral settlement was presumably occupied by a group of transhumant shepherds. It is uncertain if these shepherds came from Fonni, but the large number of shepherds originating from Fonni and residing in the territory of Solarussa since the 1940s until the present-day is remarkable in this respect. They probably operated as ‘self-sufficient’ units, which means that they tended to seclude themselves socially and economically from the local communities. Spatially this is often visible in the seasonally-occupied pastoral settlements in the peripheral zones of the village territories in the valleys and coastal lowlands. This applies also to the pastoral complex at Nuraghe Meddaris located towards the northern border of the territory of Solarussa. Here a phase of re-use and subsequently complete abandonment is visible in the decades after the 1950s. Three inner sheep corrals contain various modern items such as plastic milk containers, and the entrances are closed with wooden branches and pallets. All the shepherds’ huts and sheep corrals are currently unused.

It appears that there is a close relationship between the architectural complexity of pastoral settlements and the (semmos) a unu type of pastoral co-operation, although the combined occurrence of complex pastoral settlements at Monte Nuovu, Fonni, and Nuraghe Meddaris, Solarussa, and extensive forms of pastoral co-operation have different historical causes. Together, relationships with the local authority (town-council) and other (groups of) shepherds in the mountains, and large absentee landowners, which includes cheese companies, in the valleys and coastal lowlands are a factor in the socio-economic arrangements of shepherds in order to have access to pasture. However, this is not a simple cause-effect relationship and other combined reasons such as labour requirements have to be accounted for.

2.3. Pastoral complexes: the ethnohistorical context The extensive layout of the pastoral settlements at Monte Nuovu, Fonni, and at Nuraghe Meddaris, Solarussa, can be related to a series of socio-economic factors. The phases of re-use and gradual abandonment in decades after the 1950s have also to be understood in this light. Of crucial importance is the knowledge that pastoral labour mostly took the form of co-operation between shepherds. The types of pastoral co-operation occurring at Fonni were called su cumpangiu, a umone, and (semmos) a unu, and existed from at least the 1930s until approximately the 1970s, according to the shepherds interviewed. For most regions in Sardinia historical sources indicate that these

Within the territory of Fonni, the zone of Monte Nuovu has an unusual history. It was added in terms of common rights of land use in the year 1811. However, before then Monte Nuovu was the cause of a long history of violent conflict between Fonni and two neighbouring villages in the Ogliastra. Juridically Monte Nuovu still belongs to the latter two communities, and Fonni has to pay them an annually fixed sum of rent (Lai 1988: 196-197; Mereu 1978: 236-237). The main historical reason for these 91

considerably less during the autumn period, when most of the shepherds and their flocks had left for the valleys and coastal lowlands to graze the stubble remaining on the crop fields.

disputes was population growth at Fonni, and the related increase in sheep numbers. As a consequence new pasture had to be acquired outside the official territory of Fonni. In these inter-village conflicts claims on land were made according to traditions of use. An often recurring argument was that pastoral settlements were always those of shepherds from the two villages in the Ogliastra (Mereu 1978: 238). More generally the weakly-developed notions of land ownership prior to the 19th century invited village communities disputing land to have recourse to customary rights by speaking of da tempo immemoriale signifying that things belonged to their village ‘since time immemorial’ (Lai 1988: 193). Therefore, an important element in establishing rights of use at Monte Nuovu was the actual use of pastoral settlements and pasture by shepherds in and between the generations. It can be argued that the complex layout of the pastoral settlements at Monte Nuovu and crucially the enduring modes of construction with stone material can be connected to strategies by shepherds geared towards the continuation of access to pasture within zones of common land use. However, this evidence is insufficient to argue for the establishment of complex pastoral settlements at the beginning of the 19th century in the context of these intervillage conflicts. Information from Fonni and other regions in Sardinia indicate that the construction of enduring settlements whether of a complex layout or not was an ordinary practice to make claims on pasture within commonly used zones between shepherds of often the same village community until approximately the 1960s (e.g., Meloni 1984). Shepherds who built the settlement had the right to first access the surrounding pasture and others may follow afterwards. Moreover, shepherds strived to continue usage of the settlements during the relevant seasons within their family during one’s lifetime and even between the generations. Consequently the crucial factor in constructing and continuously using enduring pastoral settlements appears the fact that land was commonly accessible and less the outcome of specific historical events.

In this context the complex layout and enduring construction of pastoral settlements appears to bear a relationship with the (semmos) a unu type of pastoral cooperation. Most probably shepherds collaborated in this way during spring and summer again to secure easier access to large areas of pasture in relation to both other (groups of) shepherds operating at Monte Nuovu, and Fonni’s town council. The latter controlled the Comunale, and shepherds had to pay a fee for using the common land. Each year a fixed rent was established for the entire zone of the Comunale and the rent per capita sheep, goats, pigs and oxen was counted on the basis of the total number of domestic animals present at Monte Nuovu. In short it is suggested that extensive forms of pastoral co-operation helped to strengthen shepherds’ positions towards other (groups of) shepherds and the town council in order to secure rights of access to certain pasture areas. Turning to the pastoral settlement at Nuraghe Meddaris in the territory of Solarussa comparable reasons can be seen for its complex layout. It is again feasible that at least until the Second World War this settlement was occupied by transhumant shepherds collaborating according to the (semmos) a unu type of pastoral co-operation. However, in this instance extensive co-operation was a strategy to create a stronger socio-economic position towards mostly absentee estate owners who resided in the urban centres in the lowlands. The same applies to cheese companies, who were often also large landowners since the end of the 19th century. Relations with local shepherds and farmers, and town councils in the valleys and coastal lowlands were less critical in gaining access to areas of pasture. A good recent historical example of the relationships between shepherds from Fonni and large estate owners is found in the zone of Salto di Cirras at the western coast (Fig. 1). A prosperous person from Fonni leased this zone from a landowning family living in the island capital of Cagliari in the decades around the Second World War, and he in turn seasonally sub-let pasture to shepherds from Fonni and some other interior mountain communities. The area was divided in five separate sectors, which could each sustain about 2,000 sheep, compelling shepherds to collaborate in order to deliver the demanded amount of milk to the primary lessee, who controlled a cheese factory in the zone. The total rent was established on the basis of the maximum number of sheep an area of pasture could support during the winter and early spring period. From this it is clear that shepherds related by kinship or other ties were forced to join flocks, especially because individual transhumant flocks kept by domestic units (father and son(s), or brothers) normally numbered around 200 sheep (Meloni 1989-1990: 609). One reason was that this size was required to have an economically-viable pastoral ‘business’ producing for a commercial market. However, the critical factor is that 200 was about the maximum number of sheep a domestic unit of ordinarily two or three male persons could manage in terms of labour. In short it appears that

Another factor seems to have been the regulations of common land use. Monte Nuovu opened for shepherds returning from the valleys and coastal lowlands between the 10th and 25th of May. After these dates three periods of use can be distinguished, namely spring, summer and early autumn. The complex pastoral settlements were only used during spring and summer. After about the middle of August most shepherds would leave for the valleys and coastal lowlands. The shepherds staying behind at Monte Nuovu would then have moved until at the latest the end of November to higher altitudes, where the grass vegetation was still fresh compared to pasture on lower altitudes which had been subjected to intensive grazing during the previous three months. At this time the extensive types of pastoral co-operation were dissolved, and the shepherds staying behind operated individually or according to the of su cumpangiu or a umone type of pastoral co-operation. Archaeologically this is visible by the fact that pastoral settlements on higher altitudes generally consisted of one stone structure, i.e. a shepherd’s hut. A possible explanation is that the pressure on grazing land was 92

48). Personal relationships with private cheese companies and governmental bodies have gained considerable importance compared to intra-community ties. Shepherds have become increasingly dependent on wider but often fluctuating markets for sheep cheeses and lamb meat within a cash economy. Pastoralism developed towards, figuratively speaking, a ‘monoculture’, and other products such as consumption goods are not domestically-produced anymore but instead have to be purchased. Economic dependency and financial uncertainty have formed an incentive towards establishing small family enterprises in the pastoral field binding father and son(s) or brothers together in order to prevent the flow of animal and land capital beyond the immediate family. As a consequence cross-family and extensive forms of pastoral co-operation such as the (semmos) a unu type completely disappeared.

numbers of individual domestic flocks were determined primarily by the available labour and less by access to grazing. In this context it has to be noted that the winter and early spring period was also the most labour-intensive one during the pastoral year due to the need to manage the divided flock, which was a second reason to establish extensive forms of pastoral co-operation besides securing access to pasture. The decades after the 1950s witnessed a drastic change in the socio-economic organisation of pastoral production and concomitantly the use of complex pastoral settlements. Reuse of the four pastoral complexes at Monte Nuovu, and that at Nuraghe Meddaris, Solarussa, is visible through the presence of modern construction materials. However, only certain parts of these settlements have been re-used, which suggests that fewer shepherds were present at these locations during the various seasons of the pastoral year. The archaeological evidence also demonstrates that the occupation of isolated shepherds’ huts at higher altitudes in the zone of Monte Nuovu continued later than the complex ones near the valley bottom. An abandonment of the latter in the 1960s and 1970s is proposed, whereas the isolated shepherds’ huts were probably mostly deserted at the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s.

It is clear that economic and political changes on regional and (inter)national levels have transformed the pastoral economy and explain the different patterns of use and finally complete abandonment of the complex pastoral settlements. Extensive forms of pastoral collaboration dissolved and the need to create artificial pasture encouraged shepherds to move to formerly agricultural zones, in the end abandoning areas such as Monte Nuovu almost entirely, which are marginal in terms of agricultural exploitation.

It is clear that after the Second World War Fonni and Solarussa show a development towards a more strictly commercially-ruled pastoral economy. Various factors account for this transformation, including the rapid expansion of an (inter)national market for pastoral products, and the technological modernisation of pastoral production. At Solarussa many areas of pasture were permanently purchased by transhumant shepherds from Fonni, who currently own flocks of between about 200 and 600 sheep. One reason for this was the decreasing profits from renting for the original estate owners (Clark 1996: 96-97; Setzi and Antoniacci 1988: 149). Secondly the expanding commercial market for pastoral products allowed transhumant shepherds to acquire certain amounts of financial capital, offering the opportunity to appropriate large areas of pasture privately, in particular in the valleys and coastal lowlands. Also technical innovations in pastoral production played a role. A crucial change has been the introduction of artificial pasture. Currently shepherds will cultivate artificial pasture to create fodder and straw provisions for autumn and winter. Combined with the construction of winter shelters for flocks, the introduction of artificial pasture both at Fonni and Solarussa has been the primary factor for the sedentarisation of the pastoral economy and also allowed larger flocks. One consequence has been the penetration of pastoral land use into zones of former crop cultivation and horticulture, in particular at Fonni. Agricultural production for domestic consumption has almost completely disappeared at Fonni due to the large availability of cash crops from the lowlands and the availability of transport and better roads.

3. Conclusions Various ethnoarchaeological and less often ethnographic studies offer descriptions of pastoral settlements throughout the Mediterranean (e.g., Carrier 1932; Chang 1981, 2000; Chang and Tourtelotte 1993; Creighton and Segui 1998; Cribb 1991; Kouremenos 1985; Wace and Thompson 1971 (1914)). Like the Sardinian ethnographies these studies mostly lack a comprehensive explanatory framework other than in functional-ecological terms, or do not discuss fully intra-regional differences in the architectural layout of pastoral sites. For instance Chang’s theoretical approach mainly derives from ‘an ecological model of pastoral dynamics’ (1992: 76), and analyses the distribution of pastoral settlements according to environmental zones. The historical context of pastoral strategies in land use throughout these environmental zones remains largely unknown. On the other hand studies paying attention to historical transformations generally lack an interest in pastoral material culture. Campbell’s seminal work on the Sarakatsani and Vlach in Greece, for example, offers an elaborate discussion on how access to land for shepherds changed during recent history such as the reform into small landholdings of the chiftlik estates since the 1920s, which reduced substantially the areas of winter pasture formerly available and concomitantly the sizes of flocks (1964: 11-18). However, we do not learn how this affected pastoral settlements materially and their geographical location. This paper attempted to show that socio-economic and political developments on local, regional and wider levels can offer partial but important explanations for divergent layouts and locations of pastoral settlements, although

These combined developments after the Second World War have made shepherds from Fonni increasingly individualistic thinking strategists (Mereu and Carta 1982: 93

degli Stati di S.M. il Re di Sardegna, Torino: G. Maspero. Barker G. and A. Grant 1991. Ancient and Modern Pastoralism in Central Italy: An Interdisciplinary Study in the Cicolano Mountains. Papers of the British School at Rome LIX, 15-88. Berger A.H. 1986. Co-operation, and Production Environment in Highland Sardinia: a Study of the Associational Life of Transhumant Shepherds, Unpublished Ph.D. thesis: Columbia University. Boissevain J. 1966. Patronage in Sicily. Man (N.S.) 1, 1833. Bevillacqua P. (ed.) 1989-1990.Storia dell’Agricoltura Italiana in Età Contemporanea, volume II, Venezia: Marsilio. Caltagirone B. 1989. Animali Perduti: Abigeato e Scambio Sociale in Barbagia, Cagliari: Celt Editrice. Campbell J.K. 1964. Honour, family and patronage, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Carrier E.H. 1932. Water and Grass: a Study in the Pastoral Economy of Southern Europe, London: Christophers Ltd. Chang C. 1981. The Archaeology of Contemporary Herding Sites in Didyma, Greece, Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, State University of New York at Binghamton. Chang C. 1992. Archaeological Landscapes: the Ethnoarchaeology of Pastoral Land Use in the Grevena Province of northern Greece. In: J. Rossignol and L. Wandsnider (eds), Space, Time and Archaeological Landscapes, New York: Plenum Press, 65-89. Chang C. 2000. The Material Culture and Settlement History of Agro-Pastoralism in the Koinotis of Dhidhima: An Ethnoarcaheological Perspective. In: S. B. Sutton (ed.), Contingent Countryside: Settlement, Economy, and Land Use in the Southern Argolid since 1700, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 125-140. Chang C. and H. A. Koster 1986. Beyond Bones: Toward an Archaeology of Pastoralism. Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory 9, 97-148. Chang C. and P.A. Tourtelotte 1993. Ethnoarchaeological Survey of Pastoral Transhumance Sites in the Grevena Region, Greece. Journal of Field Archaeology 20 (3), 249-264. Clark M. 1996. Sardinia: Cheese and Modernisation. In: C. Levy (ed.), Italian Regionalism: History, Identity and Politics, Oxford: Berg, 81-106. Creighton O.H. and J.R. Segui 1998. The Ethnoarchaeology of Abandonment and Postabandonment Behaviour in Pastoral Sites: Evidence from Famorca, Alacant Province, Spain. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 11 (1), 31-52. Cribb R. 1991. Nomads in Archaeology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. E.R.S.A.T. (Ente Regionale di Sviluppo e Assistenza Tecnica in Agricoltura) 1987. Piano di Volarizzazione della Zona di Sviluppo AgroPastorale. Comune di Fonni (Indagine Conoscitiva), Cagliari.

environmental and functional conditions should not be neglected (Mientjes et al. in press). For example many pastoral settlements were located in such a way that a good overview of the area of pasture was created, and so that water-sources for domestic animals and shepherds were available in the immediate surroundings. It has also been discussed that the number of sheep corrals and other shelters within a settlement was partly a function of the division of the flock during the winter and early spring seasons. However, the group of complex pastoral settlements also indicated that pastoral practices in terms of vernacular architecture bear some correlations with modes of socioeconomic organisation. They suggest extensive forms of pastoral collaboration occurred on common land in the mountains and large estates in the valleys and coastal lowlands as a response to the economic and political pressures from outside parties such as town-councils and large landowners. The changing relationships between shepherds and the latter groups and developments in markets and pastoral production account for the material transformations visible after roughly the Second World War at these settlements in the form of partial re-use and finally complete abandonment. Acknowledgements The study presented in this article is based on my doctoral study of Sardinian pastoralism. Various individuals and organisations have supported me during my research. I am much indebted to the directors of the Riu Mannu survey in western central Sardinia: Dr. Pieter van de Velde, Dr. Maria-Beatrice Annis, and Dr. Peter van Dommelen. They enabled my first visits (1992 - 1995) to Sardinia as part of my Master’s course at the Leiden State University, the Netherlands. Much gratitude goes also to the Department of Archaeology, University of Wales, Lampeter. They provided me with the practical and intellectual support for conducting my Ph.D. research. Finally I am grateful for all the support I found in Sardinia. The help received from the Department of Anthropology of the University of Cagliari was invaluable for conducting my fieldwork. The Archivio di Stato and the institute of E.R.S.A.T. (Ente Regionale di Sviluppo e Assistenza Tecnica in Agricoltura) in Sardinia allowed me to consult the archival material. Finally I am especially indebted to all the local shepherds and others I met and their willingness to collaborate with my research. Bibliography Angioni G. 1975. I Pastori dell’Ogliastra Descrizione Documentaria dell’Ergologia Tradizionale. Studi Sardi 23 (2), 355-442. Angioni G. 1989. I Pascoli Erranti: Antropologia del Pastore in Sardegna, Napoli: Liguori Editori. Angius V. 1834-1856 (G. Casalis (ed.)). Dizionario Geografico Storico - Statistico - Commerciale 94

Koster A.H. 2000. Neighbours and Pastures: Reciprocity and Access to Pasture. In: S.B. Sutton (ed.), Contingent Countryside: Settlement, Economy, and Land Use in the Southern Argolid Since 1700, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 241-261. Kouremenos K.E. 1985. The Sarakatsani, Athens: Melissa. Lai F. 1988. Contestazioni Territoriali e Comunità in Sardegna tra la Fine dell’700 e la Prima Metà dell’800. Quaderni Bolotanesi 14, 191-204. Lanternari V. (ed.) 1982. Le Società Pastorali, Roma: La Goliardica. Masuri M. 1982. Società Pastorale in Sardegna. In: V. Lanternari (ed.), Le Società Pastorali, Roma: La Goliardica, 21-47. Meloni B. 1984. Famiglie di Pastori: Continuità e Mutamento in una Comunità della Sardegna Centrale, 1950-1970, Nuoro-Torino: Rosenberg and Sellier (Istituto Superiore Regionale Etnografico). Meloni B. 1989-1990. Il Pastore e la Famiglia: Aggregati Domestici in Sardegna. In: P. Bevillacqua (ed.), Storia dell’Agricoltura Italiana in Età Contemporanea, volume II, Venezia: Marsilio, 597-623. Mereu A. 1978. Fonni Resistenziale nella Barbagia di Ollolai e nella Storia dell’Isola, Nuoro: Tip. Solinas. Mereu A. and M. Carta 1982. La Poesia Popolare in un Metro Campione della Barbagia di Ollolai, Nuoro: Leoni Editori. Mientjes A.C. 2002. Pastoralism in Sardinia: Ethnoarchaeological Research into the Material and Spatial Features of Sardinian Pastoralism in a Regional Context, Unpublished Ph.D. thesis: University of Wales, Lampeter. Mientjes A. C., M. Pluciennik and E. Giannitrapani. In Press. Archaeologies of Recent Rural Sicily and Sardinia: A Comparative Approach. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology. Rossignol J. and L. Wandsnider (eds) 1992. Space, Time and Archaeological Landscapes, New York: Plenum Press. Setzi A. and E. Antoniacci 1988. L’Evoluzione dell’Economia Pastorale Sarda nel Periodo 19601980. Quaderni Bolotanesi 14, 143-157. Sutton S.B. (ed.) 2000. Contingent Countryside: Settlement, Economy, and Land Use in the Southern Argolid Since 1700, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Wace A.J.B. and M.S. Thompson 1971 (1914). Nomads of the Balkans, New York: Books for Libraries Press (reprinted by Freeport). Wolf E.R. 1966. Peasants, Englewood Cliffs: PrenticeHall.

95

Figure 1. The island of Sardinia with the location of the villages of Fonni and Solarussa, and other places mentioned in the text (drawing: A.C. Mientjes).

96

Figure 2. The zone of Monte Nuovu or Comunale in the south-eastern periphery of territory of Fonni. Location of four complex pastoral settlements. Squares are shepherds’ huts and animal shelters; filled circles are sheep enclosures. White squares are recent huts (drawing: A.C. Mientjes).

Figure 3. Plan of complex pastoral settlement of Cuile sa Mela, Monte Nuovu, territory of Fonni [sketch plan] (drawing: A.C. Mientjes). 97

Figure 4. Location of complex pastoral settlement at Nuraghe Meddaris at northern border of territory of Solarussa. Squares are shepherds’ huts and animal shelters; filled circles are sheep enclosures (drawing: A.C. Mientjes).

Figure 5. Plan of complex pastoral settlement at Nuraghe Meddaris, territory of Solarussa [sketch plan] (drawing: A.C. Mientjes).

98

Import or Imitation – Cycladic Idols on the Greek Mainland Erika C. Pieler Department of Classical Archaeology, University of Vienna, Vienna, Austria [email protected] Keywords: Cycladic – Attica – Euboea – figurine – prestige head is tilted upwards and backwards on a short neck and among the facial features only the nose is indicated. Ears and eyes are usually not shown. The arms are folded at the waist, nearly always right below left therefore they are called ‘Folded Arm Figurines’. Above them the two breasts are only weakly indicated. The pubic triangle is often indicated by incision. The legs are always held together, divided only by an incision and often bent at the knees. The feet are inclined and slightly turned outwards so that the figurine seems to stand on tiptoe.

Abstract Today 44 figurines from the Greek mainland are known or at least mentioned in publications which are Cycladic or influenced by Cycladic idols. My paper is an attempt to classify them not by their type but by the grade of Cycladic influence. The result is a system of three groups ranging from imports to local products and imitations. The imports have all the features of idols found on the Cyclades, local products differ in one detail and imitations, although they have a Cycladic character as well, differ in several points. These three groups will be explained by some typical representatives from Aghios Kosmas in Attica and Manika on Euboea.

The folded arm figurines, which can be divided into several varieties (Renfrew 1969: 15), are represented only by the Spedos- and Dokathismata varieties on the Greek mainland. The Spedos variety is more sculped in the round compared to other varieties. The legs are flexed at the knees and details are shown by modelling rather than by incision. The idols of the Dokathismata variety are the longest, thinnest, most angular and elegant figurines. The head is triangular. The shoulders are wide and pointed. The upper arms are long and often bent upwards. The legs are worked in single continuous lines so that the knees are not indicated. Details are shown by incision. Furthermore, three idols in seated position occur on the Greek mainland. Two were brought to light at Manika (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1991: no. 12 and 13). The third is exhibited in the Goulandris Museum, Athens, but its exact provenance is unknown (Doumas 1983: no. 168). A schematic type of the Keros-Syros culture is the Apeiranthos type (Renfrew 1969: 14). These idols are flat and consist of a spade-like body with a long neck that ends in an abstract head.

Some considerations on this topic are: Why did these idols get into non-Cycladic areas? Who were the owners? What was the purpose of the figurines for them? Which types and varieties of Cycladic idols occur most on the Greek mainland?

1. Introduction Cycladic idols found on the Greek mainland were first mentioned in the 19th century (Wolters 1891: 54 Fig. 1. 2; Blinkenberg 1897: 68). More recent excavations, for example at Manika (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1991), raised the question about their function and significance outside the Cyclades and are an important factor in understanding the cultural contacts and trade relations between the Cyclades and the surrounding regions in the Early Bronze Age. However, there are no complete analyses of all the idols in the Helladic area (Sampson 1988: 116-17). This paper is an attempt to classify and interpret them. The analyses will here be done on the basis of some representative idols.

A few idols of the Grotta-Pelos culture (EC I) were found at Marathon and belong to the spade type (Thimme 1976: no. 53 and 54; Petrakos 1995: 126 Fig. 63) and the Plastiras type (Doumas 1983: no. 32 and 33). However, the idols of the latter type were not found in context and are only said to come from Attica. Therefore it is possible that they are fakes.

The Early Cycladic culture can be – according to Renfrew (1972: 135-151) – divided into three main culture sequences based on groups of material: Grotta-Pelos culture, Keros-Syros culture and Phylakopi I culture. This culture system is more or less analogous to the relative chronology of the Early Cycladic (EC) period: Early Cylcladic I, Early Cycladic II and Early Cycladic III. The Cycladic idols of the canonical type, that will be emphasized in this article, are two-dimensional human figurines, occurring in Early Bronze Age (EBA) II (Renfrew 1969; Thimme 1976; Getz-Preziosi 1987). Their main distribution area is located in the islands of the Cyclades. The height of the idols varies from a few centimetres to nearly life-size statuettes. The material generally used for their production is white local marble found on the islands. Another important fact is the predominance of female idols. According to Renfrew (Renfrew 1969: 9), the following stylistic features are characteristic for the ‘Folded Arm Figurines’ (FAF): the

The aim of my analysis is the classification of Cycladic idols found outside the Cyclades. I raise the following questions: What is the definition of a Cycladic idol? What can still be called a Cycladic idol, and how can we distinguish between local products and imports? Further interesting questions are: Why did these idols get into nonCycladic areas? Who were the owners, and what was their purpose? Finally, which types and varieties of Cycladic idols occur most on the Greek mainland? The main criterion for the classification of the idols on the 99

o

Greek mainland was not the type they represent but the stage of cultural and stylistic merger. Therefore the idols can be divided into imports, local products and imitations. Three idols, for example, could belong to the Spedos variety, judged by the features mentioned above, such as the bent knees and sculpting in the round. On the other hand, the creation of some details or the material used in some cases show the difference. Therefore one can be classified as an import and others as local products or imitations (Figs. 3, 6, 7). E. Karantzali uses a similar system to divide the Cycladic idols found on the Greek mainland and especially on Crete into different groups (Karantzali 1996, 156-160).

o o

the Cyclades should be the origin or the main distribution area of this type or variety; marble as material; high quality production.

2.1.1. (Mylonas 1959: 87 Fig. 163, 5) (Fig. 1) Site: Aghios Kosmas; Type/Variety: FAF-Spedos; Material: marble. Height: 4 cm 2.1.2. (Mylonas 1959: 83 Fig. 163, 4) (Fig. 2) Site: Aghios Kosmas; Type/Variety: Spedos/Dokathismata; Material: marble. Height: 3.4 cm

It should however be noted that my classification is based on stylistic arguments. Petrographic characterisation would be an important supplement to my argument, for instance to locate the marble sources. Furthermore, the classification was based on fragments. If the whole idol existed, the classification would maybe be different, since there would perhaps have been more characteristics that could be compared with Cycladic idols.

FAF-

2.1.3. (Mylonas 1959: 81 Fig. 163, 2) (Fig. 3) Site: Aghios Kosmas; Type/Variety: FAF-Spedos; Material: marble. Height: 6.2 cm Since all these idols are made in accordance with the Cycladic canon I consider them to be imports. Idol 2.1.3. is described as figurine of the early Spedos style (Rambach 2000: 252). Idol 2.1.2. may belong to the Spedos or Dokathismata variety and can be compared with idols of both varieties (Thimme 1976: no. 166 and 214). In all cases the material is white marble.

In this paper only a few idols from two excavations, Aghios Kosmas in Attica (Mylonas 1959) and Manika on Euboea (Sapouna-Sakellarakis 1987; Sampson 1988) shall illustrate the classification system under discussion (the complete catalogue is in preparation for publication by the author). Both sites are very important for studying the connections of the Helladic and the Cycladic world in the Early Bronze Age, since they yielded a high quantity of Cycladic goods or local variants and imitations. The grave goods also include a large number of idols, either Cycladic ones or imitations as well as local products. Because of this wide range Aghios Kosmas and Manika will be used as examples here. The two sites are coastal, with graves cut into rock and, especially at Aghios Kosmas, follow Cycladic burial habits (Doumas 1977: 65) whereby the dead were buried in cist graves. Many Cycladic goods, including vessels, bronze tools and marble objects, were brought to light at Manika and Aghios Kosmas. The general picture which the cemeteries give is that of a mixed culture, that includes Cycladic and Helladic elements. During the Lefkandi I culture the Cycladic objects at Manika are replaced by Anatolian ones (Sampson 1988: 67 Fig. 18, 118). The settlement at Manika is of pure Helladic character (Sampson 1988: 114).

2.1.4. (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1991: 8 no. 8 plate 3, 1. 2) (Fig. 4) Site: Manika; Type/Variety: FAF-Spedos; Material: marble. Height: 9.3 cm This very accurately made head meets all criteria for being an import, since the marble head is inclined. The nose is the only facial feature indicated. A slight incision divides the head from the neck. E. Karantzali (1996: 197) considers it an import also. 2.2. Local products The indigenous Cycladic idol is a figurine with an actual Cycladic appearance, but no fully comparable idol exists in the Cyclades. The term ‘indigenous’ or ‘local’ refers to the place of production which is probably located on the Greek mainland. They do not have all the Cycladic features like the imports – in general they differ by one detail such as the way of representing the legs or the material.

2. Material 2.2.1. (Mylonas 1959: 77 Fig. 163, 1) (Fig. 5) Site: Aghios Kosmas; Type/Variety: Spade type; Material: marble. Height: 15.1 cm The style is obviously Cycladic because of the spade-like body and the oval head with its dominant nose. Renfrew (1969: 14) thinks that this idol belongs to the Apeiranthos type. To my mind, however, the shape has more parallels to schematic, spade-shaped idols from the Grotta-Pelos culture. Furthermore, the combination of this schematic body with a very naturalistic head is not typical of the Apeiranthos type on the Cyclades. Apart from the nose, the mouth is indicated as well, namely by an incision.

2.1. Imports Many characteristics together or combined may define an import. For instance, single pieces that do not follow the Cycladic canon exist on the Cyclades as well (Broodbank 2000: 271). In order to carry out the analyses, I checked every idol using the following characteristics that an import should have in my opinion. Most of the Cycladic idols have at least some of these in common: o affiliation to a type or variety defined by Renfrew (Renfrew 1969); o the existence of similar idols in the Cyclades; 100

Rambach (2000: 252) writes, that the head has similarities to the Plastiras figurines. Because of the combination of schematic and naturalistic features that do not exist on the Cyclades in that way, I regard it as a local product.

their brief publication (group one to three). They are also not included in figure nine. Figure 10 includes just idols, that can be assigned to a certain type or – in the case of the FAFs – to one variety.

2.2.2. (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1991: 8 no. 10 plate 5, 1. 2) (Fig. 6) Site: Manika; Type/Variety: FAF-Spedos; Material: marble. Height: 12.7 cm Its style appears to be Cycladic since it has almost every detail of the Spedos variety, but the feet are not standing on tiptoe as normal. Since it does not show this important, basic Cycladic feature, it should be considered a local product. Karantzali (1996: 197) also thinks that it could be an import.

As can be seen in Figure 10, there is one variety which occurs frequently, the Spedos variety. Thirteen idols belong to this variety. It is interesting that in all three groups this variety is the most common. In my opinion there are four reasons why this is the case: • • •

2.3. Imitations Idols of the third group are of Cycladic character like the other two groups but only imitate them. That means they differ in several ways: imitations are often made of a different material, sometimes even of a different colour, like dark steatite. Furthermore they do not follow the Cycladic canon and proportions. This can be seen by the representation of the forearms, which are sometimes folded the other way round - left below right - or represented by one single stripe.

•

the Spedos variety is the most common variety in the Cyclades; it is distributed widely throughout the Cyclades. Therefore it is plausible that the Spedos variety was exchanged in non-Cycladic regions as well; the contacts between the Cyclades and other cultures reached their peak in EC II which is the period when the Spedos variety was fully developed; because of its appearance the Spedos variety is the most naturalistic and harmonious variety.

Certainly it is not correct to argue with such terms but if we see Cycladic idols as representative of prestige goods being traded this aspect is understandable and should not be neglected. To support this theory, however, some questions concerning ‘Cycladica’ on the Greek mainland should be reflected on.

2.3.1. (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1991: 8 no. 7 plate 3, 4. 5) (Fig. 7) Site: Manika; Type/Variety: FAF-Spedos; Material: marble. Height: 4.5 cm

There are many theories about the owners of Cycladic goods as well about the origins of the dead buried in the graves of Manika and Aghios Kosmas. One theory is that the dead, buried in graves with Cycladic finds, come from the Cyclades (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1987: 261). I agree that the existence of Cycladic people in these regions cannot be excluded, but I would rather agree with Sampson who rejects the assumption of Cycladic colonies and argues for local population (Sampson 1988: 113-119). SapounaSakellaraki has three hypotheses for the occurrence of Cycladic goods: passing merchants who left some isolated objects; sudden death en route; organised establishment of merchants/sailors (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1987: 262). However, it should not be forgotten, that the impression the complexes give is that of a mixed culture. At Manika for example or on Euboea in general, Cycladic goods are usually found together with indigenous objects. Therefore we cannot call these burials uniquely Cycladic. The settlement at Manika is of pure EH character (Sampson 1988: 114). Cycladic idols have been found in Crete as well, however, between the Cretan tombs that contained Cycladic burial goods and those in the Helladic region there are great differences: tholos tombs in Crete (Xanthoudides 1924: 21. 121; Sakellarakis – SapounaSakellaraki 1997: 152), and rock cut tombs on the mainland. In my opinion the complexes cannot be compared at all. This is one more reason why I would regard the local people as the owners of the idols, since if we regard all the cemeteries as Cycladic and if they were used by the same people, the impression they give should be more homogeneous.

2.3.2. (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1991: 8 no. 9 plate 4, 1. 2) (Fig. 8) Site: Manika; Type/Variety: FAF-Spedos; Material: marble. Height: 16 cm These two idols have Cycladic features and belong to the Spedos variety (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1991: 8). At first glance they might be classed as Cycladic idols, however a difference must be made. After a more thorough examination, the different representation of the arms becomes apparent. The forearms are not folded left over right, but they are represented as one single stripe. The feet obviously imitate the feet of Cycladic idols, but here they are not worked in detail. Also the shapes are not canonical but irregular. Both idols imitate the Spedos variety which is indicated by the bent knees and the rather round shapes, but they have completely lost the typical sculpting in the round and have a flat appearance. Karantzali (1996: 197) describes them as imitations of the developed Spedos variety. 3. Discussion Twelve idols may be imports, six idols may be local products and six figurines can be considered imitations (Fig. 9). Furthermore, 10 idols can belong to either group one or two, and ten idols cannot be classified because of 101

Archaiologiki Etaireia . Rambach J. 2000. Kykladen II. Die frühe Bronzezeit. Bronzezeitliche Beigabensittenkreise auf den Kykladen. Relative Chronologie und Verbreitung, Bonn: Dr. Rudolf Habelt Gmbh. Renfrew C. 1969. The Development and Chronology of the Early Cycladic Figurines. American Journal of Archaeology 73, 1-32. Renfrew C. 1972. The Emergence of Civilisation: The Cyclades and the Aegean in the Third Millennium B.C., London: Methuen. Sakellarakis Y. and E. Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1997. Archanes. Minoan Crete in a New Light, Athens: Ammos Publications. Sampson A. 1988. Manika. O protoelladikos oikismos kai to nekrotapheio II, Athens: Ekdosi Dimou Chalkideon. Sapouna-Sakellarakis E. 1987. New Evidence from the Early Bronze Age Cemetery at Manika, Chalkis. The Annual of the British School at Athens 82, 233-264. Sapouna-Sakellaraki E. 1991. Nouvelles Figurines Cycladiques et Petite Glyptique du Bronze Ancien d`Eubée. Antike Kunst 34, 3-12. Thimme J. (ed.) 1976. Kunst und Kultur der Kykladeninseln im 3. Jahrtausend v. Chr., Karlsruhe: C. F. Müller. Wolters P. 1891. Marmorkopf aus Amorgos. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Athenische Abteilung, 16, 46-58. Xanthoudides S. 1924. The Vaulted Tombs of Mesara. An Account of Some Early Cemeteries of Southern Crete, London: Hodder and Stoughton.

Another important factor can be taken into consideration: out of 44 idols just 12 are imports. The others are local products. Would it not be more convincing that Cycladic people prefer to take their own canonical idol with them, instead of acquiring a local figurine which is in some ways different from the usual Cycladic figurines? So what was the purpose or meaning of these marble figurines? Such questions of course, cannot be answered with certainty but in my opinion the idols were used as status symbols or prestige goods by local people who had contact with the Cyclades. This theory can be supported by the following fact: in the Cyclades the marble idols were also found in rich graves and can be interpreted as an indicator of wealth and prosperity (Doumas 1977: 58). I am convinced that interest in foreign objects is a factor that should not be neglected and I agree with Karantzali who says that Cycladic idols were in fashion or a trend in the EH Aegean (Karantzali 1996: 161). In order to show their high status, people acquired these statuettes or produced their local ones which have a Cycladic appearance as well to ensure luxuriant burials. This work should be understood as an overview of the Cycladic idols outside their main region. The material will be the basis for further research, for example figuring out local styles or centres of production. A very helpful factor that is still missing for the majority of the figures would be the analyses of the marble used for the idols in comparison with the Cycladic ones. Especially for the schematic idols it would be useful to have analyses of the material, since in most cases it is difficult to decide on account of the shape if they are imports or not. Furthermore, it is my aim to collect and analyse as many idols as possible in order to show the circulation and spread of Cycladic goods in the Helladic region and on Crete. Bibliography Blinkenberg C. 1897. Antiquites Premyceniennes, Copenhagen: Thiele. Broodbank C. 2000. An Island Archaeology of the Early Cyclades, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Doumas C. 1977. Early Bronze Age Burial Habits in the Cyclades, (Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology, 48), Göteborg: Paul Åströms Förlag. Doumas C. 1983. Cycladic Art. Ancient Sculpture and Pottery from the N.P. Goulandris Collection. London: British Museum. Getz-Preziosi P. 1987. Sculptors of the Cyclades: Individual and Tradition in the Third Millennium B.C., Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Karantzali E. 1996. Le Bronze Ancien dans les Cyclades et en Crète. Les relations entre les deux régions – Influence de la Grèce Continentale, (British Archaeological Reports, International Series, 631), Oxford: Temous Reparatum. Mylonas G. 1959. Aghios Kosmas. An Early Bronze Age Settlement and Cemetery in Attica, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Petrakos B. Ch. 1995. O Marathon, Athens: I en Athinais 102

1

2

5

3

6

4

7

Figure 1: Import from Aghios Kosmas shown in line drawing (drawing: E. Pieler) Figure 2: Import from Aghios Kosmas shown in line drawing (drawing: E. Pieler) Figure 3: Import from Aghios Kosmas shown in line drawing (drawing: E. Pieler) Figure 4: Import from Manika shown in line drawing (drawing: E. Pieler) Figure 5: Local Cycladic idol from Aghios Kosmas shown in line drawing (drawing: E. Pieler) Figure 6: Local Cycladic idol from Manika shown in line drawing (drawing: E. Pieler) Figure 7: Imitation from Manika shown in line drawing (drawing: E. Pieler) Figure 8: Imitation from Manika shown in line drawing (drawing: E. Pieler)

103

8

12 10

10

6

Imports

6

Local products

1-2

Imitations

1-3

Group 3 – Imitations Group 1 or 2 Group 2 - Local products Group 1 – Imports Figure 9: Groups of Cycladic idols on the Greek Mainland (Erika Pieler)

13

4 1 1

3

3

3 7

2 1 2

2

1 1 1

Plastiras

1 1 1

1 1

Spedos Spade type

2

Apeiranthos

Dokathismata

Idols in seated position

FAF

Figure 10: Types and varieties of Cycladic idols on the Greek Mainland (Erika Pieler)

104

Site as a landscape, site in a landscape: interpreting Il Pizzo Ulla Rajala Department of Archaeology, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, U.K. [email protected] Keywords: Fieldwork – biography – GIS – landscape – site practical knowledge. This knowledge is accumulated through subjective observation, but one can see that there exists a core of more objective observations of the surroundings. Therefore, the physical characteristics that present and past landscapes share can be used as a basis for the analysis of possible meaningful characteristics. Further observations on material culture help to observe reoccurring homologous oppositions (such as high – low, culture – nature, open – closed). These oppositions can be used to define homologies i.e. associations between objects and basic principles used to conceptualise the world. An analytical review of basic dualities between constructed and natural spheres helps to find the level of fundamental significance in the landscape.

Abstract Il Pizzo (Nepi, VT) is a multiperiod promontory site in central Italy near Rome. Now deserted, it was once a significant place at the core of territorial space. In this article, I discuss the advantages of a ‘biographical’ approach in interpreting the trajectory of a site. I present how the fieldwork on Il Pizzo (mapping, systematic pick-up and creation of a 3D model) contributed to the interpretation of this site. This combination of different methods helps us understand different phases and different uses of the site from the Middle Bronze Age to the present day. I argue that an understanding of landscape history is inseparable from then understanding the history of single sites. This becomes apparent from the discussion of the immediate surroundings of the site and its link to the later Faliscan town of Nepi.

Shared practical knowledge is dependent on collective principles and experiences that are created and recreated. As cultural phenomena, social practices and cultural concepts are not only connected to the environment but also to the historical context (Bourdieu 1977: 3-9). In this way, the meanings of things are dependent on what is culturally significant. This means that the same place can mean different things to different communities throughout its history. The changing histories of people are related to the changing histories of objects and in this sense one can apply a biographical metaphor (cf. Gosden and Marshall 1999; Gilchrist 2000: 325; Jones 2002: 83-84, 86-89) to places. Biographical narratives can be formulated on the basis of fieldwork (e.g. Cornelius Holtorf’s work in Portugal, http://www.arch.cam.ac.uk/~ch264/igraja/ introduction.htm).

1. Introduction The aim of this paper is to try to combine archaeological theory and practice in such a way that both are incorporated in the process of interpreting the history of one particular site in a certain geographical and temporal context. I will briefly present the results of fieldwork undertaken on Il Pizzo (Nepi, VT) in central Italy at the small modern town of Nepi, 45 kilometres northeast of Rome. I will first discuss the theoretical principles used in interpreting the past significance of a particular place. Then, I will describe the practical work undertaken in the field. Furthermore, I will use the data to recreate the trajectory of the life history of the site, or perhaps more correctly, the changing meanings of the place through time.

The idea of sites as historical and biographical objects is analogous to the idea of sites as landscapes at the microscale (Bradley 2000: 110-113). Both approaches emphasise the importance of interpretation and temporal change and both life history and landscape history are results of different formation processes. In both cases, the aim is to map the changing physical appearance in different phases of existence, but there are slight differences in emphasis. In the life history approach the changing significance of a place and the active participation of the members of community in creating significance are the main issues, whereas in the landscape approach a site is seen as an essential part of the whole physical and cognitive landscape. Unlike Bradley, who has mainly concentrated on monumental landscapes, I want to talk more about ordinary landscapes and everyday history. Ultimately, I would like to see a site as an everyday scene of social activity at a local scale (cf. Giddens 1984).

I will argue that an understanding of landscape history is inseparable from the understanding of the history of single sites. But the site itself can be seen as a landscape in its own right; without an understanding of how it came into being in its current form, the interpretation of the meaning of the wider landscape is impossible. Basic archaeological fieldwork and mapping techniques are thus elementary to the theoretical dialogue and archaeological practice of interpretation. Post-structural tendencies in archaeology have introduced new theories about the relationship between people and the physical world. Not only is the physical environment the setting of our actions, but also we create material settings for life and these help to create us as social beings (cf. Gosden 1994: 8). Bourdieu (1977: 3-9) has emphasised the importance of practical knowledge as the key element in the enculturation process. Familiarity with the everyday environment around one’s place of living is the source of 105

number five in total. On the western face there is an opening to a barrel vaulted shallow space. All these niches are cut into the modified rock faces and they lie in the cut area, although not at the lowest level. The level between two different modification operations is visible below these niches. These cuttings are similar in form to the different Roman loculus types of tombs, common in the road cuttings in the area (cf. Frederiksen and Ward-Perkins 1957: 88, 91). As the loculi have been cut into the rock faces that had already been cut and modified, the Roman period generally is the terminus ante quem for the earliest phase of rock cutting. The structures suggest that the first modifications could have been earlier than the Roman period, excavations would be necessary to provide a degree of certainty. The majority of the surface material was fairly recent, although a few Faliscan and Roman sherds were found. The considerable share of modern material (Fig. 4) emphasises the intensity of the modern use of the site that has wiped away most of the older loose finds.

In practice, the history of a site can be told when its geographical features are well defined and show signs of transformations. Archaeological mapping is essential in documenting how diagnostic material is distributed along its surface and different loci have been modified. Some of the modifications might enhance the qualities of the site according to changing use and perception and the analysis that leads to the recognition of enhancement is only possible through practice of archaeology. However, a biographical approach emphasises change and modification, use and reuse, over simple periodisation. The ultimate aim is the interpretation of significance, an attempt to view a site from the viewpoint of what it meant in the past, not merely to describe chronological phases. In the case of Il Pizzo, I will firstly describe the characteristics of the site, different structures and finds in order to present a biography. 2. Il Pizzo: a site and landscape recorded and interpreted

The major building work on the summit is a series of terraces in the east. These are supported by quite rectangular cyclopean blocks. The area has been cultivated in the winter during the earlier part of the 20th century (landowner pers. comm.). This partly explains why the material from a collapsed profile was very mixed. The date of the building of the major walling is an intriguing question. The upper courses of the walls might be recent since they consist of smaller blocks, which seem to be meant to reinforce the structures. On the other hand, the lower courses have been fitted to the base rock and probably cut in situ. A sample of stones was measured and although overall there was little consistency in the measurements – this was after all a cyclopean wall - there was some uniformity in widths. They were approaching whole number figures in local ancient Italic and Veian feet (27 cm and 29.6 cm respectively). Unfortunately, the difference between the Veian and the Roman foot (29.4 cm) is so small it is almost impossible to recognise when measuring real tuff blocks. Furthermore, the Archaic measurements in Etruria were not very uniform (cf. Belelli Marchesini 1996). In any case, the result hints at the possibility that these walls could be from the Archaic or mid-Republican period.

Il Pizzo lies immediately south of Nepi in central Italy (Fig. 1) at the junction of the river valleys of Fosso delle Due Acque and Fosso della Massa. The whole promontory is more than 400 metres long and usually less than 50 metres wide. The highest point lies at 213 metres above sea level. Structurally, the site lies on two levels: there is the promontory surface and the lower level of terraced area (Fig. 1 and 3). The higher level is covered by grass and the lower level is covered by forest that creates a high canopy. A small team of four archaeology students conducted fieldwork over two weeks during Easter 2000. The research strategy consisted of four main aspects. Firstly, a baseline was drawn along the narrow promontory along a SW - NE axis. Along this line a systematic pickup was performed. Secondly, the collection of material from the northwestern slope was done pragmatically. This material had been washed down from the promontory or eroded from damaged deposits and was in a secondary position. Thirdly, a general map was drawn using traditional methods. Lastly, a Total Station was used to measure a series of points in the summit area to create a 3D model of the most modified part of the site (Fig. 3). At a later stage, this model was combined with elevation data from a larger area and a finds database.

Another piece of walling is located on the northern side of the promontory. There is a terrace in the slope supported by a terrace wall, which is very similar to the proper Archaic and mid-Republican walling in the Etruscan and Faliscan area (cf. Belelli Marchesini 1996). The northern slope is significant, because most of the Bronze Age pottery found was from there. Bronze Age artefacts represent roughly a quarter of all finds (Fig. 4). They include fragments of cooking stands and a simple loom weight. The selection points to domestic activities. Later prehistoric finds are functionally different; the few finds are similar to ones in the funerary contexts of late Iron Age and early Orientalising period elsewhere in Etruria. In summary, we can suggest that there were two different periods of activity. During the Bronze Age Il Pizzo was a settlement site, but by the late Iron Age it had become a burial ground. There seems to exist a temporal hiatus, but

The surface of the promontory is divided into two parts by walls and gateways. A modern sheep shed dominates the southwestern part of the promontory surface. The summit area is separated from the lower slope to the southwest by a wall. The summit has been modified to a large extent during the history of the site (Fig. 3). Tuff has been cut, terraces have been built and both natural and constructed features have been used to create fencing against a perpendicular drop. On top of the central area, there are remains of the foundation of a building with two cisterns. It is very likely that the modifications visible were the result of two major operations. On the eastern face of the central rock feature, there is a series of niches. These are square or rectangular, and 106

surrounding plains. Instead of guarding the river valley they could control the surrounding territory and overland routes. Not only did Nepi become a part of the wider world, but also some of the key landmarks in the Faliscan area became visible. This change seems to have been significant since Il Pizzo is one of the few places from which these could not be seen (Rajala in press). The invisibility of landmarks underlines the importance the river had earlier. However, the contact with the past remained intact since Il Pizzo was constantly under the gaze. Literally, the ancestors were never out of sight.

this might not be real. Francesco Di Gennaro, who has collected material from the same site, suggests that there might also have been activity during the early Iron Age (di Gennaro et al. in press). How do the landscape and Il Pizzo relate to each other? One possible approach to answering the question is to study territoriality. Territoriality conceptualises the communal sense of right to resources in a certain area (Sack 1986: 5). When people perceive the physical, they are making a distinction between place and space, between static points of temporal stays and the vastness of the world around (Tuan 1977: 12; Thomas 1996: 31). In this connection I want to argue that the area perceived was essentially the core of the territory, which the inhabitants of a site made a claim for. The visible area must have included the characteristics that were considered meaningful in the past. The analysis of what was visible in the surroundings can give us vital clues of the key factors determining the choice of a place. The inhabitants could easily guard what was visible. Thus, I have defined the hypothetical territory of Il Pizzo by using GIS to perform a visibility analysis.

3. The biography of Il Pizzo The creation of a place as a settlement in the conceptual sense starts when it is first settled. The modifications that follow are a way to indicate that a piece of natural landscape has been taken into social use. In an ideal situation one could describe a series of events where people have actively recreated their shared physical universe (cf. Bourdieu 1970). In reality, repeated modifications and the type of study, in this case a survey, define the kind of biography that can be told. We are left interpreting glimpses of the past.

In visibility analysis one is dealing with a series of homologous oppositions that include up - down, near - far, visible - concealed and guarded - unguarded. The result of the analysis can be used both in analysing and visualising the characteristics of the area. The visible area around Il Pizzo is relatively small and is dominated by the river valley (Fig. 5 and 6). One can conclude that what is visible is the river, whereas the plains around are concealed and the site has a dominant position in relation with the core of the visible area. One can suggest an interpretation that the site can be seen as a point from where people guarded their assets along the river. One can try to explain the importance of the river with the characteristics of the area. The rivers in the Faliscan area are exceptional, although not unique in central Italy. All the main rivers are fed by springs and linear water movements (Boni et al. 1988), which means that there was water available all year round. River valleys were not important only as a water source, but must have been important in moving as well. There are road cuttings leading to the ravines all over the area. Furthermore, the dissected area in south-east Etruria is famous for a series of caves, which were visited in the river valleys from the Stone Age onwards (Rellini 1920). Nowadays, the treetops create a valley landscape with lush, low vegetation allowing easy movement and a cooler microclimate. In the same way as in the past, the river valley is used for fishing and hunting.

The promontory of Il Pizzo was used as a settlement site at least from the Middle Bronze Age onwards. Bronze Age pottery has been found eroded from all around the promontory (cf. also di Gennaro et al. in press), so there are remains of the deposits over the whole of the length of the site. The first main period was the earlier Middle Bronze Age, although the extent to which the site was modified for settlement is unknown at the moment. The majority of prehistoric finds are from the Late Bronze Age. Only a few pieces and some information from other scholars prove that there was an Iron Age phase. When the main plateau of the town of Nepi was settled during the eighth century BC, the northern area of the promontory seems to have been used for funerary purposes. This entailed an important shift of emphasis; as a settled site, Il Pizzo seems to have ceased to exist and a new ritual and liminal meaning was created. As the new site of Nepi was expanding, Il Pizzo became marginal for everyday living. However, both upper and lower levels were in use during the Faliscan (Etruscan) period and the site received a new importance. This is signified by active ‘monumentalisation’ of the site. The terrace walls were built and the lower terrace was constructed. The site can be seen as a Late Archaic outpost to keep an eye on the traffic along and across Il Fosso della Massa. The ‘monumentalisation’ could be part of the same process as the erection of the walls of Nepi. The walls represent growing pressure and changing power relations between Rome and other areas in central Italy.

The importance of the relationship between the river and the site is highlighted by the later settlement history in the area. The emphasis of the settlement moved from Il Pizzo to the site of the modern town of Nepi by the end of the Iron Age. At the same time, the area that was visible from the settlement became larger and the qualitative change suggests that there was also a cognitive shift. During the Final Bronze Age the cliffs restricted the view so that the river was at the centre of the visible territory (Fig. 6), but from the new settlement site the inhabitants could see the

One could also interpret the site as a mid-Republican colonial viewing post to govern the river crossing. The site would then have been a testimony to colonial power. The funerary use of the Roman period is shown by the existence of loculi. One can make an interpretation that new settlers manifested their dominance by using pre107

Archaeology. Proceedings of the Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology Conference 2-6 April, 2002, Heraklion, Crete, Greece, Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture, Archive of Monuments and Publications Rellini U. 1920. Cavernette e ripari preistorici nell’Agro Falisco. Monumenti antichi 26: 5-180. Sack R.D. 1986. Human Territoriality, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thomas J. 1996. Time, Culture and Identity, London: Routledge. Tuan Y.F. 1977. Place and Space. The Perspective of Experience, London: Edward Arnold Publishers Ltd.

modified surfaces, visible from surrounding areas, to accommodate and commemorate their deceased. By using an earlier site of importance, they made a visual point in reclaiming the area. During the Medieval and early modern period, the site served most likely as a stronghold and viewing post. The latest use has been agricultural and pastoral. As a site of significance for the local community, it has been forgotten and can regain social meaning only through archaeological interpretation. Acknowledgements I want to thank my supervisor Dr Simon Stoddart for being the director of the Nepi survey project and giving me the possibility of realising the fieldwork. The British School at Rome assisted with the equipment and technical support. The British Academy and McDonald Institute made this financially possible. I am grateful to Dott.sa Daniela Rizzo from the Superintendency and the comune di Nepi. Carrie Murray, Roman Salewski and Dominic Jones helped in the field. Bibliography Belelli

Marchesini B. 1996. L’edilizia in Etruria meridionale dal VII al IV sec. a.C. Techniche e accorgimenti costruttivi. Unpublished PhD thesis. Università di Roma La Sapienza. Boni C., P. Bono, and G. Capelli 1988. Carta idrogeologica del territorio della regione Lazio. Scala 1: 250,000. Rome: Regione Lazio and Università di Roma La Sapienza. Bourdieu P. 1970. The Berber House or the World Reversed. Social Science Information 9, 151-170. Bourdieu P. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bradley R. 2001. An Archaeology of Natural Places, London: Routledge. Frederiksen M.W. and J.B. Ward Perkins 1957. The Ancient Road Systems of the Central and Northern Ager Faliscus (notes on southern Etruria, 2). Papers from the British School at Rome 25, 67-203. di Gennaro F., O. Cerasuolo, C. Colonna, U. Rajala, S. Stoddart and N. Whitehead. In Press. The City and Territory of Nepi. Papers from the British School at Rome 2001. Giddens A. 1984. The Constitution of Society: Outline of a Theory of Structuration, Cambridge: Polity Press. Gilchrist R. 2000. Archaeological Biographies: Realising Human Lifecycles, - Courses and – Histories. World Archaeology 31 (3), 325-328. Gosden C. 1994. Social Being and Time, Oxford: Blackwell. Gosden C. and Y. Marshall 1999. The Cultural Biography of Objects. World Archaeology 31 (2), 169-178. Jones A. 2002. Archaeological Theory and Scientific Practice, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rajala U. In Press. Maps, Mental Maps and Sites: Interpreting Il Pizzo (Nepi, VT, Italy). In: C. Bekiari (ed.), The Digital Heritage of 108

Figure 1. Map of Italy.

109

Figure 2. The view of the upper level of promontory towards the summit.

Figure 3. A view of the summit (3D TIN model). 110

Figure 4. The ‘visibility’ of different archaeological periods.

Figure 5. The visible area around Il Pizzo. 111

Figure 6. A view from Il Pizzo along the river valley

112

Towards Incastellamento: Combining Archaeology and Texts in Modelling the Post-Roman Landscape in Lazio Olaf P.N. Satijn Groningen Institute of Archaeology, Rijksuniversiteit Groningen, Groningen, The Netherlands [email protected] Keywords: Lazio – Roman – Medieval – Incastellamento – landscape the coast, the Pontine Region, Monti Lepini, Monte Ausoni and the Sacco Valley (Fig. 1). Its northern boundary is set by the Roman suburbium – not the city itself – while its southern boundary runs roughly along the Fondi-Ceprano line. Diachronically it covers the final phases of the Roman Empire to the conclusion of the formative process of incastellamento, the creation of a series of fortified, nucleated villages or castra in the ‘higher’ Middle Ages in elevated positions. In Southern Lazio, in contrast with other areas in Central Italy, and in particular Northern Lazio, little systematically combined historical and archaeological research has been done on the transition. It will be important for this research to gain insight into the status quo of such research in Central Italy in general, as a sounding-board for the developments in Southern Lazio. To this end, I will present first a general review of the literature on the transition in Central Italy and the models that can be derived from it, focussing on the publications concerning Northern Lazio.

Abstract This paper states the design of a recently started research project on the socio-economic and political landscape archaeology of the late Roman to post-antique transition in Southern Lazio, Central Italy. First, the outlines are given of the status quo of post-Roman studies in Northern Lazio. This overview serves as soundingboard for the research on Southern Lazio. The focus of this paper concerns the (proto)incastellamento processes (eighth to twelfth century) to which end conceptualisation on incastellamento in the archaeological and historical disciplines in Central Italy is described. In the ‘higher’ Middle Ages a large volume of texts becomes available, performing a vital role in incastellamento communities. It is suggested that the transition can be substantiated best by combining the interpretation of the mediating role and content of these texts with the archaeological record. Finally, I consider how texts may be concretely used to reconstruct the Medieval archaeological landscape of Southern Lazio.

1. Introduction

2. The post-Roman landscape: two phases

Of all the major transitions in Italian archaeology, the transformation from the late Roman world to that of the Middle Ages is one of the most discussed but at the same time one of the least archaeologically documented. This paper outlines my PhD research ‘A socio-economic and political landscape archaeology of the late Roman and post-antique transition in Southern Lazio’, which focuses on the archaeology of this transitional period in Southern Lazio, Central Italy. In earlier research, aspects of the transition have been dealt with, but those studies were either archaeological or historical in nature. The current research is set up to combine archaeological and historical datasets into a comprehensive landscape archaeology. In principle, the study is based on data from the existing literature that subsequently will be analysed in a geographical context. Within the general theme of the socio-economic and political landscape archaeology of the late Roman and post-antique transition in Central Italy, points of emphasis are: o the spatial transition from the Roman villa landscape to the Medieval landscape of incastellamento; o the changing urban patterns and related infrastructure; o the development of the ‘ritual’ – ecclesiastical – landscape; o military and political strategies of control

In order to investigate the transition in Lazio on a microregional level and to analyse the post-Roman long-term landscape developments, a distinction will be made between two phases of transition. The first phase is the proposed breakdown of Roman structures and the filling of the void. Until recently the general perception of the transition was one in which the landscape of Central Italy was subject to a disintegration of Roman urban and rural structures. Through the results of recent work on coarse ware typologies, ideas on the post-Roman demographical developments have changed profoundly (cf. below). The second transitional phase is the initial stage and unfolding of the process of incastellamento. Incastellamento is the process towards unambiguously nucleated settlement in the ‘higher’ Middle Ages. The rural population was settled in, usually, fortified villages (castra, castella/castelli), with fortifications built by the ruling class, the domini. The distinction between the two phases must not be seen as a rigid construction, as the phases may have entangled causalities, but as a starting point to facilitate analysis. The two phases are investigated separately, but are not seen as necessarily consecutive. At a local level one of the phases may be absent, or may have developed a-synchronically with other areas. In the following section I will give the outlines of the status quo of research on post-Roman Lazio in general and describe how this dataset will be incorporated into the

The research area covers the area from the Colli Albani to 113

identification of new foci in the landscape, such as agricultural structures, urban nuclei, churches and monasteries, and the related infrastructure. Finally, these insights will be elaborated in a selected number of case studies.

current project. The main focus of this paper will be on the second phase, the road towards incastellamento, i.e. the eighth to 12th centuries. In this period of the ‘higher’ Middle Ages a large volume of written sources becomes available which performed a vital role in the (proto)incastellamento society. I will reflect on how these may be used in the reconstruction of the contemporary archaeological landscape of the research area. Some examples of texts, finally, serve to demonstrate how these can be used as historical ‘guides’ towards an understanding of the Medieval landscape.

3.2. Sources The basis of the archaeological dataset are the reports on earlier Dutch excavation and survey projects in Southern Lazio, such as the Pontine Region and Agro Pontino projects by respectively the University of Groningen and the University of Amsterdam. Furthermore the Forma Italiae series are an important source, as are individual archaeological endeavours with a focus on the early Middle Ages, for example Privernum and Laurentum (Castel Porziano). The accounts of scholars like De Prony (1822) and De la Blanchère (1899) are of major importance, in order to gain insight in past perceptions of the region as an archaeological landscape, and to understand the pre-bonifica archaeological landscape. Above all, for both the mapping of the late Roman and Medieval landscape and the longue durée a good grip on the historical sources is vital. Foundation dates of castella and monasteries can be distilled from cartularia, monastic transcripts of ownership and donation (Toubert 1973). The Liber Pontificalis (Duchesne 1892), the official papal account of the lives of the Popes from the year 311 on, is a key historical record. Furthermore, lists of pievi (parishes) are useful to map settlements and identify church power structures. Texts are crucial for this research, not just as a source of data, but as an intrinsic active element of the (proto)incastellamento period.

3. Aims and methods of the Southern Lazio research 3.1. Research Before the research on the ‘higher’ Middle Ages can be dealt with, an outline of aims and methods of the current research is called for. As briefly explained above, the first step is to create an overview of the status quo regarding studies on the late Roman to post-antique transition in the Central Italian landscape. From this overview, models need to be constructed as a framework for analysis of the study areas in Southern Lazio. With this macro-regional framework as a backbone, the late Roman to post-antique period in Southern Lazio can be approached from two angles: o a mapping of the late Roman imperial and postRoman landscape. Elements such as towns, villas, and infrastructure will be mapped in a Geographical Information System (GIS) using the available archaeological data extant in the literature. Subsequently those urban, rural and ritual features in the landscape will be charted that are known to have continued in the post-Roman period: individual villas, road networks, for example the Via Appia and the Via Ardeatina, and towns such as Albano Laziale, Anagni, Antium, Ardea, Terracina and Privernum. Equally significant are sites that are said to date from the early Middle Ages, such as churches and hilltop settlements sometimes founded directly on top of Roman structures. o a mapping that is based on a retrospective analysis of the Medieval to sub-recent settlement and land use patterns. In this retrospective approach, toponymy, historical cartography and data from the historical topographical literature will be used to obtain an understanding of the longue durée of the study area. A successful example of this kind of research was begun by Attema (Attema 1993: 33). As a first step, copies of an original edition of the maps made by the Military Geographical Institute of Vienna in 1851 (as reproduced in Frutaz 1973: LXIII, 10b, 11a, 2, 13a) are put into an ArcView GIS in order to have a digitised pre-bonifica landscape available for multi-level geo-relational mapping.

3.2.1. Incastellamento and historical sources as product and medium of socio-political structuring In the past historical sources have sometimes given a clearer view of the post-Roman landscape than archaeology. Historians like Toubert (1973) had already been arguing against the earlier archaeologically proposed, but now enfeebled, argument of depopulation. This example shows that in order to set up a comprehensive landscape archaeology for the transition, the disciplines need to be combined. Though this view is generally accepted in theory, historical evidence is rarely effectively integrated into an archaeological reconstructive analysis of Medieval society. This failure stems from an undervaluation of the active role the sources played. Whereas most scholars of Medieval society focus on the contents of sources (names, dates, organisations), the mediating role of texts is often forgotten. The existence itself of a source and its form, might reveal something about the social configuration in which this text is written: sources enlarge the capacity of registering and controlling information within the workings of social and power structures, and could have been used to enhance or influence them. Texts as indicators for socio-political structures have been underlined by Moreland. He summarises this conceptualisation in his 1992 ‘neo’Annalist interpretation of the Annales paradigm. Texts, as well as artefacts, being socially defined individual

These two data sets will be combined to build a model of settlement and land use for Southern Lazio. This model will reflect the socio-economic and political transition in the late Roman to post-antique landscape through the 114

the traditional view (cf. Potter 1979) of the ‘abandoned’ countryside of the early Middle Ages. For the case studies in Southern Lazio I hope to gain from the typologies made by the British School in Rome, in order to re-evaluate some of the results of the Pontine Region Project.

products, are simultaneously the product and the medium of social structures. Moreland has adopted this vision for his dual archaeological and historiographical research on the preand early incastellamento Sabina of the ninth to 11th century. He maintains that not only the foundation itself of the hilltop sites was a way of controlling social relationships, but also the written texts that document this foundation. By formalising donation, for example, claims of others, or other generations, on property can be prevented. Written accounts could also be a means of fixing production and tax targets for serfs. To use texts as indicators for socio-political structures is especially important for the (proto)incastellamento phase. It is no coincidence that during the initial incastellamento in the 10th century, the bulk of carticulari of many churches and monasteries becomes available (Toubert 1973).

For Northern Lazio, the communis opinio accepts a classical habitation pattern and agricultural system that lasted until at least the sixth century (Potter 1979; Moreland 1992; Patterson and Roberts 1998). On the developments from the sixth century on two views have dominated until recently: an early late sixth century breakdown of Classical structures. This was applicable to the Ager Faliscus in South Etruria (Potter 1979: 155). Many small later Medieval forts found in the Faliscus during the South Etruria project were presented as evidence for a flight into the hills for reasons of insecurity. This view is under reconstruction with the new coarse ware typologies for this period. A different perspective, which gains more and more ground through these new typologies, is the model of a late break from Roman structures (Moreland 1992: 120). The villa system would only have died off in the eighth or ninth century. This view is said to be applicable to the Ager Veientanus in South Etruria, and the Sabina. In these areas late Roman rural systems stayed more or less unchanged. Here the classical fundus concept continued to be at the heart of agricultural organisation until the end of the eighth century (for the Sabina cf. Moreland 1992 and Patterson and Roberts 1998). Examples are the sites of the Roman S. Rufina (Ager Veientanus), and the early Medieval fundus of Casale San Donato (the Sabina). From the eighth century on the agricultural system, still based upon Roman structures, was governed from without the domuscultae, the papal founded and run estates. Finally, from the early ninth century onwards, incastellamento was set in motion.

Agreeing with Moreland’s view, I will incorporate local contemporary historical sources into the geographical and archaeological analysis. In this manner, historical and spatial insight into socio-economic, religious and power structures will be enhanced. Texts will be treated not only as containers of data, but also as ‘socially defined individual products’ being active and passive at the same time in the development or consolidation of social relationships, their existence being a possible ipso facto indicator of control. 3.3. Work in progress on post-Roman archaeology in Central Italy: changing views Before post-Roman Southern Lazio and the incastellamento phase in particular can be tackled in detail, the progress in post-Roman archaeology in general has to be outlined. Until very recently regional archaeological projects failed to identify the post-antique rural landscape in Italy. Early Medieval material culture was mostly simply not detectable, due to a combination of negative factors, as summarised in Arthur and Patterson on ceramics (1994: 410) and Barker in more general terms (1995: 3). To name the most important factors: the poor understanding of the ceramics of the post-antique period; the absence of kiln sites; the breakdown in imports and the use of wooden vessels; the less durable built environment, that impedes recognition of any vestiges there might be in the rural landscape; the fact that many sites are on spots that are still inhabited today.

4. Central Italy: two models for the incastellamento process In the literature concerning Northern Lazio, two models dominate on the second phase of transition, that towards incastellamento: 4.1.1. Model 1: external stimulus The first view emphasises the external stimulus. In this view, the process of incastellamento was triggered by a power vacuum that came into being after the decrease in papal and Carolingian power in the later ninth century (cf. Christie 1996: 278). Simultaneously there was an increase in external threat through the Saracens, and later the Normans more to the south. Crucial to this model is the factor of insecurity as an explanation for incastellamento.

However, the crux for understanding the post-Roman landscape lies in the pottery typologies. Since the 1980s coarse ware pottery typologies for the sixth and seventh centuries have become available. As becomes clear from the research done on the Tiber Valley Project by Helen Patterson and Paul Roberts on sixth to eighth century pottery, the limited knowledge of local Medieval pottery might have obscured many sites. Their re-analysis of survey material of the Rieti and Farfa survey projects has resulted in the identification of many sites that had been overlooked before (Patterson and Roberts 1998). More reevaluations could eventually cause a dramatic shift from

4.1.2. Model 2: internal stimuli An alternative view is put forward by Toubert (1973) and later Moreland (1992), stressing internal stimulus. Toubert sees incastellamento as part of the commercial revolution of the 10th and 11th centuries. The castra developed into the new centres for social control, production and 115

distribution, and became foci in a new religious topography. The incastellamento process in his view is not a consequence of insecurity but a kind of colonising movement, with which the domini increased their grasp on the population. Toubert’s idea is generally accepted, at least for the area around the great monasteries in Sabina and eastern Southern Lazio: Farfa and Subiaco.

the Ager Faliscus constituted a less abrupt changeover than in other areas as migration to the nucleated settlements, for defensive reasons, seems to have started in earlier centuries. The re-evaluation of the South Etruria (and especially the Ager Faliscus) survey material will have to prove whether this scenario of Faliscan incastellamento can hold.

4.2. Ninth century hilltop villages: a model for incastellamento?

The Ager Veientanus and the Sabina. In these regions there is continuity of Roman agricultural and settlement patterns until at least the establishment of the first hilltop habitation in the ninth century. It is yet unclear whether these ninth century settlements were components of early incastellamento processes. They could at first have been focal points of control (by monasteries?), without the population moving to fortified sites. In the Farfa area (Sabina) a continuation of forms of dispersed settlement into the period of incastellamento itself has been attested. San Donato proves that Roman rural settlement in some cases survived the whole transition from Roman to incastellamento. Here a castello was founded in 1046 on a site with a continuous history of settlement and agricultural production from the Roman period onwards (Moreland et al. 1993).

Elaborating on the concept described above as model 2, Moreland assigns a quite different role to the eighth and ninth century hilltop villages that can be attested in the Sabina (Cavallaria and Bezanum near the Farfa monastery, see Moreland 1992: 123), and in Molise (Vacchereccia near the monastery of San Vicenzo al Volturno, see Moreland 1992: 121). Basing his conceptualisation partly on written sources, he proposes that these hilltop settlements and related texts were a means to intensify control over the peasants, and the transhumance and trade routes (a function called surveillance by Foucault 1979). As suggested earlier, texts may have been used to control relationships by formalising donation and setting production or tax targets. These villages, and their administrative function, helped to increase the agricultural production needed in this time of growth, serving as control points on agricultural labour through their presence. Sites such as Bezanum and Cavallaria could later have served as a model for the location of tenth century incastellamento habitat (Moreland 1992: 124). Moreland proclaims that incastellamento is a perfect representation of how changes in settlement patterns and other social structures are not the direct consequence of a collective passive response to environmental factors and other external stimuli, like the external threat of pillage or conquest, but a product of the dialectics (in which texts are vital mediating tools) between conscious human action and structure in the past (Moreland 1992: 125). The example of the incastellamento shows the complex interaction between structure and human agency which is absent in the Braudelian idiom: people live their lives in and through social structuring, but can also play an active or even ‘antistructural’ subversive role, as is proven by the fact that some castella were founded by peasants themselves, as is the case in Tuscia Romana (Wickham 1985: 72-73).

4.4. The road towards incastellamento in Southern Lazio: Fondiari, Domuscultae and Castles Now that the general outlines on the landscape of the ‘higher’ Middle Ages for the adjacent areas are established, the focus can shift to Southern Lazio. Archaeological work on the eighth to 11th century Southern Lazio is still scattered. For this reason my research until now has been directed at collecting data from directly accessible sources: texts. There are three aspects from written sources that can help substantiate the developing landscape of the ‘higher’ Middle Ages: church fondiari, domuscultae and castles. 4.4.1. Church Fondiari The papal-founded rural estates around Rome, fondiari, were grouped in four administrative entities. In this way the Church attempted to get more grasp on its institutions in the suburbium, their revenues and their expenditure. The lion's share of these fondiari were located in the Patrimonium Appiae, the southwestern quarter of the suburbium including at least a part of the Pontine plain (Marazzi 1990: 119). In this Patrimonium Appiae, 75 toponyms of fondiari are described, from the time of Constantine the Great to the ninth century (Marazzi 1990: 123).

4.3. Northern Lazio: two scenarios for the post-Roman to incastellamento landscape Taking into account all the evidence and arguments, and combining the views on the break from Roman structures with the views on the origin and instigation of incastellamento, one can distinguish two general scenarios in Northern Lazio:

4.4.2. The Domuscultae After the villa system had died off in the seventh or eighth century (Moreland 1992: 120), the first new recognisable institutionalised agricultural structures are the so-called domuscultae from the eighth century onwards. These vast tenute are to be distinguished from fondiari because of their size and structural complexity. Domuscultae are relatively short-lived, in the eighth and ninth century. The

The Ager Faliscus, where a quick clear break from Roman organisation was postulated until recently. This is epitomised by a movement to hill-top settlement from the sixth century on, and a fall into disuse of the plains until the domuscultae were developed during the relative stability of Carolingian rule. The rising incastellamento in 116

prime function of domuscultae is still disputed; they are in any case founded and directly governed by the papal court, as can be read in the Liber Pontificalis. They are considered agricultural production annexes of Rome with a direct distribution link, as the ceramic wares on the Santa Cornelia and Monte Gelato sites are the same as found in Rome (Arthur and Patterson 1994: 414). In the area south of Rome five or six domuscultae were founded: the domuscultae of Antium, Formias and Laurentum, Calvisianum, S. Edistus and possibly Sulficianum (Marazzi 1990: 121). The Liber Pontificalis describes relatively clearly the location of the domuscultae of Antium, Calvisianum en S. Editus. In all, domuscultae have been important rural structures in the transition from dispersed settlement to nucleated settlement. They seem to have died off around the time the first castella were founded.

on, but these towers seem to have belonged to individual settlements (Coste 1990: 128). Strong indications exist that domuscultae were founded (or at least positioned) according to a defensive strategy, beside their evident agricultural function. This follows from the fact that these large scale tenute were founded on newly acquired grounds in a circle around the City (Marazzi 1990: 121). Furthermore, all securely located domuscultae are situated on strategic points close to roads, like those of Calvisianum and S. Editus along the Via Ardeatina. Besides, the military forces, militiae, of the domuscultae are explicitly mentioned in historical sources (Marazzi 1990: 122). Maybe domuscultae initially filled in the defensive gap the Byzantines left after they gave up the area around Rome with the Papal Court seeking some kind of independence from the Carolingian power by creating a strategic defence system of her own.

4.4.3. Castles

As has been shown by Coste, texts can be formidable tools in getting a first grasp on changes in infrastructure and related habitation centres. They are the first landscape outlines of the high Middle Ages. Roads and known occupation sites (towns, churches, dioceses, monasteries, castles) can serve as a framework to start from to fill in the landscape. As has been made clear so far, the physical part of incastellamento in Southern Lazio took place from the middle of the 10th century onwards, and reached its zenith in the early 12th century. Most historical research on Southern Lazio (cf. Coste 1990, Rossi 1969) describes incastellamento as a physical process. The much more complicated changes in social structures and their implications for the archaeological record, as described for other areas by Toubert (1973) and Wickham (1985), are still to be developed. From the discussion on Northern Lazio, it appears that the road towards incastellamento knows micro-regional variation. The factors involved in this process so far prove difficult to substantiate. Only in the Sabina is it convincingly demonstrated which stimulus for incastellamento, in this case the internal one, was the stronger one. Which stimulus prevails in Southern Lazio is still to be established, but a comparison with the evidence in Northern Lazio, certainly regarding the existence and functioning of pre- or proto-incastellamento hilltop settlements, will be imperative. Until now there is no documentary or material support for such 'surveillance' centres in Southern Lazio. If confirmed, this absence could be explained through the fact that there were no great economical or political centres (like monasteries) in Southern Lazio which could perform the task of controlling the landscape, as can be attested for the ninth century in the Sabina.

The physical incastellamento to the south of Rome seems to have evolved in two waves: one in the 10th century and one in the 12th-13th century. The first castello was, according to documents from the basilica of San Andrea in Silicy, founded in 965 along the Via Appia Antica route. This castrum soon became known as ‘Vetus’ (Toubert 1973: 322). In 978 Castrum Aricie was founded (Coste 1990: 132). Examples of the second wave are the Castrum Castel Gandolfo and the Castrum Genzano of the 12th century. The Castrum Vetus was followed in the 12th century by a nearby Castrum Novum and in the 13th century Castrum S. Andrea. This concentration of castles became known as ‘Le Castella’ or ‘I Tre Castelli’. 5. Preliminary discussion: infrastructure, ‘ritual’ landscape and strategies of control Texts can provide evidence for at least three of the four points of emphasis of this study in Southern Lazio: urban patterns and related infrastructure, the ecclesiastical landscape and strategies of control. Coste shows that churches can be important indicators of settlement and use of infrastructure (Coste 1990: 127). Still very little is known on the location of church fondiari along the Appia in the Agro Pontino, and it is intended to identify some of these through study of toponymy as well as through the retrospective topography. The history of local diocese too, can be an indication for developments in infrastructure. The abandonment of the see of Tres Tabernae in 868 is considered as the epitome of the desertion of the Pontine route of the Appia, at least as the axis of connection between Rome and Terracina. The first monasteries in Southern Lazio were founded only in the 12th century (Valvisciolo, Fossanova).

6. Conclusion Although negative factors impede secure identification of some of the changes in the post-antique landscape, a firmer grasp on the developments during the Roman to Medieval transition in Southern Lazio and in Central Italy in general can be obtained by combining the interpretation of the mediating role and content of written sources with the archaeological record. Such developments will have to be analysed against the longue durée of the landscape as

Both domuscultae (Marazzi 1990: 120) and castles (Coste 1990: 128) can be seen as strategic features and seem closely related to the traffic and choice of infrastructure. For castles this seems a clear point. Prudence is called for though: it is tempting to envisage entire castle-tower defensive systems to protect roads from the 10th century 117

De Prony, G. 1822. Description Hydrographique et Historique des Marais Pontins, Paris: Firmin Didot, père et fils. Duchesne L. 1886. Le Liber Pontificalis. Texte, Introduction et Commentaire, par l'Abbé L. Duchesne, (Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d'Athènes et de Rome, 2. série 3), Paris: E. Thorin. Foucault M. 1979. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, (Peregrine Books), Harmondsworth: Penguin books. London. Francovich R. and G. Noyé (eds) 1994. La Storia d’Italia dell’Alto Medioevo Italiano (VI-X secolo) alle Luce dell’Archeologia, Florence Frutaz A.P. 1973. Le Carte del Lazio, Rome: Istituto di Studi Romani. Knapp A.B. (ed.) 1992. Archaeology, Annales and Ethnohistory, Cambridge Marazzi F. 1990. Patrimonium Appiae: Beni Fondiari della Chiesa Romana nel Territorio Suburbano Della Via Appia fra IV e IX secolo. In: S. Quilici Gigli (ed.), La Via Appia. Decimo Incontro di Studio del Comitato per l’Archeologia Laziale, (Quaderni del Centro di Studio per l'Archeologia Etrusco-italica 18; Archeologia Laziale, 10.1), Rome: Consiglio Nazionale delle Richerche, 117126. Moreland J. 1992. Restoring the Dialectic: Settlement Patterns and Documents in Medieval Italy. In: A.B. Knapp (ed.), Archaeology, Annales and Ethnohistory, (New Directions in Archaeology), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 112129. Moreland, J., M. Pluciennik, M. Richardson, A. Fleming, G. Stroud, H. Patterson, and J. Dunkley, 1993. Excavations at Casale San Donato, Castelnuovo di Farfa (RI), Lazio, 1992. Archeologia Medievale 20, Florence: CLUSF, 185-228. Patterson H. and P. Roberts 1998. New Light on Dark Age Sabina. In: L. Saguì (ed.), Ceramica in Italia : VIVII secolo: atti del convegno in onore di John W. Hayes, Roma, 11-13 maggio 1995, (Biblioteca di Archeologia Medievale, 14), Florence: All'Insegna del Giglio, 421-435. Potter T.W. 1979. The Changing Landscape of South Etruria, New York: St. Martin's Press. Quilici Gigli S (ed.) 1990. La Via Appia. Decimo incontro di studio del comitato per l’archeologia laziale, Rome. Rossi G.M. 1969. Torri e Castelli Medievali della Campagna Romana, Rome: De Luca. Saguì L. (ed.) 1998. Ceramica in Italia : VI-VII secolo : atti del Convegno in Onore di John W. Hayes, Roma, 11-13 Maggio 1995, (Biblioteca di Archeologia Medievale, 14), Florence Shipley G. and J. Salmon (eds) 1996. Human Landscapes in Classical Antiquity Toubert P. 1973. Les Structures du Latium Medieval, (Bibliothèque des Écoles françaises d'Athènes et de Rome, fasc. 221), Rome: École française de Rome.

appears from regressive topography. Both types of data will be co-ordinated and analysed through the visualising medium of GIS. The analysis will involve factors like the type of landscape (mountains, hills, valleys), (inter)visibility of sites, availability and distance from infrastructure, availability or use of written sources, influence and local involvement of church institutional structures, distance to Rome (market, defence), and the proximity to the borders (Byzantine-Longobard limes). The outcome of this analysis for Southern Lazio will be compared with the findings in South Etruria and the Sabina. Acknowledgements I would like to thank the Netherlands Institute in Rome for granting me a scholarship that made study in the Roman archives and libraries possible. Furthermore I would like to thank the anonymous referee for providing very useful remarks on an earlier draft of this paper. Bibliography Arthur P. and H. Patterson 1994. Ceramics and Early Medieval Central and South Italy: a ‘Potted’ History. In: R. Francovich and G. Noyé (eds), La Storia d’Italia dell’Alto Medioevo Italiano (VI-X secolo) alle Luce dell’Archeologia: Convegno Internazionale (Siena, 2-6 dicembre 1992), (Biblioteca di Archeologia Medievale, 11), Florence: All'Insegna del Giglio, 409-441. Attema P. 1993. An Archaeological Survey in the Pontine Region. A Contribution to the Early Settlement History of South Lazio 900-100 BC, Groningen: Archeologisch Centrum, Rijksuniversiteit Groningen. Barker G. 1995. Landscape Archaeology in Italy – Goals for the 1990’s. In: N. Christie (ed.), Settlement and Economy in Italy 1500 BC to AD 1500, Papers of the fifth Conference of Italian Archaeology, (Oxbow Monograph 41), Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1-11. Christie N. 1996. Barren Fields? Landscapes and Settlements in Late Roman and Post-Roman Italy. In: G. Shipley and J. Salmon (eds), Human Landscapes in Classical Antiquity, (LeicesterNottingham Studies in Ancient Society, 6), London: Routledge, 254-283. Christie N. (ed.) 1995. Settlement and Economy in Italy 1500 BC to AD 1500, (Papers of the fifth Conference of Italian Archaeology, Oxbow Monograph 41), Oxford: Oxbow. Coste, J. 1990. La Via Appia nel Medio Evo e l’Incastellamento. In: S. Quilici Gigli (ed.), La Via Appia. Decimo Incontro di Studio del Comitato per l’Archeologia Laziale, (Quaderni del Centro di Studio per l'Archeologia Etruscoitalica 18; Archeologia Laziale, 10.1), Rome: Consiglio Nazionale delle Richerche, 127-137. De la Blanchere M.R. 1889. Un Chapitre d’Histoire Pontine, État Ancien et Décadence d'une Partie du Latium, Paris: Imprimerie nationale. 118

Wickham C. 1985. Il Problema Dell’incastellamento Nell’Italia Centrale: L’esempio di San Vicenzo al Volturno, (Studi sulla società degli Appennini nell’alto Medioevo, II), Florence: All'Insegna del Giglio.

119

Figure 1: Map of Lazio with the discussed areas and sites (map: Olaf Satijn)

120

What is a Rural Settlement? Luke Sollars Department of Archaeology, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, UK. [email protected] Keywords: Rural – settlement – community – landscape – Cyprus Survey Project, the Lemba Archaeological Project and now the Troodos Archaeological and Environmental Survey Project have all produced data and interpretations in accord with the landscape approach.

Abstract Studies of settlement distribution presented by regional archaeological surveys often omit any discussion of what it is that constitutes a settlement. In this paper I consider a definition of rural settlement and three categories by which they may be grouped for comparison. Whilst not an exhaustive list these three basic criteria provide a useful basis for identifying and recording settlements in the landscape. I further consider the concept of community, its relationship with the more concrete settlement and its visibility in the archaeological record. Two short case studies of differing settlement evidence from Cyprus, recorded by the Troodos Archaeological and Environmental Survey Project, illustrate the discussion.

What seems to be largely missing from the settlement archaeology and landscape studies so far carried out in Cyprus is any assessment of what a settlement is. In Knapp’s (1997: 1-18) thorough overview of the topic he talks of ‘settlement archaeology’ and ‘settlement patterns,’ but never of ‘settlements’ – preferring ‘site’ when dealing with dots on a map and ‘community’ when dealing with a site in the context of its surroundings. Whether following Catling’s (1962), Keswani’s (1993) or Knapp’s (1997) broadly similar categorisations of settlement, there seems to be little attempt to consider each group as anything but a homogenous mass. In order to study the broader picture and to interpret island-wide patterns and issues as Catling, Keswani and Knapp have done, it is inevitable that some detail will be lost. However, the wide variety evident in broader categories such as ‘urban,’ ‘rural,’ ‘industrial’ and ‘sanctuary’ should not be forgotten. Would, for example, a settlement as small as a sheepfold be classed by any of these three as an agricultural village, or would it be one of the details lost from their picture?

1. Introduction If we are to study the distribution of settlements across any landscape or their interactions one with another it is essential that we first understand what is meant by settlement. This paper establishes a number of suitable definitions and a practical framework for the study of settlement in Cyprus. Such a framework will enable the archaeologist to recognise settlements in the landscape and to categorise them – both individually for specific analysis and severally to interpret the wider picture. In addition this paper will consider the association between settlement and community – exploring the possibility of one existing without the other and the relative visibility of each in the archaeological record.

A clear understanding of what constitutes settlement and an appreciation of the detail of settlement systems such as Knapp’s (1997: 48) are necessary for a broader study of the distribution of settlements across and within the landscape, and of the social, economic and political organisation of the studied regions. This paper will not reach that final stage, but will prepare the ground for it by identifying criteria by which we might categorise rural settlements in Cyprus and how we might establish the nature of their community.

As an element of human presence in the landscape, settlement has been studied for as long as archaeologists have been active. What came to be known as ‘settlement archaeology’ (Knapp 1997: 2) focussed on sites and the reconstruction of sites and its proponents made little effort to consider these sites in the context of their surroundings – the landscape, one another. Site distributions were generally treated as static patterns that did no more than locate settlements on the ground.

2. Settlement and community My interest in settlements lies in studying their extent, their movement and distribution across the landscape. I do not seek to reconstruct sites in the manner of old-school settlement archaeologists; I am not overly concerned with the internal, physical make up of individual settlements – to this extent I am applying my own filter to the detail. However, it is impractical to ignore altogether the individual attributes of settlements. Unless we compare the settlements we identify we will produce no more than an unhelpful blanket of dots on a map. To facilitate useful comparison we need to go beyond simple recognition of settlement and, identifying those individual attributes,

The currently favoured approach – ‘landscape archaeology’ – focuses on entire landscapes and takes into account all their social, spatial and ideational elements (Knapp 1997: 2). This integrated view is adopted by many regional survey projects, which, as their numbers steadily increase, open up more and wider landscapes for detailed settlement study. These intensive surveys offer a combination of the wide-ranging extent of earlier ‘sitehunting’ surveys and the localised detail retrieved by excavation. Compromises have, of course, to be made, but projects such as the Sydney Cyprus Survey Project, the Maroni Valley Survey Project, the Canadian Palaipaphos 121

o

make some effort to categorise the settlements into meaningful groups.

o o

2.1 What is rural?

o

Archaeology on Cyprus has in the main concentrated on urban centres, settlements of the elite, resplendent with monumental public architecture. Until the modern era, however, a substantial rural population lived in settings of considerably less magnificence or permanence than their urban counterparts. Without a fuller understanding of this rural population it is impossible to claim to have a balanced understanding of the social, economic and political organisation of Cyprus.

It is amongst the smaller settlements evident in the larger social and spatial setting. It is widely separated from other settlements. It houses a population employed locally in one or many occupations. Its population has no coordinating or controlling responsibility beyond the bounds of the village.

2.2. What is settlement? If we are to find settlements we must first decide what we are looking for. A settlement is a place where people have settled – but how long does it have to be occupied to be considered a settlement? If we associate permanence, albeit in some cases seasonal, with settlement then we rule out temporary camps or resting places set up by nomadic peoples or individuals in pursuit of some nomadic or short term activity such as hunting. These sites are, in any case, likely to be ephemeral and difficult to locate. But permanence alone is insufficient evidence for a settlement – a single, permanent field shelter would indicate the presence of settlement, but would not represent a settlement in itself.

The urban/rural distinction is the first to be made, but what at first seems to be a simple split between town and country turns out, on closer inspection, to be far from straightforward. Recognising an urban/rural dichotomy as unworkable, and a continuum from one to the other to be prone to over simplification, Cloke (1979: 31) selected sixteen variables associated with population densities, work habits, age of population, household amenities and the separation of settlements one from another, and from them derived an index of rurality. No single variable can be used to distinguish urban from rural on its own, but in combination the sixteen reinforce one another to provide a workable discrimination between the two states. Roberts (1996: 9) set the urban/rural threshold at the transition from town to city, noting that the population at which this occurs will vary across the world – from 200 souls in Iceland to 50,000 in Japan. Both Roberts and Cloke dealt with contemporary settlement definitions and had available to them data that are generally beyond the archaeologist’s reach, but their ideas provide a useful starting point for any consideration of settlement in the past.

If settlement is indicated by permanent structures we must decide what is it that makes a house, but not a field shelter, a settlement. I would suggest that settlement requires evidence of a variety of activities beyond a single agricultural or industrial use – so that the daily process of sleeping, eating, cooking, living must be present and be a significant part of a structure’s life for it to be allowed as a settlement. But care must be exercised – Osborne (1992: 22) cites epigraphic evidence of tiled, so presumably permanent, buildings in the countryside, which were used primarily for the storage of pithoi and amphorae – so the presence of tile and potsherds does not necessarily guarantee the presence of settlement.

The primary requirements for rurality appear to be small, dispersed settlements primarily dependent on agriculture (Alcock 1993: 33). Wilkinson (1999: 50) certainly equates urbanism in the Levant and Near East with a move in the opposite direction. There are of course exceptions to the broad trends. Lo Cascio (1999: 164) identifies small ‘artificial foundations’ in rural settings. These are urban centres that had little or no resident population and served, presumably rural, settlements scattered through the surrounding countryside. So size and setting are not the sole determinant, but neither is the dominant activity of a settlement’s inhabitants. Lo Cascio (1999: 164) also discusses ‘agro-towns’ in Roman Italy – urban centres in which a substantial proportion of the population were commuting agricultural workers. Knapp (1997: 48) avoids the almost inevitable rural/agriculture association by talking of peripheral villages and production sites, which allows the more comfortable inclusion of pottery manufacturing and mining settlements.

Whilst it is conceivable that a single working or family unit could constitute a settlement, it is unlikely that a single building could. It is a mistake to impose severe numerical requirements, but even the most basic of working units will have living and working areas. If that is expanded to a single agricultural working unit then a settlement would include exterior working and holding areas in addition to buildings for humans, animals and storage (Roberts 1996: 15-16). Roberts labels this basic unit a ‘farmstead,’ but notes that foreign-language or dialect terms describing the same set up expand our understanding of them; the Scottish ‘steading,’ the Spanish-American ‘hacienda’ and the African ‘compound’ imbue our perceptions of a settlement with culturally specific nuances unique to a particular context. Local descriptions are on the whole far more efficient than artificially imposed terms, despite occasional difficulties – Osborne (1992: 22) reports that despite the concept quite clearly existing there is no single word in Attic Greek that is equivalent to Roberts’ (1996: 15) ‘farmstead.’

There is clearly no straightforward prescription for what makes a settlement urban or what makes it rural. As a basic rule of thumb – to be applied with due caution on all occasions – I would suggest that a rural settlement possesses these extremely relative attributes:

A settlement is a combination of physical structures, family or working units and established, long-term occupation. A field shelter, used by many people for short 122

Alutiiq fishers and marine hunters employed the same spatial form for their villages whether at home in Alaska or when working for a Russian company in California – they arranged their houses along the coast so that each had equal access to their primary resource (Lightfoot et al 1998: 214).

periods in season, no matter how permanent a structure, is not a settlement; on the other hand, a single sheep-fold, permanently occupied by a lone shepherd and his flock or a collection of seasonally occupied houses and associated threshing floors both qualify. As noted above, some differentiation between settlements is essential for the meaningful study of settlements and the definition established so far leaves enormous latitude for their grouping. Three basic categories are discussed here: morphology – the layout of a settlement; dominant activity – the primary occupation of a settlement’s inhabitants; period – when a settlement was built, occupied or abandoned.

Mining and metallurgy leave distinct traces of their practice – adits and slag heaps for example. It may be that these activities led to different settlement layouts as, presumably, it is less desirable to live next door to a furnace or a mine than to a threshing floor. But care must be exercised as Osborne (1992: 22) says of agriculture: the evidence of activity does not necessarily imply residence.

2.2.1. Morphology

2.2.3. Dating

After location, its shape will be one of a settlement’s more obvious attributes. Even without wishing to dwell upon the internal make up of settlements some study of it is inevitable; if it can be established that specific forms can be associated with specific activities, locations, periods or social structures then morphology will be a useful attribute by which to categorise settlements. Ellenblum (1995: 505) describes two settlement types associated with Frankish Palestine: rural burgi – villages associated with castles whose populations were agricultural workers; and maisons fortes – remote buildings often associated with complex field and irrigation systems. Roberts (1996: 88-94) once more provides a selection of general patterns on which the archaeologist can build – they allow for regular and irregular variations of row, grid and radial plans. His distinction between villages with or without a village green may not seem immediately applicable to Cypriot settlements, but if ‘focal point’ is substituted for village green then the focal point – mosque, church, water source, coffee shop, plateia – may provide a useful identifying attribute.

Grouping settlements by date or, more realistically, by period allows the study of snapshots of their distribution over and positioning in the landscape at particular times. From these synchronic images it may be possible to draw conclusions about interaction and relations between settlements, whether those be social, economic or political. Comparison of distribution patterns from different periods will illustrate any changes or shifts in settlements over time, allowing a cumulative biography of the landscape to be essayed. Dating settlements is not a simple matter – simply deciding which aspect of their chronology to record may affect our final results. If all settlements were established, occupied and abandoned in a single, recognisable historical period, their study would be far simpler – if less satisfying. It is far more common for settlements to grow, or shrink, and change and shift through time as the realities of a wider world come to bear on them. Establishing their different states in different periods may not be easy, but changes in the broader categories of activity or morphology will be vital components in building a picture of the landscape’s past. A broad chronology can often be established by association with literary, epigraphic (Osborne 1992: 21) or other historical documentary evidence (Grivaud 1998).

Care should be taken to study not only the central agglomeration of a settlement, but also any outliers – single structures, obviously associated with, but markedly separated from the main body will not only affect the overall shape and extent of a settlement, but may also help identify different activities that took place there and the population’s attitudes toward them.

Without excavation, the dating of individual settlements is difficult, but not impossible. They manifest themselves in a variety of states – from pottery scatters on agricultural land, through ruinous structures in the mountains, to settlements that are still occupied and possibly obliterating all evidence of previous occupation beneath a welter of concrete, tarmac and sun beds.

2.2.2. Activity If one activity is apparently dominant in a settlement – be it agriculture, viticulture or metallurgy – then this provides not only a level of categorisation, but also a way of integrating that settlement into wider economic, social and political network of the sort posited variously by Catling (1962), Keswani (1993) and Knapp (1997).

Away from currently occupied settlements the most useful dating tool is unstratified, portable surface-artefacts, of which pottery is likely to be the most abundant (Vroom 1998), but by no means the only material available. The lone survey archaeologist will identify more settlements through extant architecture than through surface scatters of pottery, which has the dual disadvantage of weighting the data set to more recent occupation and of being notoriously difficult to date. Little work has been done on vernacular Cypriot architecture, although Ionas (1988) gives some insight into the last 200 years. The slow change of

Whatever deeper significance might later be inferred from a settlement’s physical layout, there is every likelihood that it grew out of practical need – as the central conglomeration of an agricultural village may be bounded by threshing floors and positioned close to the centre of the agricultural land it exploits. It has been seen that the 123

dependant upon them for their existence.

architectural style (Hodges 1991) makes chronological certainty difficult to achieve, but this is not disastrous when dealing with a landscape view rather than a tight settlement oriented focus. On Keos, Whitelaw (1991: 417) noted too few sufficiently remarkable features for architectural detail to be of much value in dating, but a combination of local interviews and counting the layers of whitewash on abandoned structures gave quite specific periods of occupancy during the mid to late nineteenth century. Again, such approaches, as well as being time consuming, will weight the data set to the modern era.

If we no longer see community as defined by settlement remains, then identifying them in the archaeological record becomes problematic. However, setting to one side their quantitative use of ‘community,’ Lightfoot et al. (1998: 205-206; 209-215) identified different ‘social identities’ in the archaeological remains at Fort Ross. These ‘social identities’ are Isbell’s ‘imagined communities;’ the ‘community patterns referred to by Lightfoot et al. are ‘natural communities.’ Californian women and Alaskan men lived in a settlement now identified by the residue of buildings and waste disposal practices. Beyond defining physical extent and identifying some activities that took place there, little can be said of this natural community.

Despite these attempts at division by shape, task and time it is quite clear that it is all but impossible to consider any one of the categories in complete isolation. At a recording or cataloguing level they can be treated quite separately, but on an interpretive plane it is evident that, like Cloke’s (1979: 32-33) sixteen variables in a rural index, they will only provide a clear distinction between settlement types when considered in combination.

The imagined community begins to become apparent when the material is taken to indicate not space and activity, but human habit, social interaction and spheres of influence. The men and women of Fort Ross had different roots, which are evident in the physical remains; at a village scale the men’s background dominated in the spatial arrangement of the settlement, whilst at the household level women’s customs held sway. Immediately two imagined communities are clear and, since this was a settlement of mixed marriages, a third can be inferred. So, whilst there may be no direct equation between ‘community’ and ‘site’ we can begin to infer the social process of community from the spatial clusters of material evidence that we recover (Yaeger and Canuto 2000: 9).

2.3. What is community? Up to this point I have treated settlements very much as material elements of the landscape – merely a collection of structures of a certain date, in a certain arrangement that might indicate a certain kind of activity has taken place. Beyond the act of construction, it is only the consideration of activities that has approached an acknowledgment of the human content of settlements. But these structures did not exist without people, and it is with the introduction of a population into the dry buildings that community begins to become evident.

3. Two settlements, two communities – or more? In this section I consider two settlements studied by the Troodos Archaeological and Environmental Survey Project (TÆSP) – Kato Koutrafas Mandres and Xyliatos Mavrovouni – in the light of the above discussion. I have drawn upon data gathered by field-workers during the 2001 season and in interviews with erstwhile inhabitants of Mandres.

Kolb (1997: 266) defines community as a measure of size – a point on a scale, somewhere between ‘family’ and ‘larger scale social networks.’ Lightfoot et al. (1998: 206), likewise, place the community on a scale between ‘household’ and ‘regional.’ These are what Isbell (2000: 245) would term ‘natural communities,’ they require communities to remain static, tied to a particular spatial extent as opposed to the more fluid ‘imagined community’ which grows out of human relationships and is not bound by any physical border (Isbell: 2000: 248-250).

3.1. Kato Koutrafas Mandres Kato Koutrafas Mandres (James 2001; Given 2000, 2001; Ionas 1988) is an abandoned village – its location on flat open ground and the remains of numerous threshing floors attest to its agricultural past. Most surviving structures are clustered close to the centre of the area defined by the Cadastral plan and are flanked by the threshing floors. Although pottery evidence was found dating from the late 15th to the 20th century, the surviving structures are mainly modern – of these only those with standing remains were surveyed, so the data set is skewed to relatively recent occupation. Both stone and mud brick were used in construction and there is some difference of opinion as to whether it was more expensive to import skilled brickmakers or to transport boulders from the rivers or stone from quarries in the mountains. Whichever was the case, the inhabitants of Mandres were clearly far from insular.

If community is of the people, then it must be possible for one community to occupy more than one settlement – or indeed for one settlement to house more than one community. As the focus or the locus of an activity changes, so the balance of relationships and relative status of different groups or individuals within the community shift – and the community mutates to reflect these shifts. Each of Kolb’s (1997: 267-269) types of labour mobilisation involves different groupings of workers – different communities working within the wider community. So, within a steady, static population there are different levels of community – from the relationship within family or working units, up to the wider community of a village, for example, and beyond to the community of related settlements in the landscape. And whilst some of the communities may be centred on or resident in concrete settlements they are not restricted by their limits, or

Non-archaeological sources reveal that the population of 124

southeast of the area, although the only extant structure – identified as Medieval or later by its masonry – lies to the north of the slagheap. Anthropogenic rock piles suggest the clearance of building debris and the cadastral plan of 1925 marks a church at Mavrovouni. Goodwin (1984: 176) mentions a church, in association with ‘some habitation of long standing.’

Mandres was, in fact, highly variable – it was seasonally occupied by farmers from at least five different villages. Shepherds were in permanent residence, which perhaps explains why a village, most of whose buildings are clearly associated with threshing floors, should be called Mandres – or Sheepfolds. Their buildings were set away from the central agglomeration toward the settlement’s boundaries. Twice a year the shepherds were joined by the larger population – in November and December for ploughing and cheese making; and in July and August for the harvest. The changing population in this static settlement represents a number of communities. For most of the year there was a community of shepherds at Mandres, but in the summer it became a predominantly agricultural community with most attention and effort focussed on the harvest. For two months during the winter the balance was different again – the community had the dual focuses of ploughing for the agriculturalists and the pastoral cheese making.

None of the evidence presented represents settlement, but clearly the individuals involved in the metallurgy or agriculture, or those that worshipped at the church will have lived nearby and been members of a variety of local communities. Wider communities and interaction can also be inferred; presumably the product of the Roman smelting activities was not solely for local use, but would have tied the producers into wider economic, political and social networks. The undated church would also have been a link into the island-wide religious community with all its benefits and demands.

Despite the multi-facetted image I have drawn, informants considered Mandres to be a village, a working place, but not a community because it lacked both church and school, and also, perhaps, because of the temporary nature of occupation there. In a natural sense the settlement at Mandres might not be a community, but throughout the year it played host to several different imagined communities.

4. Conclusion Regional survey projects in Cyprus, adopting a ‘landscape approach,’ are producing interesting results with regard to the distribution of rural settlements across the island (Knapp 1997). It is not always clear however, what each project considers to be a settlement. Without this basic block being clearly defined any comparison of results between projects, and possibly even within projects, will be difficult. With this in mind I have, in this paper, endeavoured to establish some basic criteria by which we might identify rural settlements in the landscape and how they might be categorised to facilitate useful comparison.

Mandres seems to have been established in the late 15th/early 16th century and been occupied and altered through to the middle of the 20th century. The most evident activity on the ground is its agricultural function – evident in the field systems, threshing floors and scatters of dhoukani blades.

Essentially a settlement requires structures with evidence of long-term occupation; any dominant activity must be clearly associated with daily life – as at Mandres where houses were closely associated with threshing floors and good agricultural land. Rurality (Cloke 1979) is not simply defined, but a rural settlement may be expected to be small, with no responsibility beyond its locally employed population. To differentiate groups of settlements one from another I chose three categories: morphology, activity and dating. Ellenblum (1995) showed that settlements of different make-up were associated with different styles of living and working, and Roberts (1996) offers some useful criteria by which morphology may be defined. Lightfoot et al. (1998) identified quite detailed social groupings from material remains and, so far at a more basic level, different zones of activity have been identified at Xyliatos Mavrovouni. Dating settlements will always be problematic and a balance needs to be struck between absolute precision and vague periods that are too large to guarantee that subjects are in fact contemporary.

3.2. Xyliatos Mavrovouni Two activities are clearly visible today at Xyliatos Mavrovouni (Graham et al 2001; Given et al n.d.): metallurgy and agriculture. Concentrations of pottery suggest that the exact locus of activity changed over time. Below the spoil heaps from the modern Memi mine is evidence of much older, smaller scale activity. The eponymous ‘black hill’ – Mavrovouni – is made up of slag cakes that suggest it is the result of Roman activity, an assertion that is bolstered by the thick concentration of Roman pottery immediately to the south of the slagheap. Very little Roman evidence was found elsewhere in the area and it has been suggested that the prevailing spread of pollution from the metal working process might have determined the locus of activity (cf. Barker et al. 1999: 262-299). Agriculture is still practised in the area; the river terraces that bound it to the east and west have been modified and maintained over the centuries and an impressive complex of retaining walls is still evident. The walls and the river courses and on-going activity suggest that agriculture has been important between and beyond the two evident periods of mineral exploitation.

Perhaps more interesting is the step beyond settlement to consider the communities that occupied them. Whilst it is all too easy to dismiss fluid, theoretical definitions as unhelpful, Isbell’s (2000) imagined community is a far more useful concept than the natural community, which is all too often simply a measure of scale (Kolb 1997; Lightfoot et al. 1998). The imagined community allows us

Medieval and later evidence is most abundant in the 125

Given M. 2000. Agriculture, Settlement and Landscape in Ottoman Cyprus. Levant 32, 215-236. Given M. (ed.) 2001. Oral Information: http://www.scsp.arts.gla.ac.uk/Private/tasp/reports/reports. htm (last visited 19 April 2002). Given M., V. Kassianidou, A.B. Knapp and J. Noller. n.d. Troodos Archaeological and Environmental Survey Project, Cyprus: Report on the 2001 Season. Levant 2002. Goodwin J.C. 1984 (4th edition). An Historical Toponymy of Cyprus, Nicosia: Private publication. Graham A., P. Barry, V. Kassianidou, K. Winther Jacobsen and A. Boutin 2001. TS02: Roman Smelting and Settlement at Xyliatos Mavrovouni: http://www.scsp.arts.gla.ac.uk/Private/tasp/reports/reports. htm (last visited 19 April 2002). Grivaud, G. 1998. Villages désertés à Chypre (Fin XIIe – Fin XIXe siecle), Nicosia: Archbishop Makarios III Foundation. Hodges R. 1991. Wall to Wall History: The Story of Roustone Grange, London: Duckworth. Ionas I. 1988. La Maison Rural de Chypre (XVIIIe – XXe siecle). Aspects et Techniques de Construction, Nicosia: Publications du Centre de Recherche Scientifique de Chypre XII. Isbell W.H. 2000. What Should we be Studying: The ‘Imagined Community’ and the ‘Natural Community’. In: M.A. Canuto and J. Yaeger (eds), The Archaeology of Communities: A New World Perspective, London: Routledge, 243-266. James H.F. 2001. TS07: Kato Koutrafas Mandres: http://www.scsp.arts.gla.ac.uk/Private/tasp/reports/reports. htm (last visited 19 April 2002). Keswani P.S. 1993. Models of Local Exchange in Late Bronze Age Cyprus. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 292, 73-83. Knapp A.B. 1997. The Archaeology of Late Bronze Age Cypriot Society: The Study of Settlement, Survey and Landscape, Glasgow: Department of Archaeology, University of Glasgow. Kolb M.J. 1997. Labor Mobilization, Ethnohistory, and the Archaeology of Community in Hawai'i. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 4 (3/4), 265-285. Levy T.E. (ed.) 1995. The Archaeology of Society in The Holy Land, London: Leicester University Press Lightfoot K.G., A. Martinez and A.M. Schiff 1998. Daily Practice and Material Culture in Pluralistic Social Settings: An Archaeological Study of Culture Change and Persistence from Fort Ross, California. American Antiquity 63 (2), 199-222. Osborne R. 1992 'Is It a Farm?' The Definition of Agricultural Sites and Settlements in Ancient Greece. In: B. Wells (ed.), Agriculture in Ancient Greece: Proceedings of the Seventh International Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens, 16-17 May, 1990, Stockholm: Swedish Institute At Athens, 2127.

not only to envision the changing populations of a settlement such as Mandres, but also to infer the communities at a place like Mavrovouni, where no clear trace of a settlement survives. Having established the criteria by which we identify settlements we can move on to study their distribution across a landscape, their associated communities and the networks that grew from their interaction. Acknowledgements This paper reached its current state thanks, in no small measure, to encouragement and support from Professor Bernard Knapp and Doctor Michael Given. Thanks are also due to the participants and organisers of SOMA 2002 for discussions of my topic that took place both during and after the event. Bibliography Alcock S.E. 1993. Graecia Capta: The Landscapes of Roman Greece, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barker G, R. Adams, O. Creighton, D. Crook, D. Gilbertson, J. Grattan, C. Hunt, D. Mattingly, S. McLaren, H. Mohammed, P. Newson, C. Palmer, F. Pyatt, T. Reynolds, and R. Tomber 1999. Environment and Land Use in the Wadi Faynan, Southern Jordan: The Third Season of Geoarchaeology and Landscape Archaeology. Levant 31, 255-292. Bintliff J. and K. Sbonias (eds) 1999. The Archaeology of the Mediterranean Landscape, Volume 1: Reconstructing Past Population Trends in Mediterranean Europe (3000 BC-AD 1800), Oxford: Oxbow Books. Canuto M.A. and J. Yaeger (eds) 2000. The Archaeology of Communities: A New World Perspective, London: Routledge. lo Cascio E. 1999. The Population of Roman Italy in Town and Country. In: J. Bintliff and K. Sbonias (eds), The Archaeology of the Mediterranean Landscape, Volume 1: Reconstructing Past Population Trends in Mediterranean Europe (3000 BC-AD 1800), Oxford: Oxbow Books, 159-171. Catling H.W. 1962. Patterns of Settlement in Bronze Age Cyprus. Opuscula Atheniensia 4, 129-169. Cherry J.F, J.L. Davis and E. Mantzourani 1991. Landscape Archaeology As Long-Term History: Northern Keos in the Cycladic Islands from Earliest Settlement until Modern Times, (Monumenta Archaeologica 16), Los Angeles: UCLA Institute of Archaeology. Cloke P. 1979. Key Settlements in Rural Areas, Methuen: London. Ellenblum R. 1995. Settlement and Society Formation in Crusader Palestine. In: T.E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in The Holy Land, London: Leicester University Press, 502-511. 126

Roberts B.K. 1996. Landscapes of Settlement: Prehistory to the Present, London: Routledge. Vroom J. 1998. Early Modern archaeology in Central Greece: the Contrast of Artefact-rich and Sherdless Sites. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 11(2), 131-164. Wells B. (ed.) 1992. Agriculture in Ancient Greece: Proceedings of the Seventh International Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens, 16-17 May, 1990, Stockholm: Swedish Institute At Athens. Whitelaw T. M. 1991. The Ethnoarchaeology of Recent Rural Settlement and Land Use in Northwest Keos. In: J.F. Cherry, J.L. Davis and E. Mantzourani, Landscape Archaeology As Long-Term History: Northern Keos in the Cycladic Islands from Earliest Settlement until Modern Times, Monumenta Archaeologica 16, Los Angeles: UCLA Institute of Archaeology, 403-454. Wilkinson T. 1999. Demographic Trends from Archaeological Survey: Case Studies from the Levant and Near East. In: J. Bintliff and K. Sbonias (eds), The Archaeology of the Mediterranean Landscape, Volume 1: Reconstructing Past Population Trends in Mediterranean Europe (3000 BC-AD 1800), Oxford: Oxbow Books, 45-64. Yaeger J. and M.A. Canuto 2000. Introducing and Archaeology of Communities. In: M.A. Canuto and J. Yaeger (eds), The Archaeology of Communities: A New World Perspective, London: Routledge, 1-15.

127

128

Who were the readers of Linear A inscriptions? Helena Tomas Department of Archaeology, University of Oxford, Oxford, U.K. [email protected] and 1988.) After a brief outline of the two scripts (further general information can be found in Olivier 1986) I will concentrate on their purpose showing that, unlike Linear B, which was mainly used for administrative purposes (“scribal literacy” as Harris puts it 1989: 7), Linear A had votive purposes as well. We can suppose, therefore, that literacy in the Minoan context was performed on only two levels: administrative and religious, and literate individuals were those involved in reading and writing administrative and religious texts. It will be argued below, however, that a third party could have been literate as well, namely the intended readers of the inscribed jewellery.

Abstract Contrary to Linear B, which had a purely administrative purpose, Linear A had a votive one as well. This stands as one of the main differences between the two scripts, which may have some further implications, such as the general attitude of society towards writing. This paper gives some general ideas about how widespread literacy could have been on Minoan Crete, as well as some thoughts about the social status of intended readers of Linear A inscriptions.

1. Introduction The first inscriptions in Linear A and B were discovered more than a hundred years ago. One century was long enough to decipher Linear B and to develop far-ranging insight into Linear A, though the latter remains undeciphered. It was long enough to build an extensive knowledge of various aspects of Minoan and Mycenaean society, including art, architecture, political organisation. However, many aspects of their societies are still mysterious. One - the level of literacy in Minoan society is the topic of this paper.

Linear A was widely used in the Middle Minoan (MM) III and Late Minoan (LM) I periods. Nevertheless, certain inscriptions predate and postdate this general epoch (see Rehak and Younger 1998: 130-134 and 159-162). For a long time Linear A inscriptions were found only on Crete, so it was concluded that its use was confined to the island. With further excavations, however, objects inscribed in Linear A have been found on the islands of Santorini, Kea, Melos, Samothrace and Kythera, as well as in Laconia, and recently in Miletus in Asia Minor.

The term literacy has different connotations: after millennia of the existence of script, and centuries of widespread literature, a universal definition of literacy still has not been agreed upon. Today the word illiterate does not only mean one who is incapable of reading and writing, but can also denote someone who is unrefined, uneducated, uncultured or even uncivilised. In some societies, on the other hand, the ability to sign one’s own name is understood as a criterion of literacy (Harris 1989: 3-4).

The earliest inscriptions in Linear B come from Knossos. Until recently, it was believed that all Linear B tablets from Knossos originated from the same period, which has been differently dated by various scholars: LM III A1, LM III A2 or LM IIIB. A good overview of the chronological debate over the date of the final destruction of Knossos can be found in Rehak and Younger (1998: 160) and Palaima (1988: 273-275). This widespread conviction about the chronological unity of the Knossian archives has been challenged by Jan Driessen (2000) who argued that the documents from the Room of the Chariot tablets are somewhat older than the rest of the Knossian tablets and should be dated to LM II or early LM III A.

Neither of these two extreme criteria is to be applied in defining literacy in the Minoan and Mycenaean cases. As we will see below, writing in these two societies was used in very limited and particular occasions, mostly to maintain palace records. As far as we can tell from the evidence, there was no recorded literature, so an illiterate Minoan or Mycenaean cannot be considered as one who was not wellread and who was, consequently, uncultured. At the opposite extreme, the basic criterion cited above - the ability to sign one’s own name - can be discarded as well. The formal situations where one would need to authorise, authenticate or confirm a document were performed by means other than signatures, namely roundels and nodules (Hallager 1996).

Ideas about the geographical distribution of Linear B on Crete have also been changing in recent years. The main find-spot of Linear B on Crete is Knossos, and for a long time it was thought this was the only source of Linear B inscriptions on the island. However, the site of Chania has recently revealed tablets in Linear B dated to LM III B, and inscribed stirrup jars (closed vessels used for transport of goods such as wine and oil), have been found in Mamelouka Cave near Chania and Armenoi. Outside Crete, Linear B inscriptions come from Pylos, Mycenae, Thebes, Tiryns, Orchomenos and Midea. Not all the sites have yielded tablets: some sites yielded only inscribed stirrup jars, which indicates the administrative nature of the Linear B texts on them.

Unlike Linear B, its Mycenaean successor, Linear A was inscribed on miscellaneous objects and not just on clay tablets, which implies a wider range of uses (for an overview of studies on the origin of Linear B and other valuable contributions towards this topic cf. Palaima 1982 129

which represents a small minority of those found. The text inscribed on them is often repetitive and possibly represents some special religious formula (a good overview of the studies on the so called Minoan libation formula can be found in Schoep 1994).

2. Inscribed materials 2.1. ‘Administrative’ items The majority of the inscriptions in Linear A and B are preserved on clay tablets and nodules whose purpose was to record the economy of the palaces. Some of the Linear A nodules, so called flat-based nodules, may indicate the use of perishable material for writing and not just clay. Since they have impressions from a thin cord, it has been suggested that these nodules were to secure documents written on parchment to which nodules were attached by the cord (Hallager 1996). In the case of Mycenaean administration, a single nodule with a cord impression that implies the use of parchment has been found: nodule No. 23 A from Pylos (see Pini 1997: 58) (for the arguments against the usage of perishable material for keeping the administrative records see Bennet 2001: 27-28).

2.2.2. Votive cups In 1902 in Knossos, Evans unearthed two clay cups (KN Zc 6 and KN Zc 7) dated to MM III (Evans 1921: 614). Both had an inscription painted with black ink on their inner faces (Figs. 2 and 3). The larger contained twentythree signs and the smaller nineteen or twenty (Finkelberg 1990-1991; Raison 1963). The archaeological context implies that the cups were of votive character: together with other vessels they lay above a crypt from an earlier period. Evans thought that the inscriptions were of a dedicatory nature (Evans 1921: 616). Franceschetti (19901991) also denies them an administrative purpose, noticing that the inscriptions do not contain any ideograms or numbers. Inscribed stone vessels have also been found in Apodoulou (AP Za 2), Palaikastro (PK Za 4) and Mount Iouktas (IO Za 6). The inscriptions on these items were engraved.

Both scripts are also preserved on clay vessels. Most of the Linear B inscribed vessels are stirrup jars (144 in turn). Unlike some Linear A inscriptions which are engraved into the vessels, all Linear B examples are painted. Linear B inscriptions on stirrup jars have several interpretations. Palaima suggests that their purpose was to indicate to the literate functionaries how to use the contents of the jars (1987: 502). Most of the inscribed stirrup jars were found on the Greek mainland, but were produced in the western Crete, which is why it has been suggested that the inscriptions on them functioned as labels in the process of exporting goods to the Greek mainland (see Van Alfen 1996-1997: 253). Van Alfen, on the other hand, suggests that they had a particular function in the Linear B administrative chain, whose closest analogy can be found in the use of sealing nodules (1996-1997: 254 and passim). For Palaima (1988: 333) the inscribed stirrup jars show that writing was fully exploited as a bureaucratic tool. Hallager sees the inscribed stirrup jars, which are dated much later than the rest of the Linear B inscriptions on Crete (LM IIIB) as an indicator of the existence of limited literacy on Crete in the period after the final destruction (Hallager 1987).

2.2.3. The Troullos ladle The Troullos ladle is a big stone ladle (TL Za I) that was probably used to scoop liquid during cult practice (Fig. 4). An inscription consisting of five words runs along the edge of the object. Another stone ladle with Linear A inscription (one word: da-ma-te) has been found on Kythera (Sakellarakis and Olivier 1994). This word suggests the possibility that the goddess Demeter was worshipped by Minoans. Duhoux, however, rejected this interpretation claiming that the graphic similarity between da-ma-te and Demeter is superficial (1994-1995: 291). 2.2.4 Tylissos figurine The Tylissos figurine (TY Zg 1) is a clay male figurine with three inscribed signs (Fig. 5). Perhaps it is a figurine of some deity, and these three signs stand as its name. Evans thought the inscription a personal name, pointing to similar bronze votive figurines from Dodona that bear the names of the people who dedicated them (Evans 1921: 634).

2.2. ‘Ritual’ items Apart from tablets and vessels, Linear B is preserved on nodules and as one graffito (Evans 1909: 50). Linear A, on the other hand, is inscribed on a far wider range of objects: nodules, roundels, the stucco of walls, libation tables, stone vessels, axes, figurines, jewellery, etc. Some of these objects, i.e. nodules and roundels, also had an administrative purpose; some were used in cult practice; the rest probably had some different function (indication of ownership or dedication are some possible interpretations). The most impressive votive objects with Linear A are:

2.2.5 Axes Four inscribed axes have been found: i. A bronze axe from Kardamoutsa (KA Zf 1) (Fig. 6). ii. An axe which Evans claimed to have found at Selakanos (Evans 1894: 280). iii. A silver double-axe from the Arkalochori cave (AR Zf 2) (Fig. 7). iv. A golden double-axe from the Arkalochori cave (AR Zf 1) (Fig. 8). This axe was apparently bought from a fisherman after the silver one had been found in the same cave (Pope 1956: 134). Both axes have exactly the same inscription

2.2.1. Libation tables Stone libation tables constitute the most numerous votive objects inscribed with Linear A (Fig. 1). They have been discovered in peak sanctuaries and sacred caves all over the island of Crete. Only twenty-seven tables are inscribed, 130

insight into their undeciphered Linear A counterparts (for the newest contribution to the understanding of the Linear A administrative practice cf. Schoep 1996 and 1999).

consisting of four signs which can be read as i-dama-te. uhoux discussed the possibility that ifunctioned as a prefix in front of da-ma-te (19941995: 291-294).

The case of votive inscriptions is far more difficult, since we have nothing in Linear B to which we might compare them. Does this discrepancy imply anything about the two societies in general? It is obvious that the Mycenaeans – the writers of Linear B - did not express their religious devotion in the same way as the Minoans. Why did the Mycenaeans imitate the way that Minoans recorded their administrative texts, but not their votive texts? Although we have numerous monumental, decorative and dedicatory inscriptions (which are some possible interpretations of Linear A non-administrative texts) from the later phases of Greek religious practice, they are completely absent from texts of the Mycenaean period (apart from the religious matter recorded on the tablets themselves, i.e. the records of the offerings to the deities).

2.3. ‘Personal’ items It seems from their provenance (i.e. sacred caves and peaksanctuaries), that the inscribed axes, tables, cups, etc. all had a cult function. But further exceptional objects with Linear A inscriptions have been found: these include pins, rings, and architectural components. From their archaeological context it seems that they did not have any connection with cult, but were personal objects. The most striking ones are: 2.3.1. A silver pin from Mavro Spelio Mavro Spelio is a small burial site near Knossos. A big silver pin dated to LM IA period (KN Zf 13) was found in one of the tombs with a Linear A inscription on one of its sides and a decoration of flowers on the other (Fig. 9). Traces of at least nine words have been preserved. The pin was probably not of a votive nature, since no similar object has ever been found in Minoan sanctuaries. It is believed that it was worn in the hair or on the clothes and the inscription might have been an indication of ownership.

The palace of Knossos was destroyed shortly after the introduction of Linear B. Perhaps Linear B simply did not have time to evolve in the votive sphere. But its use continued for about two centuries on the mainland, again without producing any inscriptions of the votive sort. Unlike tablets of unbaked clay, which were kept temporarily and then remolded into new tablets once their records became obsolete, cult objects were made of more enduring materials which implies that they were produced for continuous use, so if Linear B cult objects had ever existed, they would have surely been found by now. Palaima (1987: 509) thinks that the lack of nonadministrative Linear B texts is also skewed by the narrow focus of Mycenaean excavations. Only a few of the religious sites around major Mycenaean centres, (at least those that we know of from the textual evidence) have been excavated. I agree with Palaima that this may contribute to the lack of abundant votive or dedicatory inscriptions. But this is not an argument for none, especially when we remember that some Minoan nonadministrative inscriptions were not found on strictly religious sites (the two votive clay cups, for example, were found at the palace of Knossos itself).

2.3.2. A golden ring from Mavro Spelio A ring was also found in one of the tombs of Mavro Spelio (KN Zf 13) (Fig. 10). It contains a spiral inscription of nineteen signs without any word dividers. Evans dated it to the MM III period (1928: 557). 2.3.3. A silver pin from Platanos A pin (PL Zf 1) was found in Tholos A in Platanos (Fig. 11). It lay forgotten in the Archaeological Museum in Heraklion for a long time. Only in the 1970s was the corrosion removed, bringing an inscription to light for the first time (seven words at least). The pin is dated to LM I. Another pin has been preserved, but is of unknown provenance (CR (?) Zf 1) (Fig. 12). It is dated to LM IA. This pin is golden and has five inscribed words. A silver pin with Linear A inscription has also been discovered in Tholos B at Archanes (ARKH Zf 9), but has not been published (see Rehak and Younger 1998: 126).

To conclude, it seems that the indifference of Mycenaeans towards non-administrative inscriptions was a deliberate act of Linear B users, not a sheer accident. I propose one possible explanation: Linear B was an artificial creation for administrative purposes and did not develop in other spheres. Mycenaeans developed Linear B on the basis of Linear A having realised its usefulness in keeping economic records in palatial centres. It is still unclear if the creation of Linear B happened after the Mycenaean occupation of Crete or before that as a result of trade contacts between Mycenaeans and Minoans. If we suppose that it was created on Crete and specifically for administrative purposes, then we can assume that Linear B simply did not have enough time to develop into further spheres of the society due to its short-lived existence there. The script continued existing on the mainland for another two centuries or so, but by that time Minoan civilisation was already in ruins and thus other uses of a script were

Apart from these objects, Linear A has been attested on a number of pithoi and other vessels. Finally, in the palace of Haghia Triada three graffito inscriptions were found on the stucco of the walls. 3. The purposes of Linear A and Linear B inscriptions This short overview allows us to conclude that the purposes of Linear A and Linear B were somewhat distinct. The tablets in both scripts seem to have functioned in the same way, i.e. to record the economy of the palaces. Indeed, this similarity with Linear B tablets allows some 131

small - he suggests as many as 75 scribes (1973: 406). Still, when we consider the estimated population of Knossos in LM II - about 8400-10500 (Whitelaw 1999: 225) - 75 literate individuals seems quite a small number.

forgotten. It is surprising, however, that uses of a script other than administrative did not develop spontaneously in Mycenaean civilisation. 4. Materials of non-administrative inscriptions

Another question is whether the officials in charge of the palace economy were at the same time the scribes who wrote the tablets, or if they had subordinates to whom they dictated the information. In the case of Linear B records from Pylos, Bennet (2001: 29-30) suggested that the scribes were officials of a very high rank. We must not forget that both Linear A and B were inscribed on various vessels. If the stirrup jars were inscribed after firing, it may have been done by officials during the process of trade or storage. However, if it was done before firing (as is clearly the case in Linear B), then the inscribing did not occur in the administrative area by officials and/or their scribes, but in workshops by the potters themselves. Rehak and Younger arrive at a similar conclusion:

Further aspects of Linear A non-administrative inscriptions are worth addressing. First, there is the issue of the materials of which cult objects were made. As we have seen, in most cases they were of stone or metal. These materials are very difficult to inscribe when compared to wet clay tablets (or parchment). Even so, the inscriptions are sometimes so neat that it becomes apparent that they were inscribed with special care and intended for some display. The tablets, on the other hand, are usually messy, written quickly, further indicating that they were not intended as permanent records. Apart from this carefulness and neatness, another characteristic of cult inscriptions is that their signs are very often more ornate than in other types of inscriptions. Bearing in mind how difficult, for example, it is to carve signs in stone, this special effort is evidence that these objects were intended to look presentable. The finest examples come from Iouktas. The libation table IO Za 2 (Fig. 13) displays the sign 08 (with the phonetic value a) which takes the shape of a double axe, and is much more elaborate than its usual form. The same could be said for 28 (i) and many other signs on this object. The reason for this elaboration could also be that the objects from Iouktas are from the MM III period and thus older than most of the preserved tablets (with the exception of Linear A tablets from Phaistos dated to MM II). Hence they may maintain a certain residual similarity to their possible hieroglyphic predecessors (it is still unclear if Linear A was developed from the Cretan Hieroglyphic, also a syllabic script; for similarities in signs see Evans 1921: 612; Mylonas 1948; and Packard 1974: 20).

Since several of the ancient examples were inscribed in Linear A before they were fired some potters may have been literate or scribes intervened in the potting process (Rehak and Younger 1998: 123).

It seems that writing in this context was not confined to the group that we would call the ruling family, since the ruling family would not occupy itself with the recording of livestock, agricultural products, and the like. By the same token, it is not just that the ruling family would not need to know how to write, but there would not be much interest in reading either, since a majority of available texts to read were tablets. As far as we know there was no literature recorded in Linear B (unless we hypothesise that other kinds of texts were written on perishable materials and are thus lost to us). This, however, was not the case with Linear A, where we find other types of inscriptions which are not so utilitarian. I said earlier that the inscriptions on some votive objects were done with particular care, so as to look presentable. But presentable to whom? What sort of people would have read them? From the fact that such objects did exist, and from the fact that they had absolutely nothing to do with administrative issues, we must conclude that another class(es) of the society would have been literate as well. This is the second level of literacy of the two I proposed earlier, namely non-administrative literacy. Was literacy in this aspect confined to the ruling family or some broader elite? Perhaps only to priests who were involved with cult practice and thus came into regular contact with inscribed cult objects? But then again, who was to read the inscribed jewellery (such as the golden ring from Mavro Spelio or pins) which apparently did not have any connection to cult practice? We still do not know what the inscriptions in this jewellery indicate. Harris (1989: 26-27) gives us a long list of the purposes of ancient writing. Some of those purposes could possibly be applied to the described jewellery: to label a product, to indicate ownership, to dedicate an object, to honour a distinguished person, and so forth. These objects were made of precious material (silver and gold) which implies a high social status and wealth of the individuals to whom they belonged. Since they were

4. Minoan literacy If we agree that these votive objects were often inscribed for the purpose of some display, this raises other questions: Who were the intended readers? How literate were the Minoans? In discussing Minoan literacy, we need to distinguish between two different levels, administrative and nonadministrative. In administrative texts writing was stereotyped. There was not much creativity involved in recording the economy of the palace, but merely a certain scheme to be followed. Hence we have a limited range of words in Linear A tablets, most of which are probably place names, personal names and commodity names. The nature of Linear A and B inscriptions clearly shows that writing was not widespread in the society, but mostly limited in the administrative sphere. To keep up the palace administration only a limited number of scribes was needed. In discussing the level of Mycenaean literacy Chadwick, for example, agrees that it was limited, but he thought that the number of scribes was not necessarily 132

personal objects, it is natural to conclude that the inscriptions on them were of a personal nature, which differs from the administrative and religious. In that sense a non-administrative level of Minoan literacy should be further divided into religious and personal. The small number of the inscribed precious objects, however, goes against the possibility that the proposed non-administrative literacy was widespread.

Duhoux Y. 1994-1995. LA > B da-ma-te = Déméter? Sur la Langue du Linéaire A. Minos 29-30, 289-294. Evans A. 1894. Primitive Pictographs and a PrePhoenician Script from Crete and Peloponnese. Journal of Hellenic Studies 14, 270-372. Evans A. 1909. Scripta Minoa I, Oxford: Clarendon Press Evans A. 1921. The Palace of Minos at Knossos I, London: Macmillan. Evans A. 1928. The Palace of Minos at Knossos II, London: Macmillan. Finkelberg M. 1990-1991. Minoan Inscriptions on Libation Vessels. Minos 25-26, 43-85. Franceschetti A. 1990-1991. Le Tazze ad Iscrizione Dipinta in Lineare A Provenienti da Cnosso. Minos 25-26, 37-42. Hallager E. 1987. The Inscribed Stirrup Jars: Implications for Late Minoan IIIB Crete. American Journal of Archaeology 91, 171-190. Hallager E. 1996. The Minoan Roundel and the Other Sealed Documents of the Neopalatial Linear A Administration (Aegaeum 14), Austin: Université de Liège and University of Texas. Harris W.V. 1989. Ancient Literacy, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Killen J.T., J.L. Melena and J-P. Olivier (eds) 1987. Studies in Mycenaean and Classical Greek Presented to John Chadwick, Minos 20-22. Mylonas G. 1948. Prehistoric Greek Scripts. Archaeology 1/4, 210-220. Olivier J.-P. 1986. Cretan Writing in the Second Millennium B.C. World Archaeology 17/3, 377389. Olivier J.-P. and T.G. Palaima (eds) 1988. Texts, Tablets and Scribes, Supplement to Minos 10. Packard D. 1974. Minoan Linear A, Berkley: University of California Press. Palaima T.G. 1982. Linear A in the Cyclades: The Trade and Travel of a Script. Temple University Aegean Symposium 7, Philadelphia, Temple University, 15-22. Palaima T.G. 1987. Comments on Mycenaean Literacy. In: J.T. Killen, J.L. Melena and J-P. Olivier (eds), Studies in Mycenaean and Classical Greek Presented to John Chadwick, Minos 20-22, 499510. Palaima T.G. 1988. The Development of the Mycenaean Writing System. In: J.-P. Olivier and T.G. Palaima (eds), Texts, Tablets and Scribes, Supplement to Minos 10, 269-324. Palmer L. 1958. Luvian and Linear A. Transactions of the Philological Society, 75-100. Pini I. 1997. Die Tonplomben aus dem Nestorpalast von Pylos, Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. Pope M. 1956. Cretan Axe-heads with Linear A Inscriptions. The Annual of the British School at Athens 51, 132-136. Pope M. 1968. The First Cretan Palace Script, Atti e Memorie del Primo Congresso di Micenologia I, (Incunabula Graeca 25), Roma. Pope M. and G.P. Goold 1955. Preliminary Investigations into the Cretan Linear A Script, Cape Town: University of Cape Town.

5. Conclusions After an overview of the nature of Minoan and Mycenaean inscriptions it may be concluded that Minoans and Mycenaeans had two different approaches to script. Whereas for the Mycenaeans a script was just a mechanism for recording administrative information, an administrative tool of sorts, Minoans recognised a creative side to it as well. It is beyond any doubt that writing was more widespread in Minoan than in Mycenaean society. A study of the nature of the objects inscribed with Linear A allows a division of Minoan literacy into two levels: administrative and non-administrative. Non-administrative literacy can further be divided into religious and personal. The range of inscribed Minoan objects clearly implies that the ability to read and write was not confined solely to the group in charge of administrative records. Priests are one likely group of readers of non-administrative Linear A texts, but it is difficult to identify the intended readers of the inscribed jewellery. This jewellery was probably in the possession of an elite, which suggest several possibilities: a) members of the elite were literate and could read the inscriptions themselves; b) members of the elite were illiterate and had the inscriptions interpreted; c) members of the elite were not interested in the meaning of the inscriptions, but in their aesthetic appearance; d) writing was rare outside the administrative sphere and would add to the value of the inscribed object; and/or e) inscriptions on jewellery had a completely different purpose from those mentioned in this paper and were not supposed to be read or heard by the people in whose graves they were largely found. Bibliography Bennet J. 2001. Agency and Bureaucracy: Thoughts on the Nature and Extent of Administration in Bronze Age Pylos. In: S. Voutsaki and J. Killen (eds), Economy and Politics in the Mycenaean Palace States, Cambridge Philological Society (Supplementary Volume no. 27), 25-37. Chadwick J. and M. Ventris 1973 (second edition), Documents on Mycenaean Greek, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chadwick J., L. Godart, J.T. Killen, J.P. Olivier, A. Sacconi, and I.A. Sakellarakis, 1986-1998. Corpus of Mycenaean Inscriptions from Knossos (Incunabula Graeca 88, 1-4), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Driessen J. 2000. The Scribes of the Room of the Chariot Tablets at Knossos, (Supplement to Minos, 15), Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca. 133

Raison J. 1963. Les Coupes de Knossos avec Inscriptions en Linéaire A, Kadmos 2, 17-26. Rehak P. and J. Younger 1998. Review of Aegean Prehistory VII: Neopalatial, Final Palatial and Postpalatial Crete. American Journal of Archaeology 102, 91-173. Sakellarakis I. and J.-P. Olivier 1994. Un Vase en Pierre avec Inscription en Linéaire A du Sanctuaire de Sommet Minoen de Cythére. Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique 118, 343-351. Schoep I. 1994. Ritual, Politics and Script on Minoan Crete. Aegean Archaeology 1, 7-25. Schoep I. 1996. Minoan Administration on Crete. An Interdisciplinary Approach to Documents in Cretan Hiroglyphic and Linear A, Leuven (Unpublished PhD Thesis, Catholic University of Leuven). Schoep I. 1999. Tablets and Territories? Reconstructing Late Minoan IB Political Geography through Undeciphered Documents. American Journal of Archaeology 103, 201-221. van Alfen P. G. 1996-1997. The Linear B Inscribed Stirrup Jars as Links in an Administrative Chain. Minos 31-32, 251-274. Voutsaki S. and J. Killen (eds) 2001. Economy and Politics in the Mycenaean Palace States, Cambridge Philological Society (Supplementary Volume no. 27). Whitelaw T. 1999 Beyond the Palace: A Century of Investigation in Europe’s Oldest City. Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 43, 223-226.

134

Figure 1: The libation table from Psychro (PS Za 2). After GORILA, vol. 4

Figure 2: Votive cup from Knossos (Kn Zc 6). After GORILA, vol. 4

135

Figure 3: Votive cup from Knossos (Kn Zc 7). After GORILA, vol. 4

Figure 4: The Troullos ladle (Tl Za 1). After GORILA, vol. 4

136

Figure 5: The Tylissos figurine (TY Zg 1). After GORILA, vol. 4

Figure 6: A bronze axe from Kardamoutsa (KA Zf 1). After GORILA, vol. 4

Figure 7: A silver double-axe from Archalochori (AR Zf 2). After GORILA, vol. 4 137

Figure 8: A golden double-axe from Archalochori (AR Zf 1). After GORILA, vol. 4

Figure 9: A silver pin from Mavro Spelio (KN Zf 31). After GORILA, vol. 4

Figure 10: A golden ring from Mavro Spelio (KN Zf 13). After GORILA, vol. 4 138

Figure 11: A silver pin from Platanos (PL Zf 1). After GORILA, vol. 4

Figure 12: A golden pin of unknown provenance (CR(?) Zf 1). After GORILA, vol. 4

Figure 13: A libation table from Iouktas (IO Za 2). After GORILA, vol. 5

139

140

(Re)thinking Roman Sculpture: Imperial Representations and the Construction of Subjective Identity Louis van den Hengel Department of Archaeology, Nijmegen Catholic University (Nijmegen, Netherlands) [email protected] and motor behind history. But, as post-structuralism informs us, identities are never unified; our selves are fragmented, fractured and changeable. Subjectivity is not singular, rather, we are dealing with multiple, differentiated, socio-culturally specific modalities of subjectivity.

Abstract Classical archaeological discourse on Roman imperial representations comprises an extensive body of work, ranging in scope from stylistic analysis to studies on ideology and, albeit only recently, the spectators of imperial art. The notion of subjectivity, however, and the role of material culture in its construction, has remained unexplored. Instead, Classical archaeology tends to (re)produce uncritically notions of (theoretically reductive as well as politically unproductive) liberal humanist subjectivity. This paper roughly sketches the outline of a theoretical framework against which to analyse the function of imperial sculpture in the constitution of human beings as subjects, differentiated along the lines of for example, gender, sexuality, race, social status and age. Fusing ideology theory, semiotics and film theory with traditional archaeological approaches, I adopt a multi-faceted perspective, in order to formulate a self-consciously post-humanist inquiry into past as well as present modes of human ontology as they are realised in/through concrete artefacts.

Archaeology may be regarded as an interpretative enterprise in which a past material culture is (re)constructed in the present. Connecting past and present systems of meaning, this enterprise structures both past and present cultural experiences. As a discipline linking people to their pasts, archaeology is in an excellent position to reveal the shifting socio-historical conditions in which the construction of subjective identities obtains. Moreover, since subjectivity is inextricably bound up with material existence, the clarification of the role of material culture in the production of various subjectivities may be regarded as pre-eminently an archaeological task.

1. Introduction

Being a Classical archaeologist studying Roman society, my direct focus is on Roman imperial art. More specifically I will concentrate on the artistic representations of the Roman emperors from Augustus – whose reign initiated the principate with its highly influential imagery – to that of Constantine, whose conversion to Christianity marks a profound shift in Roman thought and a socio-political change with decisive consequences for the course of Western history. My aim is to analyse the constitutive function of artefacts (statues, busts, historical reliefs, coins) in the various socio-cultural processes that constitute human beings as embodied subjects. It must be noted that these processes always should be differentiated along the lines of, for example., gender, sexuality, race, social status, and age, which for reasons of brevity can be pursued here only at a general level. In this paper, I will consider the current theoretical state of the art concerning the discourse on Roman imperial sculpture, and roughly sketch the outline of a theoretical framework against which to conduct my analysis, restricting myself to imperial portraiture.

“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I – I hardly know, Sir, just at present – at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.” “What do you mean by that?”, said the Caterpillar, sternly. “Explain yourself!” “I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, Sir,” said Alice, “because I’m not myself, you see.” Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Even in these post-modern times, we do not tend to collectively question the nature of our own identities. Most of us are not forced to problematise our selves, as Alice is, when she gets torn away from her usual social practices and, conversing with an unsociable Caterpillar, must recognise that her identity is not a self-evident, stable, natural given. In contrast to Alice, the greater part of Classical archaeology as an academic discipline, particularly its concern with art-history, is not very inclined to the questioning of the self. Whereas the concept of “identity” has been subjected to a thorough deconstructive critique by various (sub)disciplines within the humanities, Classical archaeology still feels very much at home with both traditional post-Cartesian western metaphysics and positivistic interpretive strategies. When it comes to questions of identity, then, Classical archaeological discourse often tends to (re)produce the traditional liberal humanist notion of subjectivity. This notion perceives the subject as a universal, autonomous human being, rational, unchanging, a stable core of selfhood: the source of knowledge, locus of consciousness

2. Imaging Identity Sculpture formed an integral part of Roman life. In particular, the artistic representations of the emperor formed important components of what was, essentially, a visual culture. These representations, placed in both public and private spaces (e.g. fora, basilicas, temples, baths, houses, villas, gardens), were visible throughout the city, and can be considered both integrated in and generative of their urban/architectural contexts. The distribution of 141

‘representation of the imaginary relationship of individuals to their real conditions of existence’ (1970: 30). It is usually assumed that ideologies do not correspond with reality and as such are, to a large extent, imaginary. The prevailing conception of ideology is, in this respect, that ideology sets up an imaginary distortion of reality. In this ‘mechanistic’ interpretation, ideology is used as a means to an end: a society’s dominant class construes, by means of ideology, a distortion of reality, in order to perpetuate the existing power-structures. Althusser points out, however, that it is not some imaginary transformation of reality itself which is presented in ideology, but the relation to the real conditions of existence. This relation is an imaginary structure, central to every ideological representation of the world. In the form of specific social institutions (e.g. religion, education, politics, the family), so-called Ideological State Apparatuses (ISAs) (re)produce this imaginary structure by means of, primarily, ideology and, of secondary importance, repression. In this respect, the ISAs must be distinguished from the Repressive State Apparatus (RSA; the government, administration, army, police, prisons, et cetera), which functions predominantly by repression. It is, in fact, by repression that the RSA secures the political conditions for the action of the ISAs.

imperial sculpture was organised by the state, and portraits of the emperor were placed quam oculatissimo loco (‘in the spot most eyed’, to quote Pliny, Nat. Hist. XXXIV 24), so that the emperor’s image could be seen by virtually everyone, citizens and non-citizens alike. The stylisation of these representations, too, was a concern of the imperial court, resulting in various official portrait-types with highly distinctive features. Likewise, there were numerous ways of depicting the emperor and his qualities, varying from his capacity of military man to that of high priest (cf. Fig. 1). Clothing, attributes, painting and inscriptions can function as additional markers of the sovereign portrayed. The great visibility of the imperial statues must be understood in the light of their various ideologically determined functions. From contemporary juridical and religious discourses (disclosed by both ancient literary sources and epigraphic material) we can conclude that the statues of the emperor functioned as substitutes of the emperor himself, especially in juridical and cultic contexts. In Roman thought, the image of the emperor was assimilated into his identity: taking the place of the emperor himself, artistic representations of his body were endowed with various juridical and religious functions, whose meanings often overlap (Kruse 1934; Niemeyer 1968). Such juridico-religious significance became particularly acute during ritual ceremonies concerning imperial accession, agreements of loyalty with foreign rulers, in court, in the sanctuaries of the army, and in the context of the emperor-worship at large.

The imaginary relationship between individuals and their real conditions of existence, constructed in ideology, always exists in actions and practices performed by/upon individuals within a socio-cultural framework. Emphasising the importance of material practice, Althusser thus foregrounds the material existence of ideology, which always exists within an apparatus and its practices. In this respect, he distinguishes several material modalities, which are all, in the last resort, rooted in physical matter. The archaeological field offers a quite literal illustration of Althusser’s theory of (material) ideology, since artefacts are actually physical in the first instance. Imperial sculptures too are, after all, tangible data contained within an historical record. Indeed, these artistic representations, as integral components within the Ideological State Apparatus making up the imperial power/knowledgesystem, play a significant role in the materialisation of the system’s underlying ideologies. This ideologically charged matter constitutes the most concrete manifestation of imperial ideology.

From the apotheosis of Julius Caesar onwards, the superhuman status of the emperor formed the foundation of the cultic veneration of his image throughout the Empire. Imperial images were perceived as figures approximating or even surpassing the (other) gods. The principle of damnatio memoriae, i.e., the practice of damaging and/or destroying every visual trace recalling a despised emperor in order to ritually and materially obliterate the imperial body itself, similarly illustrates to what extent the emperor’s identity, body, and image were considered entangled. In order to arrive at a critical understanding of the subjectivating effects of these images of imperial identity, we must take a closer look at the concept of ideology: how is ideology connected to subjective identity and how has it traditionally been conceptualised in the discourses of Classical archaeology?

Since imperial portraits functioned as the material manifestations of imperial power, it is clear that in these artefacts, ideological and archaeological materialities overlap. But why, Althusser asks, do ‘men [sic] “need” this imaginary transposition of their real conditions of existence in order to “represent to themselves” their real conditions of existence’ (1970: 37)? Why is this transposition necessarily imaginary? And how does this imaginary aspect relate to everyday practice? In formulating an answer to these questions, Althusser takes subjectivity to be the most important analytical category.

3. Ideology revisited The ideological nature of imperial imagery plays a crucial role in the construction of viewers and their respective subjectivities. Therefore, to analyse the ways in which generations of spectators of Roman imperial art are constructed as (sexualised, gendered, racialised, et cetera) subjects, I take the theory of ideology as developed by the French political theorist Louis Althusser as one of my starting-points.

4. Constituting subjectivities In his essay Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (1970), Althusser offers a thesis on what constitutes the object of ideology. Althusser defines ideology as the

‘There is no ideology except by the subject and for subjects’, Althusser writes (1970: 44). Ideology, obviously, 142

intend to account for the historical lives of human beings. It attempts to clarify the ways in which normative constructions of subject-positions, spectatorship and embodiment during the Imperial Age obtains, not to wake the dead. In traditional Classical archaeological discourse, such an attempt has not as yet been made. I will proceed to outline several reasons for this theoretical deficit.

needs subjects to work on. But this does not mean that ideology exists only by virtue of the subjects constituting it. Indeed, as Althusser points out, ‘the category of the subject is only constitutive of all ideology insofar as all ideology has the function (which defines it) of “constituting” concrete individuals as subjects’ (1970: 45). Human subjectivity, in other words, can be considered a fundamentally ideological effect.

5. Classical archaeology and its master discourses Individual identity, as noted above, is generally perceived as an obviousness. But since subjectivity is grounded in ideology, this obviousness is ideologically determined: ‘the “obviousness” that you and I are subjects – and that that does not cause any problems – is an ideological effect, the elementary ideological effect’ (Althusser 1970: 46). The notion of subjectivity as an ideological effect clarifies why ideology can be defined as a representation of the imaginary relationship of individuals to reality. The ideological relationship is imaginary because it functions through processes of recognition and identification that “hail” individuals to their subjective positions. In Althusser’s terms: ‘Ideology hails or interpellates concrete individuals as concrete subjects’ (1970: 47). Ideology acts in such a way that it ‘recruits’ subjects among individuals by this process of interpellation (or ‘hailing’), which Althusser clarifies with a short theoretical stage-play: an individual walks down the street and hears a police hailing – ‘Hey, you there!’. The hailed individual turns round, and by this physical conversion, (s)he becomes a subject. This is because (s)he has ‘recognized that the hail was “really” addressed to him [sic], and that “it was really him [sic] who was hailed” (and not someone else)’ (1970: 48). As a result, the individual ties her/himself to her/his ‘own’ subjective identity – an imaginary tie.

A critical assessment of existing scholarly discourses on Roman imperial sculpture, aims, among other things, at clarifying the ways in which archaeological artefacts are constituted as objects of discourse in the first place, and the ways in which particular discourses, with their privileged concepts and favoured interpretive strategies, come to dominate within certain socio-cultural and institutional contexts, to establish themselves as “master discourses” (Foucault 1971: 1972). Since power and knowledge are intricately intertwined, it is of critical importance to scrutinise the conflicting institutional interests and clashing traditions which have come to define archaeological discourse within its shifting socio-historical settings. Archaeological discourse on imperial representation – a substantial body of work – first took off during the early years of the 19th century. Changing artistic forms and stylistic developments in the sculptural representation of Roman emperors have been conscientiously mapped out in order to arrive at detailed typologies (e.g. Gross 1940; Fittschen and Zanker 1983/1985; Boschung 1993). Indeed, style has so frequently been the sole focus of attention that initially the various social and political dimensions of imperial sculpture were often underrated. Imperial sculptures thus often have been approached as mere aesthetic objects, an approach based on a belief in the immanent significance of artefacts dating from a highly esteemed and influential period such as the Roman Imperial Age. The master discourse that supposes an inherent meaning in aesthetic objects as manifestations of ‘high culture’ can be discerned principally within traditional Classical archaeology and art-history, whereas post-processual and interpretive archaeologies tend to be more aware of historical context and of archaeology’s own function in attributing meaning to an artefact. After all, material objects from the past can only be known when they are subjected to textualisation within archaeological discourse. A self-conscious approach towards archaeological reasoning is even more necessary when it comes to analysing ideological artefacts, since an Althusserian notion of ideology implies a consideration of the subject-positions of archaeologists themselves (naturally including one’s own). These privileged positions, in most cases institutionalised within an academic establishment, are frequently ignored within Classical archaeology.

It is important to note that subjectivity is not only a theoretical category, but also the specific configuration of ideological effects that constitute concrete individuals in their material existence. The temporal form in which Althusser describes the process of interpellation, by which people are ‘spoken’ as subjects, in this respect has logical rather than chronological meaning. The individual is ‘always already’ subjected to the ideological system into which (s)he is born: her/his existence as a human being is prefigured by the discursive system in which (s)he is to assume her/his place. That we nevertheless perceive our subjective identities as unproblematic categories, as selfevident ‘givens’, derives, as both Althusser and Foucault underline, from the ambivalence of the word ‘subject’ itself, which at the same time presupposes a subjugation to a certain authority and designates a free subjectivity, a centre of initiatives, responsibility, conscience and selfknowledge (Foucault 1982). The process of subject-formation, however, is by its very nature unstable and incomplete, since ‘a full recognition, that is, [the position of] ever fully inhabiting the name by which one’s social identity is augurated and mobilized’, is impossible (Butler 1993: 226). In view of the logical difference between ‘subjects’ and ‘individuals’, an analysis of the construction of the differentiated subjectivities of the spectators of Roman imperial representations does not

Moreover, stylistic studies usually abound with emphases on continuity, e.g. the overwhelming stress on Augustan Classicism and its replication within formal analyses. Traditional stylistic methodology, too, is based on continuity and, as a result, lets formal similarities take 143

Only in recent years has archaeological research expanded its view to also pay attention to the spectator of artistic imperial representations (Pekáry 1985; Zanker 1987). The concept of subjectivity has thus sporadically been given some attention, in one case even explicitly (Elsner 1995). Unfortunately, no differentiation whatsoever has been made with regard to the viewers of imperial art. Given the manifest pluriformity of Roman society, however, it appears critical to analyse the meaning-effects of imperial representations on their spectators as individual subjects not only differentiated in gendered, sexual and racial/ethnic terms, but also assuming their social positions as either free citizens, freed(wo)men, or slaves. Furthermore, the artefacts themselves, in their actual materiality, have not as yet been critically approached so as to reveal their active function in the constitution of human beings as variously differentiated subjects. When we assert, with Spanish archaeological theorist Felipe Criado, that ‘reality is not simply constituted by the material, but also by the ideal and the imaginary’ (Criado 1995: 195), we must subsequently foreground the importance of considering these ideological, imaginary factors precisely in the light of their material existence. Both as critical elements in the operation of imperial power politics and as material objects, the artistic representations of Roman emperors must be analysed in their signifying effects on the subjectivities of their spectators, which, in turn, equally exist in material practices. In this respect, the process of subject-formation can be regarded as material as the archaeological record itself. Foucault would refer to this as the ‘materialism of the incorporeal’ (Foucault 1971: 60). Notwithstanding the fact that this materialism of the incorporeal can be adequately analysed, Classical archaeology still is reserved with respect to the poststructuralist theorising of Roman art. (Re)thinking imperial sculpture therefore not only requires a theoretical framework which concentrates upon materiality, but also a reconsideration of academic politics.

precedence over notions such as rupture or difference. Analyses persistently stated in terms of such continuity tend to (re)affirm the sovereignty of the human subject/consciousness, which therefore continues to figure as a universal, transcendent ‘given’, as well as the presumed source of all historical development. Such presuppositions render the critical analysis of the subjectivating effects of imperial representations factually impossible, for it is only a focus on discontinuities that inevitably leads to a deconstruction of the traditional humanist subject per se. As Foucault observes: Continuous history is the indispensable correlative of the founding function of the subject. Making historical analysis the discourse of the continuous and making human consciousness the original subject of all historical development and all action are the two sides of the same system of thought (Foucault 1972: 12).

However, instead of emphasising continuities in stylistic development, I would argue that one should concentrate on the shifting meaning-effects produced by the imperial representations in question, especially in the light of their constitutive function in the production of subjectivity. From the second half of the 20th century onwards, archaeology has paid additional attention to the propagandistic and ideological aspects of imperial imagery (e.g. Hannestad 1986; Kleiner 1992). These texts, however, fall short of the mark insofar as they are (implicitly or explicitly) based on the misconception of ideology already noted above. Discourse on Roman imperial art usually perceives of ideology in a mechanistic manner, regarding it as a manipulative instrument to influence the attitude, worldview and behaviour of individuals. The source of ideology, then, would be of course the emperor himself, at the instigation of whom an illusory distortion of reality comes into being. In this way, ideology would ultimately function to (re)produce the existing power-relations, which place the emperor at the top of the social hierarchy. Material culture, such as imperial statuary, is usually regarded as the medium through which imperial ideology becomes ‘translated’ to the people.

6. (Re)thinking boundaries Although, as discourse analysis shows, the archaeological investigation of Roman art is still very traditionally minded, it is not isolated: from the very outset as an academic discipline, Classical archaeology has associated itself with art-history and Classical philology and has hence been interdisciplinary from the start. Operating within the Altertumswissenschaft at large, Classical archaeologists are able to draw upon an extensive foundation of knowledge pertaining to Classical antiquity.

In spite of good archaeological intentions, such analyses get stuck on the problem of the imaginary aspect of ideology. By continuously locating this ideological characteristic in the figure of the emperor – his intentions, cultural program, political choices and strategies – in short, by reducing the meaning of imperial sculpture to mere selfrepresentation, the cause of the imaginary aspect of ideology becomes far more important than the question of why it is imaginary in the first place. In this way, as we have seen, an investigation of subjectivity is rendered impossible. Not surprising, yet striking, is the fact that such studies pay very little attention (or no attention at all) to the viewers of imperial art. Notions such as subjective identity, spectatorship, the representational process and even power itself are largely taken for granted, seen as self-evident categories that require no problematisation. The conceptual models of representation and identification emerging from these texts are, as a result, both one-sided and reductive.

Nowadays, however, theoretical developments within the social sciences and the humanities, necessitate a thorough (re)thinking of the position of Classical archaeology, its privileged concepts, research themes and interpretive strategies. The archaeological field is divided by disciplinary boundaries. Though the debate between processual and post-processual archaeologies may be considered to be beyond polemics, Classical archaeology still sits, more or less, on the sidelines. Even in spite of a confident refusal of disciplinary allegiance (one of the tenets of, for example, material culture studies; cf. Tilley 144

subject’, i.e. the subject produced through discourse, constituted by means of processes of identification within discursive structures. This means that our Selves arise from identifications with what Lacan calls the Other: other subjects as well as Otherness generally – the discursive and ideological structures, the symbolic and social systems which pre-exist individual existence. Subjective differentiation is thus closely entwined with processes of signification: subjectivity cannot exist outside the multiple, intrinsically ideological sign-systems that produce it, and which, in turn, only acquire meaning by grace of individuals identifying with them. Subject and symbolic system are mutually constitutive.

(ed.) 1990), a true fusion between Classical archaeology and post-processual, interpretive or critical archaeology – to name a few examples, has not as yet been effected. To analyse the active function of Roman imperial imagery in the constitution of variously differentiated subjectivities, a broader interdisciplinary approach is required. Therefore, the theoretical perspective of my research is informed by, on the one hand, the traditional disciplines of archaeology, anthropology and art-history, and, on the other, the more recently developed critical traditions such as postprocessual archaeology, ethnic studies, feminist and/or gender studies, sexuality and/or queer studies and various forms of the so-called ‘new body theory’ (e.g. de Lauretis 1987; Grosz 1994; Fausto-Sterling 2000). Forging a bridge between various critical gaps, I would like to offer a contribution to the expansion of the discursive as well as the institutional edge of Classical archaeology. There is no doubt that the development of archaeological discourse in general will benefit from critical interdisciplinary collaboration, in such a way that ‘interdisciplinary’ is more than just a catchy phrase. With this in mind, I will conclude this paper by offering a multi-faceted approach to material culture, in order to elucidate the role of Roman sculpture in the construction of subjectivity.

On these theoretical grounds I would like to propose to conceive of imperial imagery as an elaborate ideological sign-system, so as to open up possibilities for analysing such imagery in its operations as a process of signification that implicates spectators in a discursive exchange. That is to say, a process in which spectators not merely attribute meaning to the artefact, but during which (s)he her/himself is also actually ‘spoken’ as subject. Imperial statues in particular, in view of their great juridico-religious significance and high degree of visibility, can be considered a discursive network that ‘hails’, in the Althusserian sense, individuals into their subjective positions. People engage in interaction with these statues, not only by merely looking at them (as traditional stylistic analyses suggest), but in numerous ritual, cultic and disciplinary practices as well. As individuals identify (or disidentify) with the images they encounter, the discourse of imperial statuary constitutes their respective subjectivities in the representational process itself as well as its operations.

7. A semiotics of Imperial sculpture Semiotic theory can be considered particularly helpful in analysing the material, subjectivating effects of imperial art. The reason for this is that subjectivity is inseparably connected to the systems of language and discourse, as has been thoroughly demonstrated by French linguist Emile Benveniste (1971). In his work, subjectivity is grasped in unequivocal relational terms. Individual identity is negotiated through processes of discursive differentiation with respect to other discursive instances, and as such it is fundamentally contingent upon signification. This entails that one can distinguish at least two forms of subjectivity which are involved in any discursive event. The first is the ‘speaking subject’, which is the discursive agent. The second consists of the discursive element with which discoursing individuals self-identify, thus finding/founding their subjectivities. In the case of language, the ‘speaking subject’ would be the speaker/writer, and the discursive element would be the first personal pronoun ‘I’. We must bear in mind, however, that discourse exceeds language, and can equally be visual or auditory, as long as a sender and a recipient are assumed. Moreover, as Althusser makes clear, discourse is not restricted to individuals; it may also consist of an exchange between an individual person and a cultural authority (e.g. mass media).

The material existence of the imperial statues as ‘subjects of speech’, moreover, emphasises the active role of material culture in setting up a ‘materialism of the incorporeal’. After all, both subjects of speech and spoken subjects, both image and identity, obtain in material practices, in living out material culture through the discursive exchange mentioned above. Besides, as political or religious substitutes of the emperor himself, the imperial statues in fact can be considered materialisations not only of ideology, but of sovereign power and the imperial body itself. Imperial representations, while functioning as elements within a complex system of power-relations, can therefore only be productively studied if they are approached as material instantations of gendered, racialised and sexualised forms of embodied subjectivity, as fictionalised body-images, ‘positioned by various cultural narratives and discourses, which are themselves embodiments of culturally established canons, norms and representational forms’ (Grosz 1994: 118).

As such, the Benvenistian rubric of discourse has been extended to include, for example, cinematic narrative. The elaboration of Benveniste’s model within film theory has both improved and complicated this model. As film theorist Kaja Silverman observes: ‘One more category is needed in order to make that model sufficiently flexible to accommodate all of the subjective transactions which occur within discourse’ (Silverman 1983: 47). This involves a third subjective category, that of the ‘spoken

The specific functions of imperial statues in Roman society are not only constitutive, but also normative and regulative of the ideological structures making up that society. The significance of imperial representation, then, also stems from the fact that it is an enterprise which subjects, disciplines and normalises bodies in their specific material existence. It appears critical, therefore, to analyse the 145

Limits of “Sex”, London: Routledge. Carroll L. 1993. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. In: L. Carroll, The Complete Illustrated Works of Lewis Carroll, London: Chancellor Press. Criado F. 1995. The Visibility of the Archaeological Record and the Interpretation of Social Reality. In: I. Hodder et al. (eds), Interpreting Archaeology. Finding Meaning in the Past, London: Routledge, 194-204. Elsner J. 1995. Art and the Roman Viewer. The Transformation of Art from the Pagan World to the Christian World, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fausto-Sterling, A. 2000. Sexing the Body. Gender Politics and the Construction of Sexuality, New York: Basic Books. Fittschen K. and Zanker P. 1983/1985. Katalog der Römischen Porträts in den Capitolinischen Museen und den anderen Kommunalen Sammlungen der Stadt Rom, Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. Foucault M. 1971. L’Ordre du discours, Paris: Editions Gallimard. Foucault M. 1972. The Archaeology of Knowledge, London: Tavistock. Foucault M. 1982. Afterword. The Subject and Power. In: H.L. Dreyfus and P. Rabinow, Michel Foucault. Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 208-226. Gross N.H. 1940. Bildnisse Traians, (Das römische Herrscherbild II. 2), Berlin: Gebr: Mann Verlag. Grosz E. 1994. Volatile Bodies. Toward a Corporeal Feminism, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hannestad N. 1986. Roman Art and Imperial Policy, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Kleiner D.E.E. 1992. Roman Sculpture, New Haven: Yale University Press. Kruse H. 1934. Studien zur offizielen Geltung des Kaiserbildes im römischen Reiche, Paderborn: Schöningh. de Lauretis T. 1987. Technologies of Gender. Essays on Theory, Film and Fiction, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Niemeyer H.G. 1968. Studien zur statuarischen Darstellung der römischen Kaiser, (Monumenta Artis Romanae 7), Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag. Pekáry T. 1985. Das Römische Kaiserbildnis in Staat, Kult und Gesellschaft, (Das römische Herrscherbild III. 5), Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag. Silverman K. 1983. The Subject of Semiotics, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tilley C. (ed.) 1990. Reading Material Culture. Structuralism, Hermeneutics and PostStructuralism, Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Zanker P. 1987. Augustus und die Macht der Bilder, München: Verlag C.H. Beck.

significatory effects of imperial representations on their spectators as actual embodied subjects, embedded in material/cultural practices – on both the micro-level of everyday (bodily/subjective) experience, and within the larger field of state power and ideologies. Neither imperial statues nor Roman viewers can be dealt with in isolation: both presuppose a specific political field of power and resistance. Within this essentially semiotic model, the spectators of Roman imperial art finally appear on the archaeological stage as subjects. The position of Roman viewers simply cannot be taken for granted, since their subjectivities are neither stable nor continuous, but ‘activated intermittently, within discourse’ (Silverman 1983: 48). Such an approach to ancient spectatorship obviously is at odds with the humanist notion of subjectivity which prevails within Classical archaeology. By theoretically situating myself deliberately in the ‘post-modern condition’ of the historical present, I hope to realise a self-consciously post-humanist inquiry into past as well as present modes of human ontology as they are realised in concrete artefacts. Since both ideology and power-structures can be regarded transhistorical features of every organised society, my inquiry itself can be directed not towards post-modernity, but towards ancient Roman society, which, even in a posthumanist era, may still be regarded as one of the most decisive influences on Western history and culture. Bearing in mind that ‘subjectivity’ itself is a late 18th/early 19th century ‘invention’, an analysis of the subjectivating processes in the Roman Imperial Age will furthermore contribute to a critical understanding of subjectivation itself. Archaeology, because of its concern with material culture, may be considered particularly useful clarifying the materiality of these variously differentiated processes of subjectivation. In this respect, (re)thinking Roman imperial sculpture may be regarded as an enterprise which is neither subject to relativism or nihilism (as is often thought of constructivist theory), but one which aims at critically revealing pieces of the fragmented histories we are ourselves. Acknowledgements I thank Renée C. Hoogland for her editorial and critical advice, guidance and support. Financial assistance towards my research which has contributed to writing this paper was generously provided by the Dutch Institute at Rome. Bibliography Althusser L. 1970. Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses. Notes towards an Investigation. Reprinted and translated from French. In Athusser, L (ed.) Essays on Ideology, London/New York: Verso, 1984. Benveniste E. 1971. Problems in General Linguistics, Coral Gables: University of Miami Press. Boschung D. 1993. Die Bildnisse des Augustus, (Das römische Herrscherbild I. 2), Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag. Butler J. 1993. Bodies That Matter. On the Discursive 146

Figure 1: Augustus as pontifex maximus, detail of statue found at the Via Labicana; Rome, Museo Nazionale Romano, Inv. No. 56230 (photograph: Elisabeth van den Hengel).

147

148

Human landscapes on different scales: an integrated GIS approach Doortje Van Hove Department of Archaeology, University of Southampton, Southampton, U.K. [email protected] Keywords: GIS – land use – nature-culture – affordance – agency the whole range of the landscape. If we thus restrict our view to discrete sites, it would unnecessarily narrow our understanding of how prehistoric people lived (Van Hove in press). Using ‘the spatial continuity in the landscape to maximise archaeological information’ (Foley 1981: 2, my emphasis) a systematic input of off-site information within a GIS modelling framework can examine the complex reciprocity between different levels of human environments. This article discusses the theoretical issues concerned here and the generic methodology to be developed, on an abstract level. Although built and in the process of being implemented for a specific region of the Mediterranean (Calabria – Italy, as part of ongoing PhD research), it is intended to promote a critical appreciation of this type of methodology and its prerequisites for application in other areas.

Abstract Within the archaeological discipline, the relationship between large-scale environmental events and small-scale socio-cultural decision-making is problematic and only rarely meaningfully addressed. Overemphasis of either environmental or cultural approaches fails to accept that long-term change and short-term individual choices cannot be strictly separated. A reconceptualisation of the term land use, breaking down the nature-culture separation using ethnographic information, structure-agency dialectic and affordance perception, and analysing it within a GIS approach, allows us to help address this longstanding archaeological issue. By utilising a humanised GIS input, long-term evolution of human surroundings in relation to the short-term human behaviour within it can be studied more carefully. Developed for a particular region within the Italian peninsula (Calabria), it is suggested that the abstract methodology developed throughout this paper is applicable throughout Mediterranean landscape archaeology.

2. A human landscape within GIS The study of land use allows a specific connection to be made between humans and their landscape. This relationship can be viewed on different levels:

1. Introduction Within the archaeological discipline, a commonly recurring theme is the polarisation of individual activity and long-term change regarding past human behaviour. Although long-term development of a human landscape seen from excavation, survey and literature study is probably the most common description of archaeological research, archaeologists increasingly want to know more about individual decisions and their effect upon larger scale changes within cultures and environments. The growth of agency within archaeology, explicating human volition within the archaeological record, stressing individual narratives, and identifying socio-cultural behaviour through landscape evolution, has re-emphasised the need to connect these oppositions, as agency relates simultaneously to individuals in social contexts and to actors in natural environments (Dobres and Robb 2000: 317). This highlights the wider implications of the results of individual actions on a spatial and temporal scale, on a nature-culture level, and within off-site archaeology (Hodder 2000: 21-33).

i.

ii. iii.

The relationship between people’s economic decisions and their long-term impact, addressing a possible link between short-term human activity and long-term environmental change. The relationship between people’s economic decisions and their social and cultural backgrounds, connecting nature and culture. The relationship between the presence of humans in a landscape through land use and their perception of that space, connecting land use and landscape.

This paper theorises the implications of the implementation of particular views on past human practice on all the levels given above, looking at both the landscape and the humans inhabiting it, through GIS modelling. 2.1. GIS: past and present During the last decade, modelling technology and theoretical debates concerning simulations have advanced to make new kinds of analyses possible (e.g. Burton and Shell 2000: 81-89; Daly, Frachetti et al 2000: 91-99; Perkins 2000: 133-139). GIS are spatially referenced databases that store, manage, retrieve, display and generate georeferenced data (Green 1990: 3-8; Savage 1990: 22-32; Kvamme 1992: 77-84). GIS models allow a degree of systematic modelling and an understanding of dynamic

Through the investigation of human land use, the relationship between agency (human actions) and landscape evolution (long-term cultural and natural development) can be addressed, especially when broadening our focus to the spaces between sites. Sitebased research is more common than regional studies, because off-site archaeology (Foley 1981: 1-17) still provides much poorly studied material to work with and immense methodological difficulties. However, people use 149

overcome the traditional approach of an after-the-fact interpretation, reinforcing the traditional gap between pattern-recognition and data-interpretation. Instead of starting from a landscape point of view and integrating social behaviour on top, and also avoiding an input of ‘independent environmental and social’ variables (see the critique by Wheatley 1998: 5), a break down of the natureculture dichotomy, using ethnography, agency and affordance, indicates a possible redefinition of the concept of human environment, through land use studies within GIS.

resource and land use changes previously not feasible as they are a means to integrate vast and diverse bodies of information, enabling fast visualisation of potential spatial patterns through advanced computer software. Most importantly, GIS provides a way of presenting a series of hypothetical scenarios, which are relevant to our understanding of human-environmental relationships (Harris and Lock 1995: 349-365; Verhagen, McGlade et al. 1995: 187-209). In addition, GIS can analyse off-site material in a systematic way. Many GIS studies are environmentally focused (cf. critique by Gaffney and van Leusen 1996: 367-382). Although it is clear that human behaviour is partially determined by its physical environment, socio-cultural spheres should be considered as an available source of information for human activity as well. Kohler (1988) argues that environmentally deterministic models are mostly only a poor representation of the real situation, as other variables such as political, social and cognitive/religious factors – recognised by archaeologists – should be included in the model. The reasons why people do not use those variables is because they do not know how to use them (Kohler 1988: 19-22). However, it must be possible to move beyond an environmentally deterministic view to represent cognitive, social and cultural landscapes (Harris and Lock 1995: 349365; Verhagen, McGlade et al. 1995: 187-209).

2.2. Landscapes: the debate about nature and culture. Historically, the nature-culture opposition was part of philosophical strands in Western Europe since early modernity, especially articulated in the work of Descartes (Baker and Morris 1996: 11-22). The principal aspect of his philosophy was a strict division between body and mind, and between nature and culture. Although the exact contents of both terms changed through time, the idea of separation remained central, influencing archaeological theory (Thomas 1996: 11-15; Bradley 2000: 33-35). Nevertheless, increasing research is being done to dissolve this opposition. Ethnographic material (Gillison 1980: 143-173; Goodale 1980: 119-142; Harris 1980: 70-94; Strathern 1980: 174222; Saile 1985: 159-181; Tilley 1994: 37-62; Ingold 1996: 12-24; Bird-David 1999: 67-91) provides evidence that Western Europe’s hierarchical order of culture over nature, and the contrast between them, is not a feature of a universal unconscious structure. The nature-culture divide that is so pronounced in modernity may have been less clear in ancient societies (MacCormack 1980: 10; Brück and Goodman 1999: 7-12). Harris argued that

Few archaeological studies have taken the opportunity to use GIS to provide a greater understanding of theoretical concepts such as the ways people thought about and used their surroundings. However, there is a growing trend suggesting that these can be integrated (Zubrow 1994: 107118; Llobera 1996: 612-22). The reason why social and cognitive GIS are less common is that cultural phenomena manifest themselves on a far smaller scale compared to physical elements. The absence of suitable data for the inclusion of social phenomena into GIS implies the danger of preferring physical elements for which appropriate information is ample (van Leusen 1995: 27-41). Social elements are far less explicitly modellable.

it is all too easy for anthropologists using the dominant discourse of European culture to universalise our own categories of (…) nature and culture, and thus render ourselves deaf to alternative ways of structuring the world (1980: 93).

The idea that cultures want to dominate their environments therefore underrates the complexity of indigenous cosmologies and denies the importance of other elements (MacCormack 1980: 10). Subsequently, this provokes some important questions:

Even though partially clarifying the lack of social input into GIS modelling, this duality between environmental and social variables to be inputted in GIS is unhelpful and instead one should focus on integrating environment and humans from the outset to enable further holistic interpretations of human behaviour on larger scales. Furthermore, Wheatley argues for the need to relate largescale processes (detectable in the archaeological record) and the human-scale activities responsible for them, as large-scale patterns have no meaning if they are divorced from the individual actions that created them. He goes further to indicate the need for the relationship between agency and scale to be explored by spatial technologies like GIS (Wheatley 2000: 127-129), as changes in a landscape can be the result of unintended consequences of individual decisions.

i.

ii.

iii.

This article aims to show that within GIS, cultural and social parameters can be integrated and implemented by redefining ideas of land use and landscape. This can

iv.

150

Can one assume that the intimate relationship between humans and their environment in current non-Western societies is of similar intensity as within prehistoric groups? Does this mean archaeologists need to be looking for more ways of connecting environmental and cultural components when studying past human behaviour? Can dissolving the nature-culture divide change our perception of incorporating off-site data into analyses, and thus affect how archaeologists think about off-site land use? Can this change the current site-based approaches to include wider-based regional analyses paying more attention to the connection between

v.

important for the significance of landscapes and the creation of affordances. As affordance is a property of a relationship, it is neither something objectively present in an environment, nor something subjectively controlled by the observer of the affordance. At the same time it is both, creating and maintaining an intimate connection between environment and human within it. Affordance binds people and their landscapes, dissolves the dualism between nature and culture and replaces it by a synergy of person and environment. We do not perceive just with our minds but with our totality. The knowledge gained by perceiving is practical: affordance. By moving about in the world, we discover meaning (Ingold 1992: 39-56).

individual action and long-term change? Can this attitude change how we look at environmental GIS input parameters?

The structure-agency dialectic can be used to support a dissolution of the nature-culture separation. Agency is the ability to intervene in the world, creating diversity, difference and subjectivity of the actor (Robb 1999: 4). A dynamic interpretation of agency, referring to the negotiations that take place between individuals, communities and institutions, focusing on people’s practical engagement with the world, emphasises the reciprocal relationship between structures in which agents exist and which they also create (Dobres and Robb 2000: 4-6). Agency is defined through the idea that all human consciousness is contingent on historical and material conditions, forming structure on a practical and social level, incorporating ecological and socio-cultural settings (Joyce 2000: 71-73). This structure encompasses rules and resources, and is the means and outcome of actions by knowledgeable human beings within social systems. There exists a constraining and enabling influence within the dialectic relationship between agency, social, symbolic and material structures, institutions, habituation and beliefs. Social continuity and change depend on the unpredictable interactions between human agents and these structures, with intended and unintended consequences (Shanks and Tilley 1987: 124-126, 129; Barrett 2000: 65-66; Clark 2000: 98; Dobres and Robb 2000: 8; Joyce 2000: 72-73; Sassaman 2000: 163-164; Walker and Lucero 2000: 130; Barrett 2001: 148-153).

Using ethnography, agency and affordance to acknowledge the difficulty of upholding a strict nature-culture distinction for past and present human behaviour, it should be clear that environmental parameters encompass the reciprocal relationship between people and their surroundings and the term environment should be renegotiated. Environments are accumulated webs of human and natural engagements. Land use is one of those engagements. As people live through landscapes rather than on top of them, and when studying land use, integrating cognitive input within the GIS model from the outset is not only imperative but above all necessary for a sufficiently holistic model of different spheres of human environments to be formulated and to represent how a human environment works, meaning that parameters inputted within a GIS analysis should be above all human. This different stance towards human environments will influence how human decision-making is structured, which in turn will affect intended and unintended consequences on the long-term and the connection between both. Therefore, within humanised GIS analyses, using this perception of input data, it will be possible to overcome the traditional split between object and subject, nature and culture, data description and interpretation (Jensen in press), and environmental and socio-cultural reconstructions of past landscapes.

Summarising, we can argue that: i. Agency exists in a dialectic relationship with structure, meaning there is a reciprocal influence between the two. ii. Structure is defined as the natural and social environment and is constrained historically. iii. There is a close mesh between what humans do and their surroundings, as between nature and culture (Evans 1985: 82). iv. The interaction between structure and agency is important in human decision making and will affect these, with both intended and unintended consequences, affecting individual actions and their long-term effects. v. This change in human decision-making, integrating nature-culture and structure-agency dialectics, must be emphasised within a GIS approach from the outset.

2.3. Humanised GIS and land use By imagining the inability of people to gauge the unintended effects of their economic choices on human surroundings, and by using parameters from a human environment, focusing on the reciprocity of interaction between landscape elements and people, material land use activity must be seen as interconnected with cognitive, socio-cultural group attitudes. In this respect, GIS analytical tools such as cost-surface and view-shed approaches could function as proxies for human decisionmaking, acknowledging agency and perception engaged with environmental factors when interpreting the idea of cost or view, which can be influential within land use. For example, the visibility of an area alone is not a guarantee of its importance. People’s perception of the world is more complex than just a division into visible/not-visible areas. Interpretations of human worlds should also include culturally induced categories of visibility and cost, such as the presence of other groups and the social agreements groups have towards them (ideas of social interaction on a

The concept of affordance (Gibson 1979: 127-43) also connects material and cultural interpretations of landscape, as affordances are intimately linked with the usefulness of the landscape in both environmental and symbolic ways and show that there is no such thing as a separation between passive nature and empathised culture. An affordance is created upon the interaction between an environment and its users. It dissolves the division between the object and its representation for the subject within complex webs of social activities. Materiality, spatial relations, and cultural and social human parameters are 151

infer the implications of people’s involvement with their surroundings, assuming a reciprocal link between nature and culture. And finally, through land use inputs, one can gain insight into the accumulated experience and practices within the landscape and how people were integrated/involved in it, on larger spatial and temporal scales. This idea is being implemented in a study on land use within the Calabrian Neolithic (PhD research in progress) but is more widely applicable.

cultural and/or economic level, trade agreements, hostility or competition towards/between neighbouring groups, Whitley pers. comm.). Therefore, GIS inputs do not just have to relate to the material components of a landscape, but can contain a whole range of contextualised variables (people living through landscapes), influencing results on a theoretical level. GIS as a technology should not be seen as inherently deterministic. Rather this determinism stems from the models that are constructed for GIS and even more so from the interpretation of GIS output. The assumptions implicit in GIS model construction and interpretation tend to undermine its utility as a generic explanatory device (Gaffney and van Leusen 1996: 367-82; Jensen in press). If one starts out from the premise that an environment is inherently human, parameters included within a GIS model should refer to perception and cognitive abilities of humans in past and present environments. Humans constantly renegotiate their landscapes on the basis of cognitive and mental concepts and use a dynamic rather than a static space-time frame. One must therefore allow for a much larger range of inputs/interpretations incorporating more than just physical attributes of places such as distance, carrying capacity, and physical erosion sensitivity, or absence/presence of social criteria. The relationship between intelligent observers conscious of, integrated in and living through their surroundings within a humanised GIS can link human input with long-term output. For example, to assess land use, this research focussed on two elements: yield and cost. Yield is generated through the interplay between environmental elements and specific human use. A beach environment might possess a high yield for seafood processing, but a low yield for farming; yield becomes the expression of one type of affordance for land use. Similarly, cost reflects affordance, as it is calculated on the basis of the habitat structure and how people are attempting to utilise it at specific moments in time. Cost – the grade of difficulty to reach/use a place – involves material and symbolic elements (Wheatley and Gillings 2002: 155). These different conceptions of GIS parameters can link shortterm human action to long-term landscape change.

Using humanised GIS to connect environmental and cultural interpretations of human landscape behaviour, this article has addressed the issue of scale within simulations and archaeology. This way, GIS can present a novel approach to past human landscapes and the role of the groups that created them and lived through them. Acknowledgements I wish to thank the SOMA 2002 organising committee for hosting a very interesting and dynamic conference, which encouraged me to continue incorporating novel approaches into Mediterranean GIS research. I am also grateful to John Robb and David Wheatley for worthwhile discussions on agency and GIS. Furthermore, Dana Jensen, Thomas Whitley, Jason Lucas and Carl Knappett have all contributed in their own ways to the backbone of this paper. Finally, Rob Hosfield, Alex Luchetti and Joe Flatman helped proofread to enhance the quality of this paper. Bibliography Allen K.M. S., S.W. Green and E.B.W. Zubrow (eds) 1990. Interpreting Space: GIS and Archaeology, London: Taylor and Francis. Baker G. and K.J. Morris 1996. Descartes' Dualism, London: Routledge. Barrett J. C. 2000. A thesis on agency. In: M. Dobres and J. E. Robb (eds), Agency in Archaeology, London: Routledge, 61-68. Barrett J. C. 2001. Agency, the Duality of Structure, and the Problem of the Archaeological Record. In: I. Hodder (ed.), Archaeological Theory Today, Cambridge: Polity Press, 141-164. Bird-David N. 1999. ‘Animism’ Revisited. Personhood, Environment, and Relational Epistemology. Current Anthropology 40 (supplement, February 1999), 67-91. Bradley R. 2000. An Archaeology of Natural Places, London: Routledge. Brück J. and M. Goodman 1999. Introduction: Themes for a Critical Archaeology of Prehistoric Settlement. In: J. Brück and M. Goodman (eds), Making Places in the Prehistoric World: Themes in Settlement Archaeology, London: UCL Press, 119. Brück J. and M. Goodman (eds) 1999. Making Places in the Prehistoric World: Themes in Settlement Archaeology, London: UCL Press. Burton N.R. and C.A. Shell 2000. GIS and Visualising the Palaeoenvironment. In: K. Lockyear, T.J.T. Sly

3. Final remarks and future prospects Bridging the gap between nature and culture using ethnography, agency and affordance leads to a redefinition of the term environment and land use, and a different appreciation of the type of data that can be inputted within a GIS. Parameters researched within GIS should be human, incorporating the concept of affordance created through the interaction between humans and surroundings. Because GIS can systematically work through input and output on larger temporal and spatial scales than traditional analyses can, human inputs and outputs can address the issue of scale within archaeology. This is where we return to the three levels of human-landscape relationships suggested in the introduction of this paper. Firstly, through unintended consequences of human agency decisions (GIS input) one can link short-term activity to long-term results. Secondly, through a human parameters input within GIS, one can 152

and V. Mihailescu-Bîrliba (eds), CAA 96. Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology, (British Archaeological Reports, International Series, 845), Oxford: BAR Publishing, 81-89. Clark J.E. 2000. Towards a Better Explanation of Hereditary Inequality. A Critical Assessment of Natural and Historic Human Agents. In: M. Dobres and J.E. Robb (eds), Agency in Archaeology, London: Routledge, 92-112. Croll E. and D. Darkin (eds) 1992. Bush Base: Forest Farm. Culture, Environment and Development, London: Routledge. Daly P., M. Frachetti and J. Okkonen 2000. GIS and Early Åland: Spatial Analysis in an Archipelago of South-western Finland. In: K. Lockyear, T.J.T. Sly and V. Mihailescu-Bîrliba (eds), CAA 96. Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology, (British Archaeological Reports International Series 845), Oxford: BAR Publishing, 91-99. Dobres M. and J.E. Robb 2000. Agency in Archaeology. Paradigm or Platitude. In: M. Dobres and J. E. Robb (eds), Agency in Archaeology, London: Routledge, 3-17. M. Dobres and J.E. Robb (eds) 2000. Agency in Archaeology, London: Routledge. Evans C. 1985. Tradition and the Cultural Landscape: an Archaeology of Place. Archaeological Review from Cambridge 4, 80-94. Foley R. 1981. A Model of Regional Archaeological Structure. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 47, 1-17. Gaffney V. and M. van Leusen 1996. Postscript - GIS, Environmental Determinism and Archaeology: a Parallel Text. In: G. Lock and Z. Stancic (eds), Archaeology and Geographical Information Systems: A European Perspective, London: Taylor and Francis, 367-382. Gibson J.J. 1979. The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Gillison G. 1980. Images of Nature in Gimi thought. In: C.P. MacCormack and M. Strathern (eds), Nature, Culture and Gender, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 143-173. Goodale J.C. 1980. Gender, Sexuality and Marriage: a Kaulong Model of Nature and Culture. In: C.P. MacCormack and M. Strathern (eds), Nature, Culture and Gender, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 119-142. Green S.W. 1990. Approaching Archaeological Space: an Introduction to the Volume. In: K.M.S. Allen, S.W. Green and E.B.W. Zubrow (eds), Interpreting Space: GIS and Archaeology, London: Taylor and Francis, 3-8. Harris D.R. (ed.) 1996. The Origins and Spread of Agriculture and Pastoralism in Eurasia, London: UCL Press. Harris O. 1980. The Power of Signs: Gender, Culture and the Wild in the Bolivian Andes. In: C.P. MacCormack and M. Strathern (eds), Nature, Culture and Gender, Cambridge: Cambridge

University Press, 70-94. Harris T.M. and G.R. Lock 1995. Towards an Evaluation of GIS in European Archaeology: the Past, Present and Future of Theory and Applications. In: G. Lock and Z. Stancic (eds), Archaeology and Geographical Information Systems: A European Perspective, London: Taylor and Francis, 349-365. Hodder I. 2000. Agency and Individuals in Long-term Processes. In: M. Dobres and J.E. Robb (eds), Agency in Archaeology, London: Routledge, 2133. Hodder I. (ed.) 2001. Archaeological Theory Today, Cambridge: Polity Press. Ingold T. 1992. Culture and the Perception of the Environment. In: E. Croll and D. Darkin (eds), Bush Base: Forest Farm. Culture, Environment and Development, London: Routledge, 39-56. Ingold T. 1996. Growing Plants and Raising Animals: an Anthropological Perspective on Domestication. In: D.R. Harris (ed.), The Origins and Spread of Agriculture and Pastoralism in Eurasia, London: UCL Press, 12-24. Jensen D. In Press. Geoglyphs and GIS: modelling transhumance in the Formative of Northern Chile. In: Proceedings of CAA 2002, (British Archaeological Reports, International Series), Oxford: BAR Publishing. Joyce A.A. 2000. The Founding of Monte Albán. Sacred Propositions and Social Practices. In: M. Dobres and J.E. Robb (eds), Agency in Archaeology, London: Routledge, 71-91. Kohler T.A. 1988. Predictive Locational Modelling: History and Current Practice. In: L. Sebastian and W.J. Judge (eds), Quantifying the Present, Predicting the Past, Denver: US Department of the Interior Bureau of Land Management, 19-59. Kvamme K.L. 1992. Geographic Information Systems and archaeology. In: G. Lock and J. Moffett (eds), Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology 1991, (British Archaeological Series, 577), Reports, International Oxford: BAR Publishing, 77-84. Llobera M. 1996. Exploring the Topography of the Mind: GIS, Social Space and Archaeology. Antiquity 70, 612-22. Lock G. and J. Moffett (eds) 1992. Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology 1991, (British Archaeological Reports, Int. Series, 577), Oxford: BAR Publishing. Lock G. and Z. Stancic (eds) 1995. Archaeology and Geographical Information Systems: A European Perspective, London: Taylor and Francis. Lockyear K., T. J. T. Sly and V. Mihailescu-Bîrliba (eds) 2000. CAA 96. Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology, (British Archaeological Reports International Series 845), Oxford: BAR Publishing. MacCormack C.P. 1980. Nature, Culture and Gender: a Critique. In: C.P. MacCormack and M. Strathern (eds), Nature, Culture and Gender, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1-24. 153

Series), Oxford: BAR Publishing. van Leusen P.M. 1995. GIS and Archaeological Resource Management: a European Agenda. In: G. Lock and Z. Stancic (eds), Archaeology and Geographical Information Systems: A European Perspective, London: Taylor and Francis, 27-41. Verhagen P., J. McGlade, S. Gili and R. Risch 1995. Some Criteria for Modelling Socio-economic Activities in the Bronze Age of South East Spain. In: G. Lock and Z. Stancic (eds), Archaeology and Geographical Information Systems: A European Perspective, London: Taylor and Francis, 187209. Walker W.H. and L.J. Lucero 2000. The Depositional History of Ritual and Power. In: M. Dobres and J.E. Robb (eds), Agency in Archaeology, London: Routledge, 131-147. Wheatley D. 1998. Ranters Corner: Keeping the Camp Fires Burning: the Case for Pluralism. Archaeological Computing Newsletter 50, 2-7. Wheatley D. 2000. Spatial Technology and Archaeological Theory Revisited. In: K. Lockyear, T.J.T. Sly and V. Mihailescu-Bîrliba (eds), CAA 96. Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology, (British Archaeological Reports International Series 845), Oxford: BAR Publishing, 123-131. Wheatley D. and M. Gillings 2002. Spatial Technology and Archaeology. The Spatial Applications of GIS, London: Taylor and Francis. Zubrow E.B.W. 1994. Knowledge Representation and Archaeology: a Cognitive Example Using GIS. In: C. Renfrew and E.B.W. Zubrow (eds), The Ancient Mind. Elements of Cognitive Archaeology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 107-118.

MacCormack C.P. and M. Strathern (eds) 1980. Nature, Culture and Gender, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Perkins P. 2000. A GIS Investigation of Site Location and Landscape Relationships in the Albegna Valley, Tuscany. In: K. Lockyear, T.J.T. Sly and V. Mihailescu-Bîrliba (eds), CAA 96. Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology, (British Archaeological Reports International Series 845), Oxford: BAR Publishing, 133-139. Renfrew C. and E.B.W. Zubrow (eds) 1994. The Ancient Mind. Elements of Cognitive Archaeology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Robb J.E. 1999. Secret Agents: Culture, Economy, and Social Reproduction. In: J.E. Robb (ed.), Material Symbols: Culture and Economy in Prehistory, (Occasional Paper 26), Carbondale (Ill.): Centre for Archaeological Investigations (Southern Illinois University), 3-15. Robb J.E. (ed.) 1999. Material Symbols: Culture and Economy in Prehistory, (Occasional Paper 26), Carbondale (Ill.): Centre for Archaeological Investigations (Southern Illinois University). Saile D.G. 1985. Many dwellings: Views of a Pueblo world. In: D. Seamon and R. Mugerauer (eds), Dwelling, Place and Environment. Towards a Phenomenology of Person and World, New York: Columbia University Press, 159-181. Sassaman K.E. 2000. Agents of change in hunter-gatherer technology. In: M. Dobres and J.E. Robb (eds), Agency in Archaeology, London: Routledge, 14868. Savage S.H. 1990. GIS in archaeological research. In: K.M. S. Allen, S.W. Green and E.B.W. Zubrow (eds), Interpreting Space: GIS and Archaeology, London: Taylor and Francis, 22-32. Seamon D. and R. Mugerauer (eds) 1985. Dwelling, Place and Environment. Towards a Phenomenology of Person and World, New York: Columbia University Press. Sebastian L. and W.J. Judge (eds) 1988. Quantifying the Present, Predicting the Past, Denver: US Department of the Interior Bureau of Land Management. Shanks M. and C. Tilley 1987. Reconstructing Archaeology. Theory and Practice. London: Routledge. Strathern M. 1980. No Nature, No Culture: the Hagen Case. In: C.P. MacCormack and M. Strathern (eds), Nature, Culture and Gender, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 174-222. Thomas J. 1996. Time, Culture and Identity. An Interpretive Archaeology, London: Routledge. Tilley C. 1994. A Phenomenology of Landscape. Places, Paths and Monuments, Oxford: Berg. Van Hove D. In Press. Long-term Modelling of Material and Symbolic Environments: a Reconstruction of Neolithic Calabria on the Basis of GIS and Agentbased Modelling Approaches. In: Proceedings of Symposium of Mediterranean Archaeology 2001, (British Archaeological Reports, International 154

Figure 1: Location of Calabria within Italy (after Robb1997: figure 1)

Figure 2: Location of the study area (after Robb 1998: figure 2) 155

Figure 3: Location of the Tavoliere (after Cassano and Manfredini 1983: Figure 1).

156

Embedding Material Culture in Perceptions of Landscape. A Contextual Analysis of the Deposition of Bronzes in Northern Italy Erik van Rossenberg Faculty of Archaeology, University Leiden, Leiden, the Netherlands [email protected] Keywords: Italy – contextual analysis – landscape perceptions terms of recurrences in the association (and dissociation) of classes of bronzes. In this way, practices of dealing with material culture at particular places can be embedded in perceptions of landscape within prehistoric worlds.

Abstract This paper discusses changing perceptions of landscape in the Bronze Age of Northern Italy from the perspective of a contextual analysis of the deposition of metalwork. It is argued that contexts of settlement should be taken into consideration as appropriate places for depositional practices. The regions EmiliaRomagna, Veneto and Lombardia are compared by evaluating depositional patterns of several classes of bronzes in three basic types of archaeological context simultaneously. General similarities corroborate the idea of cultural unity between these three regions. However, detailed (dis)similarities show some regional diversity in depositional practices. Established reconstructions of major transformations in Northern Italy starting with the Final Bronze Age are discussed and linked up with changes in practices of dealing with material culture. It is suggested that the latter were embedded within changing settlement dynamics and related perceptions of landscape.

2. The interpretation of metalwork In Italian archaeology there are roughly three lines of reasoning for interpretations of metalwork that coincide with the three basic types of archaeological context in which bronze objects occur (Fig. 1). In settlement contexts bronzes are interpreted either functionally as discarded, or, in the case of abundance, economically as evidence of a metallurgical production site. In funerary contexts they are interpreted either socially as prestige goods and/or personal belongings, indicating rank, age and gender, or ritually, as personal belongings for an afterlife. In hoards the accumulation of metalwork is interpreted either economically as evidence of trade, or socially as territorial markers and/or conspicuous consumption of prestige goods by elites, or ritually as offerings to the gods. Figure 1 shows that there is some overlap between the kinds of interpretation for the occurrence of bronzes in the three basic types of archaeological context. This suggests that the possibility of interrelationships between these spheres exists in Italian Bronze Age discourse. However, any social and/or religious interpretation is a priori denied to bronzes from settlement contexts.

1. Introduction The aim of this paper is to gain insight into the changing perceptions of landscape during the Bronze Age in Northern Italy from the perspective of material culture. Although the notion of ‘dwelling’ and/or ‘inhabitation’ has informed archaeological studies of landscape to take into consideration not only monumental sites but also the more ephemeral ones, conspicuous expressions of particular perceptions such as monuments and rock art feature most prominently in landscape discourses. Mobile material culture has seldom been taken into consideration in the (re)construction of archaeological landscapes (cf. the contributions in Ucko and Layton 1999; Ashmore and Knapp 1999). Here I will argue that a contextual analysis of certain classes of material culture may enhance, or even contest, established interpretations of prehistoric worlds.

The meaning of bronzes from settlements is derived from the functional aspect of this type of archaeological context. Such a reductive line of reasoning does not only violate, paradoxically, the notion that the meaning of material culture is context-dependent, but it has also left these bronzes less well studied than the ones from contexts of hoard and burial. Assuming that they are intrinsically meaningful, archaeologists elaborate far more on the interpretation of metalwork from these latter kinds of archaeological context. Nonetheless, bronzes from hoards and burials have also been studied predominantly in isolation, despite the degree of overlap in interpretation (Fig. 1). Such segregation in the interpretation of metalwork is expressed by the fact that synthesising studies are often restricted to one particular type of archaeological context. The most obvious example is the field concerned with the phenomenon of votive deposition of bronzes in wetland contexts, such as rivers, lakes and bogs, or on mountains (Bianco Peroni 1980; Lavrsen 1982; cf. Bradley 1990).

Starting from the assumption that material culture was used to mark out particular places, we should be able to arrive at underlying perceptions of landscape through a comparative evaluation of its depositional patterns. In the case-study presented here, bronze objects have been taken as a starting-point, because these classes of material culture occupy a central position, and as such have received most attention in discourse on the Italian Bronze Age. Moreover, the fact that Italian bronzes have, to varying degrees, been found in contexts of both settlement and burial, as well as in hoards, opens up the possibility to evaluate regional and chronological differences in the practices of their deposition. A contextual analysis might establish interrelationships in the constitution of places in 157

similarly distributed between types of archaeological context. Some contexts might not have been an appropriate place of deposition for a certain class of material culture.

Another aspect of the segregated approach has resulted in distinctive traditions of interpretation pertaining to particular classes of bronzes, as embodied by the series Prähistorische Bronzefunde (PBF). Although contextual information on Italian bronzes has been amassed in the PBF series (Bianco Peroni 1970, 1974, 1976, 1979, 1994; Carancini 1975, 1984; Von Eles Masi 1986; Von Hase 1969), the main purpose of these catalogues is descriptive, i.e. to establish the typology for each class of bronzes, and to define the chronology, the distribution pattern and the site of production for each type. The summarising synthesis that concludes each volume follows the lines of reasoning for the interpretation of metalwork as outlined above. In other words, these studies have not attempted to overcome the segregation in the interpretation of metalwork by evaluating interrelationships between the meanings of bronze objects and the three basic types of archaeological context.

Thus a comparison of depositional patterns might reveal both chronologically significant diversity in cultural practices, and regional diversity in the depositional patterns of metalwork between contemporary communities. However, a major problem in recognising such cultural biases are, of course, regional differences in the intensity of archaeological research. Although recently some very large Middle and Late Bronze Age cemeteries have been discovered in Northern Italy, the majority of the bronzes dating to these periods have been found in settlement contexts, which have been the main focus of attention since the start of research into Italian prehistory. Through a comparison of the depositional patterns of more than one class of bronzes, the methodology used in this study enables one to evaluate such biases. If all classes are, for example, missing from settlement contexts, this might be due to a gap in archaeological research. If, on the other hand, one class of metalwork is present in settlements in the absence of other classes, one might suspect preferences in choosing particular places for their deposition. Only after such biases have been accounted for can we make an attempt to interpret depositional patterns and make sense of the meanings of material culture.

Given the presence of metalwork in settlements, burials and hoards, the deposition of bronzes in the Italian Bronze Age should be interpreted through a comparative evaluation of their presence in all possible types of archaeological context. Keeping in mind the notion that the meaning of material culture is context-dependent, the search for contextual interrelationships should therefore not be taken as an attempt to convey, for example, all bronze swords with the same meaning. The presence of a particular class of material culture in several types of archaeological context could suggest, however, that its meaning in one context was created in relation to the practices in which it was involved in other contexts. The scope of a search for meaningful (dis)similarities in the ways in which metalwork was put into practice has to be both synchronic (i.e. regional diversity) and diachronic (i.e. chronological diversity). It entails a diachronical comparison of the depositional patterns of each class of bronzes in itself and several classes of bronzes taken together, both within and between regions. This opens up the possibility to evaluate, for instance, the strictly functional interpretation of bronzes from settlement contexts in Italian prehistory.

3.2. Methodological biases In the case study, the PBF catalogues have been taken as the main source of information. The objects compiled in these catalogues are described in relation to findspot, type of archaeological context, and association with other objects. For the sake of simplicity here I have generalised this information geographically to the scale of the Italian region and contextually to the three basic types of archaeological context. Of course, such a strategy introduces its own particular biases, but these methodological ones are self-inflicted. An advantage of this approach is, for instance, that it enables one to evaluate regional diversity on a smaller scale than the common partitioning of the Italian mainland into the North, the Centre and the South (cf. Van Rossenberg 1999: 88-120). The three areas differ considerably as to the number of bronzes described in the PBF catalogues. In general, the total number of bronzes from Southern Italy is comparable to that from the richest Central Italian region, and the total number of bronzes from Central Italy is comparable to that from the richest Northern Italian region. It would, therefore, be unwise to compare the three parts of Italy head to head. The case study deals with the situation in Northern Italy, especially the regions richest in bronzes: Emilia-Romagna, Veneto and Lombardia (Fig. 2).

3. A contextual analysis of the deposition of bronzes in Northern Italy 3.1. Making places Although this methodological outline recalls a typochronological approach to material culture as embodied by the PBF catalogues, it will significantly enhance these basic studies by bringing to the fore the notion that the meaning of material culture was created in prehistoric practices. It is important to be aware of the particularities of the uses of material culture. The main concern of this paper is with (dis)similarities in the ways in which classes of material culture were put into practice - irrespective of their typological ascription – in order to mark out particular places within prehistoric worlds and to create interrelationships between them. Because of its mobility material culture has the potential to end up anywhere, but in practice classes of material culture are often not

While the spatial unit of analysis is the Italian region, chronological units of analysis are provided by periodisation. This introduces another methodological bias, i.e. the problem of (typo)chronological resolution. As elsewhere in Europe, the relative chronology within Italian 158

weapons (Bianco Peroni 1980), as one was found in a river-bed and the other on a mountain. Of the three classes of bronzes considered here in more detail, until the Late Bronze Age only pins seem to have been appropriate objects to accompany the dead, although the majority of pins derive from settlement contexts. From the Final Bronze Age onwards they are predominantly found in funerary contexts.

later prehistory has been established predominantly on the basis of synchronicity in the association of classes and types of bronzes. Although refined and subdivided, typochronology still provides the basic framework for cultural reconstruction (Peroni 1994: 153-209). In the case study, the relative dates for each type of bronzes have been generalised to the main periods (Fig. 3), disregarding further subdivisions within Italian periodisation. This results in chronological units of analysis consisting of periods of at least 200 years.

The (dis)similarities between the depositional patterns of several classes of bronzes can be more easily evaluated when put together in a single table (Fig. 4). For the sake of clarity in representation I have grouped together on the one hand the evidence for the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, and on the other the Final Bronze and Early Iron Ages. These groupings are inspired by the fact that the depositional patterns of the three classes of bronzes considered in more detail above, change considerably from the Final Bronze Age onwards. The timing of the changes in the depositional patterns of bronzes seems to coincide with major changes in the history of settlement in EmiliaRomagna as outlined above, but the very large scale of the contextual analysis prevents a detailed corroboration of this observation. It does allow, however, for the ascription of classes of bronzes to particular spheres within Bronze Age worlds.

A final bias is introduced by the fact that PBF cataloguing is a long-term project, performed by a limited number of archaeologists, most notably Vera Bianco Peroni and Gian Luigi Carancini. The studies of individual classes of bronzes have been published over a period of some 40 years. Inevitably, this means that it is difficult to compare the relative completeness of the catalogues in terms of new finds. Therefore, conclusions drawn in the case study from the information amassed in the PBF catalogues will be enhanced by the author’s knowledge of recent finds. 3.3. Depositional patterns in Emilia-Romagna The Emilia-Romagna region has traditionally received a lot of attention. This part of the Po plain was densely populated with the so-called terramare, i.e. ditched-anddyked settlements. Recent evidence suggests that they originated in the Early Bronze Age and were abandoned in the Final Bronze Age (Bernabò Brea et al. 1997). One of the features that drew attention to them was the sheer amount of bronze objects that came to light when the soil of these prehistoric settlements was exploited as fertiliser in the 19th century. Although it has been noted that the majority of bronzes derived from settlement contexts, they are invariably interpreted functionally as either discard or as indicative of metallurgical production (Bernabò Brea et al. 1991-1992: 364-367). To evaluate this strictly functional interpretation of bronzes from settlement contexts, I will present the evidence for all three basic types of archaeological context simultaneously.

Until the Late Bronze Age, swords were the only bronzes in Emilia-Romagna that could end up as votive depositions in rivers and on mountains. In addition to pins, daggers were the only other bronzes of the classes catalogued that accompanied the dead in funerary contexts. Unfortunately, the bronze fibulae from Emilia-Romagna were not described by Von Eles Masi (1986), but they could be grave-goods as well (Cardarelli and Tirabassi 1997). Only one fragmented sword is known to have been found in a cemetery (at Casinalbo; cf. Cardarelli 1997). That leaves only knives and razors to be found exclusively in settlement contexts until the Late Bronze Age. On the contrary, from the Final Bronze Age onwards all classes of bronzes seem preferably not to have been deposited in settlement contexts (Fig. 4). This observation cannot be evaluated in the table because of the possibility that excavated settlement contexts from these later periods are scarce. Given the association of some classes of bronzes with precisely these contexts in the earlier periods, their subsequent disappearance suggests a reappraisal of settlements as places for the deposition of bronzes starting with the Final Bronze Age (cf. Fig. 7). The question then arises to what extent these observations compare to the situation in the adjacent regions of Veneto and Lombardia.

In the remainder of the paper I will take the term ‘depositional pattern’ to designate the distribution of a particular class of bronzes between these three basic types of context. This can be best illustrated with a detailed description of the depositional patterns of bronze razors, swords and pins in Emilia-Romagna. Clear-cut cultural biases in the deposition of these classes of bronzes can be discerned in the region as a whole. Razors seem to have been preferably deposited in settlement contexts until the Late Bronze Age, and from the Final Bronze Age onwards preferably in funerary contexts. The Early Iron Age finds in hoards can be traced to one famous for its size; in fact, almost all bronzes from this kind of context in the later periods in Emilia-Romagna derive from the San Francesco hoard at Bologna. A similar change in depositional patterns seems to have taken place in the case of bronze swords. They were deposited in settlement contexts until the Late Bronze Age and from the Final Bronze Age onwards in burials and hoards. The two Late Bronze Age finds in hoard contexts are instances of votive deposition of

3.4. Regional diversity: Emilia-Romagna, Veneto and Lombardia Northern Italy in the Bronze Age has traditionally been regarded as an interdependent cultural complex of terramare settlements on the one hand, and pile-dwellings (It. palafitte) at lake-sides in Veneto, Lombardia and Trentino on the other (Cardarelli 1992). In terms of settlement history, the palafitte also seem to have been abandoned in the Final Bronze Age (Guidi and Bellintani 159

discerned, general similarities in changes of depositional patterns seem to corroborate the cultural unity of EmiliaRomagna, Veneto and Lombardia. This offers the opportunity to present a tentative generalisation of the depositional patterns of bronzes in Northern Italy that focuses on the interrelationships between settlement and funerary contexts (Fig. 7). In this generalisation classes of bronzes are distributed between three categories, i.e. exclusive occurrence in either settlement or funerary contexts, and simultaneous occurrence in both these types of context. Ordered in this way, some classes of bronzes show a significant change in depositional practices between the Middle and Late Bronze Ages on the one hand and the Final Bronze and Early Iron Ages on the other, most notably knives and razors which change from settlements to burials. The significance of this observation is emphasised by the fact that the classes of pins and fibulae remain to be found in both these types of context. In the next section I will suggest how such differences in depositional practices can be related to perceptions of landscape.

1996). Apart from a focus on cultural unity, attention has also been paid to regional diversity. Certain classes of metalwork have been studied in the search for regional differences between depositional practices. Already for the Copper Age (and Early Bronze Age), Barfield (1986) has noticed a difference between the presence of daggers in funerary contexts in Veneto and their relative absence in such contexts in Lombardia. For the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, Pearce (1998: 58-62) has contrasted depositional practices of bronze swords in predominantly wetland contexts in Veneto and Trentino with their presence in both funerary and wetland contexts in Lombardia. Both these studies are restricted, however, to a particular class of bronzes and exclude finds from certain archaeological contexts, notably settlements. When we consider all classes of bronzes in all three types of context simultaneously, regional diversity can be better assessed. The depositional patterns for Veneto (Fig. 5) seem to recall those for Emilia-Romagna. In the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, finds from settlement contexts outnumbered those from other contexts, with the exception of bronze swords, which in Veneto were generally not deposited in the former context, as opposed to the situation in Emilia-Romagna. Moreover, in Veneto swords have been found as grave-goods (contra Pearce 1998: 61-62), in addition to daggers and pins, for example at the recently discovered Middle and Late Bronze Age cemetery of Olmo di Nogara (Salzani 1997). Daggers also featured as votive depositions in wetland contexts. This practice continued into the Early Iron Age with river finds in Veneto of swords and so-called dagger-knives. As in EmiliaRomagna, knives and razors are deposited exclusively in settlement contexts until the Late Bronze Age. From the Final Bronze Age onwards only pins have been found in settlement contexts. This observation seems to corroborate the idea of a reappraisal of settlements as places appropriate for the deposition of bronzes in this period.

4. The deposition of metalwork and perceptions of landscape: a dwelling perspective Until now in Northern Italy the deposition of metalwork has been related to perceptions of landscape predominantly in the context of traditional issues in landscape archaeology, such as natural places and rock art (cf. Bradley 2000). As elsewhere in Europe, the phenomenon of votive depositions of weapons in wetland contexts and on mountains has been interpreted as a ritual practice associated with the liminality of natural places (Bianco Peroni 1980). The significance of bronzes as cultural concepts has also been highlighted in rock art research, mainly in the well-known area of Val Camonica (Lombardia), with daggers and axes starting to be depicted in isolation in the Bronze Age (Anati 1991-1992). What has been overlooked in the reconstruction of perceptions of landscape, in my opinion, is that the majority of bronzes were deposited in settlement contexts in the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, and their subsequent disappearance from these contexts from the Final Bronze Age onwards.

In Lombardia (Fig. 6) the depositional patterns of swords and daggers recall the situation in Veneto. As in Veneto, the practice of votive deposition of swords continued into the Early Iron Age. The difference in cultural significance of swords in the three regions considered here can already be noticed in the Middle and Late Bronze Ages in the inversion of the preferential contexts of their deposition, i.e. settlement contexts in Emilia-Romagna as opposed to funerary contexts and hoards in Veneto and Lombardia. This observation would have added a regional difference to Pearce’s reconstruction of depositional practices (1998: 58-62), which did not include the region of EmiliaRomagna. Another significant regional difference in practices of deposition concerns bronze knives. In Lombardia, in some cases knives were appropriate objects to accompany the dead in the Late Bronze Age, while elsewhere they were exclusively deposited in settlement contexts. From the Final Bronze Age onwards, the majority of bronzes were no longer deposited in settlement contexts.

In redressing the balance in the attention paid to settlement contexts in giving meaning to depositional practices of metalwork, I would like to recall that the terramare settlements in the Po plain and the palafitte at lake-sides are in fact wetland contexts themselves. The fact that waterlogged conditions at such sites have enhanced the chances of survival of bronzes has always been one of the attractions for their excavation. It has also resulted in the assumption that the deposits of material culture excavated were due to functional discard or accidental loss. In this light, it is interesting to notice that bronzes have also been recovered from the fill of houses in dryland contexts, as at the Middle Bronze Age site of Monte Leoni (Emilia Romagna) (Ammermann et al. 1976: 133-135). This might allude to particular practices of dealing with material culture in settlement contexts.

To sum up, although some detailed dissimilarities in the practices of deposition of swords and knives can be

In the traditional framework for the interpretation of 160

and scholarship, and the German Archaeological Institute (DAI) at Rome for allowing me to use its extensive library in October and November 2000, which made it possible to develop my ideas and expand my knowledge on the Italian Bronze Age. In terms of encouragement, Pieter van de Velde, Peter van Dommelen and John Bintliff have been invaluable. The warmest thanks go to the organising committee of SOMA 2002 for a wonderful conference and the opportunity to publish in its proceedings. Comments by the editors and the referee have enabled me to improve this paper significantly. Any mistakes, however, are entirely the fault of the author.

metalwork (cf. section 2; Fig. 1), archaeologists would turn to settlement contexts for its production and daily uses, and to funerary contexts and votive depositions for instances of meaningful discard. From the perspective of a cultural biography of material culture highlighting the social life of things, on the other hand, even settlements can make sense as the most appropriate place for an object to end its lifecycle. In the case study this holds true until the Late Bronze Age for bronze razors in all three regions, knives in Veneto and Emilia-Romagna, and swords in the latter region. From the Final Bronze Age onwards settlement contexts cease to be appropriate places for the deposition of bronzes altogether, with the exception of pins and fibulae. The depositional patterns suggest that in the Final Bronze Age certain classes of bronzes such as knives and razors, once associated with a domestic sphere, came to be embedded in practices of deposition previously restricted to other classes of bronzes.

Bibliography Ammerman, A., J. Butler, G. Diamond, P. Menozzi, J. Pals, J. Sevink, A. Smit and A. Voorrips 1976. Rapporti sugli scavi a Monte Leoni: Un insediamento dell'età del bronzo in Val Parma. Preistoria Alpina 12, 127-154. Anati E. 1991-1992. Arte Rupestre e Concettualità nell'età del Bronzo. Rassegna di Archeologia 10, 603609. Ashmore W. and A.B. Knapp (eds) 1999. Archaeologies of landscape. Contemporary perspectives, Oxford: Blackwell. Barfield L. 1986. Chalcolithic Burial in Northern Italy – Problems of Social Interpretation. Dialoghi di Archeologia (Terza Serie) 4(2), 241-248. Bernabò Brea M., A. Cardarelli, A. Mutti, R. Bresciani, L. Bronzoni, M. Catarsi, P. Desantis, D. Labate, R. Macellari, G. Morico, A. Serges, J. Tirabassi and C. Zanasi 1991-1992. Ambiti Culturali e Fasi Cronologiche delle Terramare emiliane in Base alla Revisione dei Vecchi Complessi e ai Nuovi Dati di Scavo. Rassegna di Archeologia 10, 341373. Bernabò Brea M., A. Cardarelli and M. Cremaschi (eds) 1997. Le Terramare. La più Antica Civiltà Padana, Milano: Electa. Bianco Peroni V. 1970. Die Schwerter in Italien/Le spade nell'Italia continentale (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung IV, Band 1), München: C. H. Beck'sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Bianco Peroni V. 1974. Neue Schwerter aus Italien/Altre Spade dall’Italia Continentale. In: H. MüllerKarpe (ed.), Beiträge zu italienischen und griechischen Bronzefunden (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung XX, Band 1), München: C. H. Beck'sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1-26. Bianco Peroni V. 1976. Die Messer in Italien/I coltelli nell'Italia continentale (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung VII, Band 2), München: C.H. Beck'sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Bianco Peroni V. 1979. I rasoi nell'Italia continentale (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung VIII, Band 2), München: C.H. Beck'sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Bianco Peroni V. 1980. Bronzene Gewässer- und Höhenfunde aus Italien. Jahresbericht des Instituts für Vorgeschichte der Universität Frankfurt a.M. 1978-79, 321-335.

Such changes in the interrelationships between types of context coincided with transformations in the modalities of settlement. As mentioned, the existing settlement systems of terramare and palafitte in Northern Italy seem to have collapsed in the Final Bronze Age. This move away from wetland settlement contexts has traditionally been linked to the emergence of proto-urban centres in Northern Italy in the Early Iron Age (cf. Guidi 1998). The observation that in the process settlement contexts cease to be appropriate places for the deposition of most classes of bronzes can be explained by the circumstance that settlements from then on were fixed permanently. Depositional practices of material culture in general would have changed dramatically, as redefinition of the settlement as a particular place would have changed the existing interrelationships between this type of context and other places. Under such conditions the transformation of settlement dynamics in Northern Italy was recursively related to changing ways of dwelling within Bronze Age landscapes. 5. Conclusion Although the contextual analysis presented here was carried out on a very large scale, the chronological and regional diversity in the deposition of metalwork in the Bronze Age of Northern Italy was nevertheless assessed. The interpretations proposed should, however, be elaborated upon through a more detailed contextual analysis of depositional practices. This will entail an integrative consideration of archaeological contexts, in search for interrelationships in the construction of meanings for classes of material culture. The resulting detailed reconstructions of depositional practices will greatly enhance our understanding of Bronze Age worlds in Northern Italy. Acknowledgements Foremost the compilers of the PBF catalogues are sincerely thanked, for without their effort this study would not have been possible. Furthermore, I would like to thank the Dutch Institute at Rome (NIR) for a two-month stay 161

Band 5), München: C. H. Beck'sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. von Hase, F.-W. 1969. Die Trensen der Früheisenzeit in Italien (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung XVI, Band 1), München: C. H. Beck'sche Verlagsbuchhandlung.

Bianco Peroni V. 1994. I Pugnali nell’Italia Continentale (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung VI, Band 10), Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Bradley R. 1998 [1990]. The Passage of Arms. An Archaeological Analysis of Prehistoric Hoards and Votive Deposits, Oxford: Oxbow. Bradley R. 2000. An Archaeology of Natural Places, London: Routledge. Carancini G.L. 1975. Die Nadeln in Italien/Gli spilloni nell’Italia continentale (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung XIII, Band 2), München: C. H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Carancini G.L. 1984. Le Asce nell’Italia Continentale II (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung IX, Band 12), München: C. H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Cardarelli A. 1993. Le età dei Metalli nell’Italia Settentrionale. In: A. Guidi and M. Piperno (eds), Italia Preistorica (Manuali Laterza, 34), Roma: Editori Laterza, 366-419. Cardarelli A. 1997. La Necropoli di Casinalbo (MO). In: M. Bernabò Brea, A. Cardarelli and M. Cremaschi (eds), Le terramare. La Più Antica Civiltà Padana, Milano: Electa., 688-696. Cardarelli, A. and J. Tirabassi 1997. Le Necropoli della Terramare Emiliane. In: M. Bernabò Brea, A. Cardarelli and M. Cremaschi (eds), Le Terramare. La Più Antica Civiltà Padana, Milano: Electa., 677-682. Guidi, A. 1998. The Emergence of the State in Central and Northern Italy. Acta Archaeologica 69, 139-161. Guidi, A. and P. Bellintani 1996. Gli Abitati “Palafitticoli” dell’Italia Settentrionale. Origini 20, 165-231. Guidi A. and M. Piperno (eds) 1993. Italia Preistorica (Manuali Laterza, 34), Roma: Editori Laterza. Lavrsen, J. 1982. Weapons in Water. A European Sacrificial Rite in Italy. Analecta Romana Instituti Danici 11, 7-25. Müller-Karpe H. (ed.) 1974. Beiträge zu italienischen und griechischen Bronzefunden (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung XX, Band 1), München: C.H. Beck'sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Pearce, M. 1998. Reconstructing Prehistoric Metallurgical Knowledge: the Northern Italian Copper and Bronze Ages. European Journal of Archaeology 1(1), 51-70. Peroni, R. 1994. Introduzione alla Protostoria Italiana (Manuali Laterza, 47), Roma: Laterza. Salzani, L. 1997. Necropoli dell’Olmo (Nogara, VR). In: M. Bernabò Brea, A. Cardarelli and M. Cremaschi (eds), Le Terramare. La Più Antica Civiltà Padana, Milano: Electa., 708-716. Ucko, P. J. and R. Layton (eds) 1999. The Archaeology and Anthropology of Landscape: Shaping your Landscape (One World Archaeology, 30), London: Routledge. van Rossenberg, E. 1999. Discorsi coll'età del Bronzo. A Critical Analysis of Discourse on Bronze Age Italy. Unpublished M.A. thesis: Leiden University. von Eles Masi, P. 1986. Le Fibule dell’Italia Settentrionale (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung XIV, 162

Type of context

Interpretation

Sphere

Kind of interpretation

Settlement

Discard Production

Subsistence Economy

Functional

Burial

Prestige goods Personalia

Social structure Religion

Social Symbolical

Hoard

Trade Conspicuous consumption Offerings

Economy Social structure Religion

Functional Social Symbolical

Figure 1: Summary of the interpretations of metalwork in Italian archaeology.

Lombardia Veneto

EmiliaRomagna

Figure 2: Northern Italy highlighting the regions under consideration.

Bronzo antico (BA) Bronzo medio (BM) Bronzo recente (BR) Bronzo finale (BF) Prima età del Ferro (FP)

Early Bronze Age Middle Bronze Age Late Bronze Age Final Bronze Age Early Iron Age

Figure 3: A chronology for later Italian prehistory.

163

c. 2300-1700 BC c. 1700-1350 BC c. 1350-1200 BC c. 1200-1000 BC c. 1000-700 BC

EMILIA-ROMAGNA swords daggers knives razors pins horse bits [axes]

BM/BR settlement 9 317 1 22 188

burial

[?]

[?]

BF/FP hoard 2

settlement

burial 6

3

13

2 [?]

[1]

168 211 245 65 [71]

hoard 4 7 16 41 6 26 [1396]

Figure 4: Summary of the depositional patterns of bronzes in Emilia-Romagna. VENETO

BM/BR

swords daggers knives razors pins horse bits [axes]

settlement 3 334 20 19 441

burial 7 6

[?]

[?]

BF/FP hoard 14 12

12

settlement

19 [?]

[?]

burial 5

hoard 3

56 17 68 4 [11]

2 1 [1]

Figure 5: Summary of the depositional patterns of bronzes in Veneto. LOMBARDIA swords daggers knives razors pins horse bits [axes]

BM/BR settlement 1 195 2 10 161

burial 8 21 2

[?]

[?]

BF/FP hoard 11 2 1

37 [?]

settlement

burial 2

hoard 2

1 4

9 3 118

1

[?]

[1]

[?]

Figure 6: Summary of the depositional patterns of bronzes in Lombardia.

Middle and Late Bronze Ages

KNIVES RAZORS

settlement

SWORDS DAGGERS PINS FIBULAE

settlement/ burial PINS FIBULAE

burial SWORDS KNIVES RAZORS

Final Bronze and Early Iron Ages

Figure 7: Generalized depositional patterns of bronzes in Northern Italy. 164

Mediterranean Archaeologies A. Bernard Knapp Department of Archaeology, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, U.K. [email protected] Keywords: Mediterranean – heritage – insularity – maritime trade to drive the island ‘mini-mega fauna’ (pygmy hippos and elephants, giant swans and dormice) to extinction (e.g., Simmons 2001; Vigne 1999). A new study on the Balearics (Ramis et al. 2002) shows conclusively that those islands were only settled much later (about 4000 years ago), and that the infamous Myotragus Balearicus (a small, antelope-like ruminant) therefore did not manage to coexist with humans for a few thousand years, but rather was hunted to extinction just as quickly as its counterparts elsewhere on the Mediterranean islands. Permanent human colonisation on most islands only began about 8-9000 years ago (Cherry 1990).

Abstract As a conclusion to this volume, but as a prelude to what I hope might become part of a broader perspective for a unified field of Mediterranean archaeology, this study considers some possible future directions, in particular (1) island archaeology, insularity and maritime interaction; (2) unity and diversity in Mediterranean studies; and (3) the Mediterranean cultural heritage.

1. Introduction In this brief overview, I consider some possible future directions in Mediterranean archaeology or, rather, archaeologies as I have suggested in my title. The sessions and papers I attended at the Glasgow SOMA demonstrated that there are multiple ways to pursue the study of past cultures and societies within and around this ‘corrupting sea’, many voices that should be heard, and no doubt will be heard.

For thousands of years, the islands within and the lands that rim the Mediterranean — from Gibraltar to the Levant — have been home to a diversity of human cultures living in dramatic, and sometimes dramatically different, landscapes. The impact of the Mediterranean Sea on human culture seems wildly unpredictable: at different periods and in different places, it might facilitate or impede the movement of people, of traded goods, of ideas and ideologies. However important the sea may be in this respect, it was the islands and coastal strips that (1) supported human settlement, (2) facilitated cultural, ideological and economic development, and (3) witnessed the emergence of more complex social and political communities. Because of the Mediterranean’s immense size, and because of the diversity of cultures it has nurtured, anyone choosing to study Mediterranean geography, politics, history, anthropology or archaeology, will surely find it a formidable undertaking. At the same time, they will find that archaeologies in and of the Mediterranean (Horden and Purcell 2000) are as diverse, complex and compelling as archaeology anywhere in the world. The intricacy, complexity and satisfaction of (re)interpreting some corpus of material excavated over the past 100 years, or of integrating such data with the evidence from survey conducted over the past 30 years, awaits any Mediterranean archaeologist willing to take up the challenge.

I present first some basic geographic and environmental information intended to establish the context for what follows. I proceed with a severely truncated overview of the history of archaeological work, ideas and ideologies in the Mediterranean, which should set the stage for more detailed discussion of some current and future problems and issues in Mediterranean archaeologies: (1) island archaeology, insularity and maritime interaction; (2) unity and diversity in Mediterranean studies; and (3) the Mediterranean cultural heritage. I close by considering briefly the ‘end of the Mediterranean’, a concept that I find wanting in most every respect. 2. The Mediterranean The Mediterranean is the world’s largest inland sea, with an area of 2.5 million sq km. In the form that we would recognise it, the Mediterranean was reborn about 5mya — when the Atlantic Ocean irrevocably broke through the land barrier connecting modern-day Morocco and Spain. The moderate climate of the Mediterranean’s coasts and islands, together with an abundance and variety of mineral, plant and animal resources, made this region very attractive for human settlement (Attenborough 1987; Grove and Rackham 2001; King et al. 1997). On the coastal mainlands that surround the Mediterranean Sea, especially in North Africa and the East Mediterranean, some of the earliest-known ‘modern’ humans had settled some 100kya (Klein 1999; Shea 2001). On the islands of the Mediterranean, recent archaeological data from Sardinia, Sicily and Cyprus indicate that human beings first arrived about 12,000 years ago, and in so doing helped

3. Mediterranean archaeologies Given the complex scope as well as the breadth of Mediterranean archaeologies, how can one discuss them succinctly? First, it is important to note some historical differences in approach. From Italy in the west to the Levant in the east, and south to Egypt, archaeology has long been linked inextricably to fine arts, architecture and ancient documentary sources (from cuneiform and Egyptian hieroglyphic/hieratic through Phoenician to 165

Cherry 1990; Patton 1996). But in order to advance this field, and to realise its potential for re-conceptualising insularity and for deepening our understanding of maritime interactions, it is important to develop a more socially focused perspective, one that recognises how islanders consciously fashion, develop and change their world, how they establish their identity, and how their identities become modified through interactions with other islanders and non-islanders (e.g., Terrell et al. 1997; Rainbird 1999). Like Robb (2001: 192), we need to regard islands as ideas, inhabited metaphors with natural symbols of boundedness. Like Broodbank (2000), we need to look at insularity not just in biogeographical terms but in the context of broader island-mainland or inter-island relations, to gain insights into the ways that distance and the ‘exotic’ — as symbolic resources and the essence of ‘otherness’ — impact on the movement of people and materials (Helms 1988; Broodbank 1993; Knapp 1998; Robb 2001), and on the ideologies that enable certain individuals or groups to establish and maintain social or political positions (e.g., Liverani 1983; Knapp 1986; Gilman 1991; Feldman 2002). Although islands are more fragile and susceptible than mainlands to exploitation, they also encompass the sea and therefore have a much greater area to exploit. Insularity is not absolute but historically contingent and culturally constructed, like island identity itself, and must be evaluated from the islanders’ perspective of land and sea, not just from the viewpoints of outsiders — amongst whom we might include colonisers, traders, raiders and archaeologists.

Greek and Latin). The ultimate goal of such an approach is to collect, classify and describe the relevant archaeological data. Archaeological attention was long focused on, for example, the monumental remains of the Greek world or the Roman Empire. In contrast, and despite the existence of monuments such as Sardinian nuraghi, the Maltese ‘temples’ or the Balearic talayots, the paucity of exotic Graeco-Roman remains in the western Mediterranean resulted in a very different kind of approach, one centred on field methodology, problem orientation, cultural histories and the quest for explanation (cf. Renfrew 1980; Dyson 1993). The early history of Mediterranean archaeology reflected 19th century romantic ideals about the superiority of Greek and Roman civilisations, and by modern political developments, not least the independence of Greece, and eventually Crete, Cyprus and the Levant, from the Ottoman Empire (e.g., Baram and Carroll 2000; MacGillivray 2000; Tatton-Brown 2001). Such factors diverted attention from the central and western Mediterranean, seldom regarded as socially or culturally complex, or as having levels of achievement and material remains comparable to those in the eastern Mediterranean. Archaeologists today are moving beyond such divisions, and are more concerned with the social, material and ideological aspects of the field. In particular, they consider how individual people and material culture might have played an active role in cultural process and social change (e.g., Knapp and Meskell 1997; Tykot et al. 1999; Robb 2001).

Mediterranean archaeologists must become more closely involved in studying the interplay between insularity, human settlement and maritime interaction, including such research issues as: o the impact of shifting trade routes or changing modes of trade on the nature and location of island and coastal settlements; o the differences between coastal-inland settlements and their changing social nature or economic focus; o changing perceptions of the sea and maritime activities compared to changes in ideologies, iconographies and social orientations. Insularity, identity and maritime knowledge impact on the level, intensity and type of interactions between island settlements and overseas polities — imperial or colonial. Such interactions involve further research issues: o the role of external powers in developing more efficient systems of trade or more complex social systems, and in promoting homogeneity or diversity in settlement location and layout; o local resistance to foreign intervention, or the appropriation of colonial innovations; o how travel and geography — as social knowledge — help to establish identity; o how maritime colonisation or interaction affected the founding of settlements (using foundation myths and realities; comparing documentary and archaeological evidence); o how changes in social, ideological or economic structures impelled maritime movements and

Most archaeologists working in the Mediterranean still do not conceptualise the region as an archaeological and spatial entity, much less a cultural one (cf. Horden and Purcell 2000). One reason for this situation is that Mediterranean archaeologists must specialise in a single cultural or geographic area, now matter how much they might wish to engage with study of the wider Mediterranean world. As a unit of study, however, the Mediterranean is perfectly cohesive and logical, however diverse it may be environmentally, socially and culturally. Let us consider these issues of unity and diversity — these ‘differences which resemble’ — more closely. 4. Aspects of Mediterranean archaeologies Although there are many problems and issues that might help us to conceptualise the wider Mediterranean world, here I present three as a basis for discussions on the future of Mediterranean archaeologies: o island archaeology, insularity and maritime interaction; o unity and diversity; o the Mediterranean cultural heritage. 4.1. Island archaeology Island archaeology has enjoyed much success in establishing and refining concepts related to insularity, adaptation, social development and change (e.g., Evans 1973, 1977; Keegan and Diamond 1987; Held 1989; 166

attention from a deeper research perspective. Mediterranean archaeologists would certainly benefit by examining this paradoxical dictum — the differences which resemble — using both prehistoric and historical case studies. In addition to the topics already noted, such research might include: o the impact of ‘Oriental’ cultures (Levant and Egypt) on ideological, iconographic, economic, and even settlement patterns in the Mediterranean; o differing perceptions of the known (Mediterranean, Christianity) versus the unknown (Near East, Islam), using documentary and archaeological data; o how exotica impact on social status, modes of trade or the location of settlements.

overseas foundations. 4.2. Unity and diversity In their widely discussed recent publication, Horden and Purcell (2000) have brought to centre stage once again the debate over the tension between Mediterranean cultural unity and diversity. In their opinion, the Mediterranean region has ceased to be an intelligible spatial entity. They feel, moreover, that geohistorical studies ‘of’ the wider Mediterranean world — especially those concerned with its status as a coherent spatial or cultural entity — have deteriorated, as most specialised practitioners find themselves incapable of keeping up with Mediterraneanwide developments. Unable to pinpoint unifying themes in Mediterranean cultural, habitational or social patterns, they suggest that perhaps such diversity might be viewed in another way. To paraphrase them on this point: it is not the o resemblances, but the differences which resemble each other that matter. Their aim is to challenge simplistic notions of Mediterranean cultural unity and instead to look at the divergent forms of variation, similarity and the differences which resemble throughout the Mediterranean.

Likewise it is crucial to consider how diversity might be created through cultural hybridisation between indigenous island inhabitants and settler-colonists, for example: the nature of contacts between Mycenaean Greeks and indigenous Cypriots at the end of the Bronze Age; or between Phoenicians, Greeks and Cypriots during the Iron Age; o modes of contact between Phoenician or Carthaginian colonies in Sardinia and Sicily versus Greek colonies in coastal Italy and Sicily; o contrast between Cyprus and Sardinia under Byzantine authority. Finally, one might also consider in depth colonial strategies and local responses, for example: o the differing natures of Carthaginian, Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman rule on the large Mediterranean islands; o mercantile activities of the Italian maritime republics compared to Phoenician or Archaic Greek explorations.

This quest for unity in Mediterranean studies is at odds with the stance of Mediterranean anthropologists like Herzfeld (1987) and Pina-Cabral (1989, 1992), who argue against Mediterranean cultural unity because it implies a ‘pervasive archaism’ — a ‘Mediterraneanism’ like Said’s ‘Orientalism’, and because of a perceived need to make Mediterranean cultures as ‘exotic’ as those of the ‘Orient’. Does this viewpoint result at least in part from the synchronic focus of Mediterraenan socio-cultural anthropology? Horden and Purcell, unfortunately, imply that anthropology — lacking historical depth — cannot make a distinctive contribution to Mediterranean studies. As Mediterranean ‘historians’, they assign a primacy to documentary studies and the ever-present ‘text’ that goes against the grain of material culture studies specifically, and prehistoric archaeology more generally.

4.3. The Mediterranean cultural heritage

From an archaeological perspective one can argue that the high cultures of ancient western Asia and Egypt were indeed regarded as distant and exotic by Bronze Age Mediterranean cultures (e.g., Manning et al. 1994; Knapp 1998) or, conversely, that the Bronze Age cultures of Europe actively sought exotica from the Mediterranean (Sherratt 1993). It is not possible to pursue this very compelling topic here, but it must be said that Mediterranean regional studies and regional survey archaeology increasingly engage with issues directly relevant to the concept of Mediterranean cultural unity, issues that would generously repay detailed and focused archaeological attention. These include: peasant studies (e.g., Shanin 1989; Whitelaw 1991; van Dommelen 1993; Given 2000); gender (e.g., Hamilton 2000; Talalay 2000); social identity (e.g., Sherratt and Sherratt 1998; Blake 1999); agency (Dobres and Robb 2000); and habitus (e.g., Deitler and Herbich 1998; Frankel 2000).

The rich archaeological and cultural heritage of the Mediterranean world is threatened by several problems that most countries of the region share in common (Greene 1999; Stanley Price et al. 1996). Diverse cultural landscapes suffer continuous destruction through soil erosion, whether natural or human-induced. The natural destructive force of erosion can be seen when heavy autumn or winter rains strip the thin soils from Mediterranean hills and mountains, particularly in southern Greece, the Aegean islands and Turkey; along the Levantine and North African coasts; and in south-east Spain. Even the deeper soils of alluvial plains and valley bottoms have been adversely affected by recent agricultural practices. Amongst these, the most serious is deep ploughing, promoted since the 1960s as a way of increasing crop yields. Many new vineyards and olive groves created for the European market were planted on steep hill-slopes without proper terracing. The subsequent abandonment of many vineyards following the reduction of European Union (EU) subsidies means that natural erosion now enjoys free reign.

Many other challenging issues emerge from a close reading of The Corrupting Sea, issues that warrant

Amongst other human-induced threats to the Mediterranean cultural heritage, modern development — 167

A more proactive way of preserving the Mediterranean’s archaeological heritage is through sponsorship of welldefined field projects geared to analyse past systems of land use and agricultural practice. At least two such projects have been carried out. The UNESCO-sponsored ‘Libyan Valleys Project’ (Barker et al. 1996) examined the methods used to farm the semi-desert of Libya during the pre-Roman and Roman period. The EU-sponsored ‘Archaeomedes’ project (Castro et al. 2000) assessed how current desertification processes in the Vera basin of southeast Spain might be related to past human activities.

from housing, to building roads and canals, to land reclamation projects — represents the major threat to the archaeological record. Creating artificial lakes or basins, and the boring of wells on a large-scale, tend to change the natural water table that in most areas has been stable for millennia. As a result, waterlogged deposits dry out whilst dry deposits rot. The key to protecting the Mediterranean archaeological heritage is to find a way to contain these practices without unduly constraining essential agricultural production. In this context, it is important to point out that EU agricultural regulations have forced many fields to be made fallow: because they are no longer ploughed and eventually become overgrown, erosion is much reduced and the archaeological record effectively is protected.

To become actively involved in preserving the Mediterranean’s archaeological heritage is a challenge, both conceptually and financially. In this case (unlike island archaeology and ‘unity versus diversity), it is not simply a matter of targeting some research ‘issues’ but also a question of how ‘cultural resource management’ (CRM) can be developed most effectively in the Mediterranean.

All Mediterranean countries have established some level of heritage legislation. In countries like Cyprus, Syria, Egypt, Tunisia, Algeria and Morocco, this is a colonial legacy; in countries such as Italy, Spain, France and Greece, protecting the cultural heritage is a long-standing national tradition, dating back to the 19th century. In these latter cases, the law is rooted in the realisation that the archaeological heritage represents the basis of national pride and unity (e.g., Knapp and Antoniadou 1998). In all regions of the Mediterranean, monumental remains (Maltese temples, Cretan palaces, Sardinian nuraghi, Roman towns of North Africa) and precious art objects have formed the focus of legislation. Less prominent structures or sites tend to be ignored and many have been destroyed accidentally, or wilfully in the course of development. This focus on monuments has resulted in somewhat piecemeal protection, which means that archaeological landscapes are still being destroyed. For northern Mediterranean countries, EU legislation has begun to reverse this situation: the so-called Valetta convention promotes European-wide legislation on the monitoring, documentation and protection of the archaeological record in the face of ongoing modern developing throughout Europe, including the Mediterranean.

o o

o o

o

Which sites should be preserved: urban centres with well-preserved architecture? Rural farmsteads? Industrial sites? Prehistoric or historic sites? Who should make such decisions about a site’s significance and who should decide on site conservation and preservation strategies: archaeologists? Politicians? Economic planners? CRM agencies or cultural heritage personnel? For whom are these sites being preserved: the ‘public’? Archaeologists? The state? Tourism? Who will finance the costs associated with excavation, clearing, preserving and presenting sites: local governments? Research funding agencies? Universities? Private foundations? The European Union? Why should these sites be preserved in the first place? For cultural tourism? To reinforce national identities? For future archaeological research?

Even if answers can be given to such questions in individual cases, there is no protocol to prioritise the question or to implement the procedures. The circumstances of each individual case will dictate the sequence of questions, the priorities of the answers, and the likelihood of results. One issue, however, does seem clear and worth emphasizing: it is crucial for public (academic) and private (CRM) archaeologists to work together in the Mediterranean (Greene 1999: 54-55; Kletter and De-Groot 2001).

Finally, as most field archaeologists and all departments of antiquities realise, preserving the Mediterranean’s archaeological heritage has become closely tied to the development of tourism (Karageorghis 1990; Odermatt 1996; Sant Cassia 1999). Tourism has become a tortured issue for archaeology. On the one hand, tourists provide a key source of income for protecting and studying the archaeological record, and at the same time gain at least some general awareness of the past. On the other hand, an overwhelming number of visitors often results in substantial damage to archaeological remains; many archaeological sites now contain paths or walkways to confine or limit tourist access. Perhaps even more consequential is the tourist preference for monumental, usually classical remains, and how this affects decisions relating to the preservation, conservation or restoration of archaeological remains. Economic conditions in most Mediterranean countries force government officials to support the development of cultural tourism, rather than to expend very limited resources, human or otherwise, on new fieldwork.

Rather than providing a list of research issues for cultural heritage, then, it may be more effective to offer a concrete example, one that stems from our fieldwork with the Sydney Cyprus Survey Project (SCSP, 1992-1999). During the course of that work, we acted not only to record but to protect ancient slag heaps such as Mitsero Kouloupakhis and Sykamies (Knapp and Given 1996: 308-323). The latter lies just west of an abandoned 20th century AD mine and surrounding complex — Mitsero Kokkinoyia (chapter 4.11, Given and Knapp 2003). We have done a preliminary assessment on the feasibility of developing the area around Kokkinoyia as an archaeological heritage centre and park. 168

unity, not the end of Mediterranean studies as an active and viable area of research. And yet no single work published in the last fifty years has done more to revive an awareness of the ancient Mediterranean world as an entity (cf., posthumously, Braudel 2001), one deserving of archaeological, anthropological and historical attention, and one capable of sustaining integrated research from all these fields and others. Perhaps, as Horden and Purcell note (2000: 523), the Mediterranean will always remain an ‘essentially contested concept’, where definitions are controversial, unities are loose, boundaries are fluid, and continuities are vague and variable. Perhaps these are the very challenges and choices that characterise the beginning of post-Mediterranean studies, and the future of Mediterranean archaeologies.

This site and all its surroundings — which include two ancient slag heaps as well as ancient mining shafts with their timber supports — have dramatic archaeological, archaeometallurgical, geological, economic and historical significance. Although we have elicited interest in this project from a cross-section of Cypriots (artists, academics and professionals), because the mine and grounds belong to the Hellenic Mining Company, we must have a fully coherent plan worked out before approaching them. We are already associated with the Hellenic Mining Company in our newest field project — the Troodos Archaeological and Environmental Survey Project (http://www.tasp. arts.gla.ac.uk/) — in and around Cyprus’s largest ancient slag heap (Skouriotissa). Enthusiasm is high, but contacts remain limited at this stage, and we need to implement current plans for cooperation before attempting to gain support for yet another, more complex and expensive undertaking (heritage development at Kokkinoyia).

SOMA has a vital role to play in the future of Mediterranean studies. As archaeologists already involved in work throughout the Mediterranean many participants in the 2002 meeting in Glasgow will have some influence in the direction that work will take, in the orientation and implementation of both fieldwork and research strategies. Whilst I wish all Mediterranean archaeologists success in their chosen areas of work, at the same time I urge them to bear in mind that their specialised focus becomes relevant only when it is contextualised within the multicultural world of Mediterranean archaeologies. From Gibraltar and the Iberian Peninsula in the west, to the Jordan Valley and Egypt in the east; from the mountain chains that fringe the coastal plains of the northern Mediterranean to the Atlas Mountains of the Maghreb and the desert cultures that impact on the Mediterranean’s southern shores, and to all the islands that lie in the midst of this corrupting and enabling sea, there is endless scope for Mediterranean archaeologies to flourish and prosper.

Despite unanimous agreement about the value of such an endeavour, nobody has the critical time and resources to pull together all the individuals, institutions and enthusiasm into a coherent research proposal, without which it would be premature to approach UNESCO for sponsorship or the EU for support. And without such sponsorship, it would be very difficult to obtain the level of funding required simply to forestall degradation in this area, much less to embark on the conservation and protection of its physical remains, or to begin to establish an archaeological heritage park. Many funding agencies are keen to support field projects, but are less sanguine about funding ‘heritage’ projects, usually regarded as the responsibility of the country in which the work takes place. From the viewpoint of Cyprus, and in particular its sorely under-funded Department of Antiquities, all such externally-run projects must be supported by external sources and directed by individuals employed in bona fide academic institutions or museums. EU funding for such projects may be available, but project proposals must be geared to different themes in different years, and moreover require the involvement of at least three EU countries.

Acknowledgements I thank Erin Gibson, Ann Brysbaert and Natasja de Bruijn — all postgraduate students in Mediterranean Archaeology at the University of Glasgow — for inviting me to present the closing address, and for encouraging me to revise it in a form suitable for this volume. I also thank an anonymous referee for helpful comments. Many of the issues treated here have been discussed at length over the past few years with my colleagues in the Dept of Archaeology at the University of Glasgow — in particular Dr Peter van Dommelen, Dr Michael Given, Dr Richard E. Jones and Dr Effie Photos-Jones. I am most grateful to them for allowing me to develop and present them in this context. The section on cultural heritage management derives in part from Knapp and van Dommelen 2002, and reflects the research of my co-author.

In sum, difficulties and impediments abound, and the requirements and connections needed to support archaeological heritage work are manifold. Yet there is no question that preserving Mitsero Kokkinoyia is well worth doing — culturally, intellectually, economically and environmentally. And each Mediterranean country probably has at least a dozen such areas worthy of protection, yet beyond its financial reach. The prospects for Mediterranean archaeologies loom large in this area, both in terms of research and in the more active realm of preserving the cultural heritage of those countries in which we expend so much archaeological energy and attention.

Bibliography Attenborough D. 1987. The First Eden: The Mediterranean World and Man, London: William Collins and Sons/BBC. Baram, U. and L. Carroll (eds) 2000. A Historical Archaeology of the Ottoman Empire: Breaking New Ground, New York: Kluwer

5. The end of the Mediterranean? At various places in their study, Horden and Purcell refer to the ‘End of the Mediterranean’ (e.g. 2000: 39-43), by which they mean the end of its study as an intelligible 169

Prehistory, London: Duckworth, 517-520. Evans J.D. 1977. Island Archaeology in the Mediterranean: Problems and Opportunities. World Archaeology 9, 12-26. Feldman M.H. 2002. The ‘Marriage’ Vase of Niqmaddu II and the Elusive Egyptian Princess. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 15.1 (in press). Frankel D. 2000. Migration and Ethnicity in Prehistoric Cyprus: Technology as Habitus. European Journal of Archaeology 3, 167-87. Gilman A. 1991. Trajectories towards Social Complexity in the Later Prehistory of the Mediterranean. In: T.K. Earle (ed.), Chiefdoms: Power, Economy, and Ideology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 146-168. Given M. 2000. Agriculture, Settlement and Landscape in Ottoman Cyprus. Levant 32, 209-230. Given M. and A.B. Knapp 2003. The Sydney Cyprus Survey Project: Social Approaches to Regional Archaeological Survey (Monumenta Archaeologica 21), Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, UCLA. Greene J.A. 1999. Preserving Which Past for Whose Future? The Dilemma of Cultural Resource Management in Case Studies from Tunisia, Cyprus and Jordan. Conservation and Management of Archaeological Sites 3: 43-60. Grove A.T. and O. Rackham 2001. The Nature of Mediterranean Europe: An Ecological History, New Haven: Yale University Press. Hamilton N. 2000. Ungendering Archaeology: Concepts of Sex and Gender in Figurine Studies in Prehistory. In: M. Donald and L. Hurcombe (eds), Representations of Gender from Prehistory to the Present, London: Macmillan, 17-30. Hardesty D. (ed.) 2002. World Cultural Heritage, UNESCO Encyclopedia of Life Support Systems, Oxford: EOLSS Publishers. Held S.O. 1989. Colonization Cycles on Cyprus: The Biogeographic and Paleontological Foundations of Early Prehistoric Settlement. Report of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus 1989, 7-28. Helms M.W. 1988. Ulysses’ Sail: An Ethnographic Odyssey of Power, Knowledge, and Geographical Distance, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Herzfeld M. 1987. Anthropology Through the Looking Glass: Critical Ethnography in the Margins of Europe, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Horden P. and N. Purcell 2000. The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History, Oxford: Blackwell. Karageorghis V. 1990. The A.G. Leventis Foundation and the Cultural Heritage of Cyprus, Athens: Leventis Foundation. Keegan W.F. and J.M. Diamond 1987. Colonization of Islands by Humans: A Biogeographical Perspective. In: M. B. Schiffer (ed.), Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory 10, San Diego: Academic Press, 49-92. King R., L. Proudfoot and B. Smith 1997. The Mediterranean: Environment and Society, London: Arnold.

Academic/Plenum. Barker G., D. Gilbertson, B. Jones and D. Mattingly (eds) 1996. Farming the Desert: The UNESCO Libyan Valleys Archaeological Survey (2 Volumes), Tripoli: UNESCO Publishing, Depart of Antiquities, Libya. Benecke N. (ed.) 1999. The Holocene History of the European Vertebrate Fauna. Modern Aspects of Research Archäologie in Eurasien 6, Berlin: Deutsche Archäologisches Institut, EurasienAbteilung. Blake E. 1999. Identity-mapping in the Sardinian Bronze Age. European Journal of Archaeology 2, 35-55. Braudel F. (eds) Roselyne de Ayala and Paule Braudel) 2001. The Mediterranean in the Ancient World, Allan Lane, Penguin: London Broodbank C. 1993. Ulysses without Sails: Trade, Distance, Knowledge and Power in the Early Cyclades. World Archaeology 24, 315-331. Broodbank C. 2000. An Island Archaeology of the Early Cyclades, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Castro P., R. Chapman, S. Gili, V. Lull, R. Mico, C. Rihuete, R. Risch and Ma. E. Sanahuja Yll 2000. Archaeology and Desertification in the Vera Basin (Almeria, South-East Spain). European Journal of Archaeology 3, 147-66. Cherry J.F. 1990. The First Colonization of the Mediterranean Islands: A Review of Recent Research. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 3, 145-221. Cherry J.F., J.L. Davis, and E. Mantzourani (eds) 1991. Landscape Archaeology as Long-Term History: Northern Keos in the Cycladic Islands (Monumenta Archaeologica 16), Los Angeles: UCLA Institute of Archaeology. Cline E.H. and D. Harris-Cline (eds) 1998. The Aegean and the Orient in the Second Millennium: Proceedings of the 50th Anniversary Symposium, Cincinnati 18-20 April 1997 (Aegaeum 18), Liège: Université de Liège Dietler M., and I. Herbich 1998. Habitus, Techniques, Style: An Integrated Approach to the Social Understanding of Material Culture and Boundaries. In: M.T. Stark (ed.), The Archaeology of Social Boundaries, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 232-63. Dobres M.-A., and J. Robb (eds) 2000. Agency in Archaeology, London: Routledge. Donald M. and L. Hurcombe (eds) 2000. Representations of Gender from Prehistory to the Present, London: Macmillan. Dyson S. L. 1993. From New to New Age Archaeology: Archaeological Theory and Classical Archaeology - A 1990s Perspective. American Journal of Archaeology 97, 195-206. Earle T.K. (ed.) 1991. Chiefdoms: Power, Economy, and Ideology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Evans J.D. 1973. Islands as Laboratories for the Study of Culture Process. In: A.C. Renfrew (ed.), The Explanation of Culture Change: Models in 170

Routledge. Pina-Cabral J. de 1989. The Mediterranean as a Category of Regional Comparison: A Critical View. Current Anthropology 30, 399-406. Pina-Cabral J. de 1992. The Primary Social Unit in Mediterranean and Atlantic Europe. Journal of Mediterranean Studies 2, 25-41. Rainbird P. 1999. Islands out of Time: Towards a Critique of Island Archaeology. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 12, 216-234. Ramis D., J.A. Alcover, J. Coll and M. Trias 2002. The Chronology of the First Settlement of the Balearic Islands. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 15 (in press). Renfrew A.C. (ed.) 1973. The Explanation of Culture Change: Models in Prehistory, London: Duckworth. Renfrew A.C. 1980. The Great Tradition versus the Great Divide: Archaeology as Anthropology. American Journal of Archaeology 84, 287-98. Robb J. 2001. Island Identities: Ritual, Travel and the Creation of Difference in Neolithic Malta. European Journal of Archaeology 4: 175-202. Sant Cassia P. 1999. Tradition, Tourism and Memory in Malta. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 5, 247-63. Schiffer M.B. (ed.) 1987. Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory 10, San Diego: Academic Press. Scott E. (ed.) 1993. Theoretical Roman Archaeology: First Conference Proceedings, Aldershot: Avebury. Shanin T. 1989. Defining Peasants: Essays Concerning Rural Societies, Exploring Economies, and Learning from them in the Contemporary World, Oxford: Blackwell. Shea J.J. 2001. The Middle Paleolithic: Early Modern Humans and Neandertals in the Levant. Near Eastern Archaeology 64, 38-64. Sherratt A.G. 1993. What Would A Bronze Age World System Look Like? Relations between Temperate Europe and the Mediterranean in Later Prehistory. Journal of European Archaeology 1(2), 1-58. Sherratt A.G. and E.S. Sherratt 1998. Small Worlds: Interaction and Identity in the Ancient Mediterranean. In: E.H. Cline and D. Harris-Cline (eds), The Aegean and the Orient in the Second Millennium: Proceedings of the 50th Anniversary Symposium, Cincinnati 18-20 April 1997 (Aegaeum 18), Liège: Université de Liège, 32943. Simmons A. H. 2001. The First Humans and the Last Pygmy Hippopotami of Cyprus. In: S. Swiny (ed.), The Earliest Prehistory of Cyprus: From Colonization to Exploitation (Cyprus American Archaeological Research Institute, Monograph 2), Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1-18. Stanley Price N.P., M.K. Talley and A.M. Vaccaro (eds) 1996. Historical and Philosophical Issues in the Conservation of Cultural Heritage, Malibu, CA: Getty Trust. Stark M.T. (ed.) 1998. The Archaeology of Social

Klein R. G. 1999. The Human Career: Human Biological and Cultural Origins (2nd ed.), Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kletter R. and A. De-Groot 2001. Excavating to Excess? Implications of the Last Decade of Archaeology in Israel. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 14: 76-85, 103-107. [with responses] Knapp A.B. 1986. Copper Production and Divine Protection: Archaeology, Ideology and Social Complexity on Bronze Age Cyprus (Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology, Pocketbook 42), Goteborg: P. Åström’s Förlag. Knapp A.B. 1998. Mediterranean Bronze Age Trade: Distance, Power and Place. In: E.H. Cline and D. Harris-Cline (eds), The Aegean and the Orient in the Second Millennium: Proceedings of the 50th Anniversary Symposium, Cincinnati 18-20 April 1997 (Aegaeum 18), Liège: Université de Liège, 260-280. Knapp A.B. and M. Given 1996. A Report on the SydneyCyprus Survey Project (SCSP) - third season (1995). Report of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus (1996): 295-366. Knapp A.B. and L.M. Meskell 1997. Bodies of Evidence on Prehistoric Cyprus. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 7, 183-204. Knapp A.B. and S. Antoniadou 1998. Archaeology, Politics and the Cultural Heritage of Cyprus. In: L. Meskell (ed.), Archaeology Under Fire: Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East, London: Routledge, 13-43. Knapp A.B. and P. van Dommelen 2002. The Mediterranean. In: D. Hardesty (ed.), World Cultural Heritage, UNESCO Encyclopedia of Life Support Systems, Oxford: EOLSS Publishers. Liverani M. 1983. Political Lexicon and Political Ideologies in the Amarna Letters. Berytus 31, 4156. MacGillivray J.A. 2000. Minotaur: Sir Arthur Evans and the Archaeology of the Minoan Myth, London: Jonathan Cape. Manning S.W., S.J. Monks, G. Nakou, and F.A. De Mita, Jr 1994. The Fatal Shore, the Long Years and the Geographical Unconscious. Considerations of Iconography, Chronology, and Trade in response to Negbi's “The 'Libyan Landscape' from Thera: A Review of Aegean Enterprises Overseas in the Late Minoan IA Period”. Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 7, 219-35. Meskell L. (ed.) 1998. Archaeology Under Fire: Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East, London: Routledge Odermatt P. 1996. Built Heritage and the Politics Of (Re)Presentation: Local Reactions to the Appropriation of the Monumental Past in Sardinia. Archaeological Dialogues 3, 95-119. (with responses by Herzfeld, Annis, Löfgren and Fowler) Patton M. 1996. Islands in Time: Island Sociogeography and Mediterranean Prehistory, London: 171

Boundaries, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. Swiny S. (ed.) 2001. The Earliest Prehistory of Cyprus: From Colonization to Exploitation (Cyprus American Archaeological Research Institute, Monograph 2), Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Talalay L. 2000. Archaeological Ms. Conceptions: Contemplating Gender in the Greek Neolithic. In: M. Donald and L. Hurcombe (eds), Representations of Gender from Prehistory to the Present, London: Macmillan, 3-16. Tatton-Brown V. (ed.) 2001. Cyprus in the Nineteenth Century BC: Fact, Fancy and Fiction, Oxford: Oxbow Books. Terrell J., T.L. Hunt and C. Gosden 1997. The Dimensions of Social Life in the Pacific: Human Diversity and the Myth of the Primitive Isolate. Current Anthropology 38, 155-195. Tykot R.H., J. Morter and J.E. Robb (eds) 1999. Social Dynamics of the Prehistoric Central Mediterranean (Accordia Specialist Studies on the Mediterranean 3), London: Accordia Research Institute, University of London. van Dommelen, P. 1993. Roman Peasants and Rural Organization in Central Italy: An Archaeological Perspective. In: E. Scott (ed.), Theoretical Roman Archaeology: First Conference Proceedings, Aldershot: Avebury, 167-186. Vigne J.-D. 1999. The Large ‘True’ Mediterranean Islands as a Model for the Holocene Human Impact on the European Vertebrate Fauna? Recent Data and New Reflections. In: N. Benecke (ed.), The Holocene History of the European Vertebrate Fauna. Modern Aspects of Research Archäologie in Eurasien 6), Berlin: Deutsche Archäologisches Institut, Eurasien-Abteilung, 295-322. Whitelaw T.M. 1991. The Ethnoarchaeology of Recent Rural Settlement and Land Use in Northwest Keos. In: J.F. Cherry, J.L. Davis, and E. Mantzourani (eds), Landscape Archaeology as Long-Term History: Northern Keos in the Cycladic Islands (Monumenta Archaeologica 16), Los Angeles: UCLA Institute of Archaeology, 403-454.

172