Collapse and Transformation: The Late Bronze Age to Early Iron Age in the Aegean 9781789254259, 9781789254266, 9781789254273, 9781789254280

Table of contents :
Cover
Book Title
Copyright
Table of Contents
Preface
Contributors
Note on terms and chronology
Further reading
1. Introducing collapse : Guy D. Middleton
2. Mycenaean collapse(s) c. 1200 BC : Guy D. Middleton
3. The destruction of Mycenaean centres in eastern Thessaly : Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani
4. Mycenaean Achaea before and after the collapse : Emiliano Arena
5. Chaos is a ladder: first Corinthians climbing – the end of the Mycenaean Age at Corinthia : Eleni Balomenou
6. LH IIIC and Submycenaean Laconia : Chrysanthi Gallou
7. Collapse at the end of the Late Bronze Age in the Aegean : Mercourios Georgiadis
8. Messenia : Julie A. Hruby
9. The Euboean Gulf : Margaretha Kramer-Hajos
10. Growth and turmoil in the thirteenth century in Crete : Charlotte Langohr
11. East Lokris-Phokis : Antonia Livieratou
12. Glas and Boeotia1 : Christofilis Maggidis
13. The Argolid : Tobias Mühl enbruch
14. Collapse and transformation in Athens and Attica : Robin Osborne
15. Continuities and changes in Mycenaean burial practicesafter the collapse of the palace system : Peta Bulmer
16 The irrelevance of Greek ‘tradition’ : Oliver Dickinson
17. Continuity and change in religious practice from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age : Susan Lupack
18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant : Penelope A. Mountjoy
19. The changing economy : Sarah C. Murray
20. Late palatial versus early postpalatial Mycenaean pottery (c. 1250–1150 BC): ceramic change during an episode of cultural collapse and regeneration : Jeremy B. Rutter
21. Beyond the Aegean: consideration of the LBA collapse in the eastern Mediterranean : Eric H. Cline
22. Catastrophe revisited : Robert Drews
23. Cyprus: Bronze Age demise, Iron Age regeneration : A. Bernard Knapp and Nathan Meyer
24. Economies in crisis: subsistence and landscape technology in the Aegean and east Mediterranean after c. 1200 BC : Saro Wallace

Citation preview

COLLAPSE AND TR ANSFOR MATION THE LATE BR ONZE AGE TO EAR LY IR ON AGE IN THE AEGEAN

edited by

GUY D. MIDDLETON

Oxford & Philadelphia

Published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by OXBOW BOOKS The Old Music Hall, 106–108 Cowley R oad, Oxford, OX4 1JE

©

and in the United States by OXBOW BOOKS 1950 Lawrence R oad, Havertown, PA 19083 Oxbow Books and the individual authors 2020 Hardback Edition: ISBN 978-1-78925-425-9 Digital Edition: ISBN 978-1-78925-426-6 (epub) A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Control Number: 2020932446

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher in writing. Printed in Malta by Melita Press Typeset by Versatile PreMedia Services (P) Ltd For a complete list of Oxbow titles, please contact: UNITED KINGDOM Oxbow Books Telephone (01865) 241249 Email: oxbow@ oxbowbooks.com www.oxbowbooks.com UNITED STATES OF AMER ICA Oxbow Books Telephone (610) 853-9131, Fax (610) 853-9146 Email: queries@ casemateacademic.com www.casemateacademic.com/oxbow Oxbow Books is part of the Casemate Group

Front cover: The Four Horsemen, from The Apocalypse by Albrecht Dü rer (1498).

To Oliver Dickinson, scholar, teacher, and friend: a contribution to the long conversation

Contents

Preface Contributors Note on terms and chronology Further reading Map of Greece and the Aegean 1. Introducing collapse Guy D. Middleton 2. Mycenaean collapse(s) c. 1200 BC Guy D. Middleton 3. The destruction of Mycenaean centres in eastern Thessaly Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani 4. Mycenaean Achaea before and after the collapse Emiliano Arena   5.  Chaos is a ladder: first Corinthians climbing – the end of the Mycenaean Age at Corinthia  Eleni Balomenou 6. LH IIIC and Submycenaean Laconia Chrysanthi Gallou 7. Collapse at the end of the Late Bronze Age in the Aegean Mercourios Georgiadis 8. Messenia Julie A. Hruby 9. The Euboean Gulf Margaretha Kramer-Haj os 10. Growth and turmoil in the thirteenth century in Crete Charlotte Langohr 11. East Lokris-Phokis Antonia Livieratou 12. Glas and Boeotia Christofilis Maggidis 13. The Argolid Tobias Mü hlenbruch 14. Collapse and transformation in Athens and Attica Robin Osborne 15. Continuities and changes in Mycenaean burial practices after the collapse of the palace system Peta Bulmer

vii ix xiii xiii xiv 1 9 23 35 45 51 61 71 77 87 97 107 121 137 145

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Contents

16. The irrelevance of Greek ‘tradition’ Oliver Dickinson 17. Continuity and change in religious practice from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age Susan Lupack 18. LHIIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant Penelope A. Mountj oy 19. The changing economy Sarah C. Murray 20. Late palatial versus early postpalatial Mycenaean pottery (c. 1250–1150 BC): ceramic change during an episode of cultural collapse and regeneration Jeremy B. Rutter 21. Beyond the Aegean: consideration of the LBA collapse in the eastern Mediterranean Eric H. Cline 22. Catastrophe revisited Robert Drews 23. Cyprus: Bronze Age demise, Iron Age regeneration A. Bernard Knapp and Nathan Meyer 24. Economies in crisis: subsistence and landscape technology in the Aegean and east Mediterranean after c. 1200 BC Saro Wallace

153 161

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Preface

The story of what happened to Mycenaean Greece in the years 1250–1150 BC remains unclear, despite over a century of research. The events that punctuated these years, beyond archaeological ‘events’ such as acts of building or destruction, are also lost – because despite the limited use of writing the Linear B tablets do not record any kind of history. Diplomatic correspondence, which might reveal tantalising detail, remains, at least for the moment, lost, although it surely existed given that the ruling families of the Hittites and a major kingdom known as ‘Ahhiyawa’, generally agreed to be a Mycenaean kingdom (‘Achaea’), were in direct contact – a fact we know from the Hittite royal archives. We do not even have a king list, although we could reasonably envision roughly thirteen kings at Mycenae ruling for fifteen years apiece across the flourishing palatial  period of Mycenaean Greece, from 1400–1200 BC. If in hindsight this sounds chronologically insignificant, we should  recall that a span of two centuries separated the Cleisthenic reforms of 508 BC and the rise of classical Athens in the early fifth century BC, in a world of city-states, and the rise  and fall of Alexander the Great and the materialisation of the massive Hellenistic successor kingdoms. A lot can happen in two centuries. The Late Bronze Age Aegean, and each state within it, would have had its own established traditions and practices, a long political history (that perhaps latched itself on to aspects of Minoan Cretan traditions), and played host to many personalities and policies – and the Mycenaean past itself stretched back well beyond 1400 BC. Yet we do know more than we did when Vincent Desborough’s early exploration of the period, The Last Mycenaeans and Their Successors (Oxford University Press), was published in 1964, over half a century ago now. The present volume sheds new light on the Aegean at the end of the palatial era and in the subsequent postpalatial period, with a dual focus on change and continuity ‘on the ground’ in the major regions of the Aegean world, and thematic overviews. The fact of ‘collapse’ – the end of the Mycenaean kingdoms and their palatial systems and the transformation of the Aegean – is clearly visible and not in doubt, but the reasons

behind the changes that occurred are still hotly debated. Perhaps because of the dearth of narrative evidence from Greece itself, and the influence of ancient migration stories  and suggestive pictures on the walls of Egyptian temples, the cause of the collapse has frequently been sought in terms of invaders – northern invaders, sometimes ‘later’ Greeks (e.g. Dorians), and/or ‘Sea Peoples’. Blaming an external actor who comes in and bulldozes the existing structures sounds plausible – indeed, the Norman conquest of England offers a clear case of the destruction of a ruler and a significant proportion of the elite at a single pivotal  battle and its replacement by invaders from the outside, with a new elite language and material culture then imposed over time. It has long been known that positive evidence for any invasion of Greece at this time is lacking, but whilst largely discredited, a few scholars have proposed climate-driven mass migrations and invasions both into and apparently from the Aegean. Q uite why masses of people would have migrated into areas of drought is unclear. Also unclear is why they should have been violent and destructive – but ‘barbarians’ acting as ‘barbarians’, always desperate and always coming in ‘hordes’ and ‘waves’, seems to be a self-explanatory  trope,  for  some,  and  fills  the  vacuum  of  certain knowledge. It is also commonplace to situate the Mycenaean collapse in the context of wider events in the eastern Mediterranean, and to see it as one among many interrelated collapses – the collapse of a broader system. The marauding Sea Peoples appear in this narrative too, conveniently linking together everything from Sardinia and Sicily to the Levant. Thus, in a number of important volumes on the period, the situation in the Aegean has been given little space and little consideration in its own right. As this volume shows, zooming in reveals a pattern of diversity across the Aegean geographically and temporally c. 1250–1150 BC that on a human scale requires more than calling on barbarian invasions or climate change as prime movers and chief characteristics of the age. No-one disputes the connections of the Aegean to the wider world, at multiple levels, or the mobility

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and range of people and groups in the central and eastern Mediterranean, but the causal linkage – one driving cause for all eastern Mediterranean collapses and cultural novelties – is unproved. Egypt, of course, did not collapse, and nor were interconnections within the eastern Mediterranean, including to the Aegean suddenly severed c. 1200 BC; other factors must come into play and the people on the ground in the Aegean must be seen as the primary actors involved in the changes in the Aegean. This volume brings together 24 scholars whose experience and expertise in Aegean and eastern Mediterranean archaeology and prehistory has touched on the issues of collapse and transformation in the region in the years around 1200 BC – ‘the collapse’. It seeks to redress the balance from demoting the Aegean to a chapter in the eastern Mediterranean collapse to giving a clear picture of the Aegean itself in the years 1250–1150 BC – either side of the Mycenaean collapse. This is done through chapters which explore the main regions of the Aegean – the mainland, Crete, and the islands – some of which contained kingdoms with palace centres and others that were ‘non-palatial’, and through thematic chapters, which detail the pottery, and examine the changing economy, religion, and burial practices, amongst other areas. Other chapters set the Aegean in a wider regional context. The volume provides up-to-date descriptions of the archaeology, as we know it now, along with interpretations of the evidence from a range of perspectives. It is hoped that it will be of use to Aegeanists and specialists in eastern Mediterranean archaeology, interested in this key period, as well as those who study collapse itself, for whom it can provide comparative data. The authors may not always agree on their views of what was happening in this period and why, or the identity of the parties involved, and no attempt has been made to force or present a single explanation, interpretation or

characterisation of ‘the collapse’. As one contributor, Eric Cline has pithily noted in his recent book 1177 BC: The Y ear Civilization Collapsed, ‘many possible variables may have had a contributing role in the collapse, but we are not even certain that we know all of the variables, and we undoubtedly do not know which ones were critical’ (2014, 170). Equally a period that was ‘bad’ for some (in our case, probably the denizens of the palaces in particular) may of course have been ‘good’ for others – every crisis is, after all, an opportunity. It is the editor’s hope, rather, that a sound presentation of the archaeological evidence and a diversity of views will be found more honest, more useful, and more interesting than a single grand narrative or overarching theory. Finally, I would like to express my sincere thanks to all of the contributors for agreeing to participate in this project and for devoting time in their all-too-busy schedules to producing such excellent, engaging and informative chapters, from which I have learnt much. In particular, thanks must go to Bernard Knapp and Jeremy R utter for their advice to a  first-time  editor  on  constructing  this  volume,  and  Eleni  Balomenou, who also, in addition to contributing her own chapter, kindly stepped in to translate from the Greek Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani’s chapter on Thessaly. I would also like to thank Julie Gardiner and Jessica Scott and the editorial board at Oxbow for agreeing to publish the volume and for their help in producing it. The editor would like to note that his work was supported by the European R egional Development Fund-Project ‘Creativity and Adaptability as Conditions of the Success of Europe in an Interrelated World’ (No. CZ.02.1.01/0.0/ 0.0/16_ 019/0000734). Guy D. Middleton Newcastle upon Tyne December, 2019

Contributors

Vassiliki adrymi-sismani is Honorary Director of the Archaeological Institute of Thessalian Studies. She studied at the Department of Archaeology of the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. In 2000 she submitted her PhD under the title ‘Dimini in the Bronze Age. 1977–1997: 20 years of excavation’ at the same University. She has worked as Director of the 13th Ephorate of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities in Volos and as Director of the Archaeological Institute of Thessalian Studies. She supervises the excavation at the Mycenaean settlement of Dimini. Monographs: The Mycenaean Settlement at Dimini. 1977–1997: 20 Y ears of Excavations (2013); Iolkos. The Well-Built Town of Homer. An Urban City in the Inlet of the Pagasetic Gulf. The Administrative Center, The Houses and the Cemetery (2014). Email: vadrimi@ gmail.com Emiliano arEna has an MA in Greek and R oman Archaeology (1997) from the University of Salento in Lecce, Italy and a PhD in Ancient History (2001) from the University of Messina. In Messina he also held a post-doctoral fellowship (2002–2004) and since 2002 he has been collaborating with the chair in Ancient Greek History and Greek Epigraphy in the Department of Ancient and Modern Civilizations. His research focuses on Mycenaean civilization (see ‘Mycenaean Peripheries during the Palatial Age: The Case of Achaea’, Hesperia 84 (2015), 1–46), and on Archaic and Hellenistic History, Greek Epigraphy and Ancient Sicily. Email: emaren@ tiscali.it ElEni BalomEnou has an MA in Prehistoric Archaeology (2012) from the University of Athens, and is currently completing her PhD in the same department. Her research focuses on the aspects of entertainment in the Aegean Bronze Age, focusing especially on the Minoan and Mycenaean civilisations. She has collaborated with the Ephorate of Antiquities in Corinth in numerous excavations and museum projects and has published several articles concerning the area. Email: elenebalomenou@ outlook.com

PEta BulmEr is an early career researcher specialising in mortuary analysis in Late Bronze Age Greece. After completing her PhD at the University of Liverpool in 2016, with a thesis entitled Death in post-palatial Greece: Reinterpreting burial practices and social organisation after the collapse of the Mycenaean palaces, she became the post-doctoral research associate on the ‘Grand Designs in Ancient Greece’ project. Forthcoming collaborative publications address ancient and modern pedagogy, and evidence for learning and play in domestic and mortuary contexts. She has also worked in museum education and research impact roles, and as an Honorary R esearch Fellow at Liverpool, she is currently working on a re-analysis of the postpalatial cemetery at Perati, and what it meant to be ‘Mycenaean’ before and after the palaces. Email: peta. bulmer@ liverpool.ac.uk Eric H. clinE is Professor of Classics and Anthropology, former Chair of the Department of Classical and Near Eastern Languages and Civilisations, and current Director of the Capitol Archaeological Institute at The George Washington University (GWU), in Washington DC. He has degrees in Classical Archaeology, Near Eastern Archaeology, and Ancient History, from Dartmouth (BA, 1982), Yale (MA, 1984), and the University of Pennsylvania (PhD., 1991). He has authored, co-authored, or edited 19 books to date, including recently 1177 BC: The Y ear Civilization Collapsed (2014) and Three Stones Make a Wall: The Story of Archaeology (2017). In addition, he has also authored or co-authored more than 130 academic articles in peer-reviewed journals, festschriften, and conference volumes. His research interests include the Late Bronze Age in the Aegean and eastern Mediterranean; the collapse of civilisations; and military history through the ages. Email: ehcline@ gwu.edu oliVEr dickinson developed an enduring interest in Greek prehistory through studying ‘Homeric archaeology’ at Oxford

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in 1961–2, as part of the BA degree in Litterae Humaniores. He retired from the Department of Classics and Ancient History, Durham University, UK, as R eader Emeritus in 2005. His main publications are The Origins of Mycenaean Civilisation (1977), The Aegean Bronze Age (1994) and The Aegean from Bronze Age to Iron Age (2006). Email: otpkdickinson@ googlemail.com roBErt drEws is Professor of Classics Emeritus at Vanderbilt University. After receiving his PhD from Johns Hopkins, he taught ancient history at Vanderbilt from 1961 until 2006, and became interested especially in the evolution of religion and warfare. His books on the latter are: Coming of the Greeks: Indo-European Conquests in the Aegean and the Near East (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1988); End of the Bronze Age: Changes in Warfare and the Catastrophe ca. 1200 BC (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1993); Early Riders: The Beginning of Mounted Combat in Asia and Europe (London, R outledge, 2004); Militarism and the Indo-Europeanizing of Europe (London, R outledge, 2017). Email: robert.drews@ vanderbilt.edu c HrysantHi G allou is Assistant Professor in Aegean Archaeology and the Director of the Centre for Spartan and Peloponnesian Studies at the University of Nottingham. Her PhD thesis focused on the Mycenaean Cult of the Dead, and her research interests include the archaeology of death, children and childhood in prehistoric Greece and Spartan archaeology. Email: Chrysanthi.Gallou@ nottingham.ac.uk mErcourios GEorGiadis is a Postdoctoral R esearch Fellow at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. He has finished his Bachelor’s degree at the University of  Birmingham, his MPhil at the University of Cambridge and his PhD at the University of Liverpool. He has also worked as a Postdoctoral R esearch Fellow and a lecturer at the University of Nottingham and the Open University of Cyprus. He has published three books and several articles in journals and collective volumes. He specialises in the Prehistoric Aegean and his research interests include religion, burial customs, population movement, landscape, surveys and islands. Email: merkourisgeorgiadis@ hotmail.com JuliE a. HruBy is an assistant professor of Classics at Dartmouth College. She wrote a PhD at the University of Cincinnati entitled Feasting and Ceramics: A View from the Palace of Nestor at Pylos and is completing a manuscript on the pantries at the palace. Her primary area of scholarly interest, however, is using fingerprints that were impressed in ancient  ceramic objects before they were fired to address questions  of sex, gender, age, identity, and labour practice. She heads a computational project, ‘Associating Fingerprint Patterns with Age and Sex: A Quantifiable Approach’ and has extensive 

training  as  a  fingerprint  examiner.  Email:  Julie.A.Hruby @ Dartmouth.edu a. BErnard knaPP is Emeritus Professor of Mediterranean Archaeology in the Department of Humanities (Archaeology), University of Glasgow, and Honorary R esearch Fellow, Cyprus American Archaeological R esearch Institute, Nicosia. He co-edits the Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology and is general editor of the series Monographs in Mediterranean Archaeology. He is the author and editor of several books including, most recently, Mediterranean Connections: Maritime Transport Containers and Seaborne Trade in the Bronze and Early Iron Ages of the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean (London, R outledge, 2017), co-authored with Stella Demesticha, and Seafaring and Seafarers in the Bronze Age Eastern Mediterranean (Leiden, Sidestone Press, September 2018). Email: Bernard.Knapp@ glasgow.ac.uk marGarEtHa kramEr-HaJos is a Visiting Assistant Professor in the Department of Classics at Gustavus Adolphus College and has also taught at Dartmouth. She has a PhD in Classical archaeology from Cornell University and an MA (cum laude) in Classical philology from the University of Groningen. She is the author of numerous articles on Mycenaean Greece and two books – Beyond the Palace: Mycenaean East Lokris (Oxford, Archaeopress, 2008) and Mycenaean Greece and the Aegean World: Palace and Province in the Late Bronze Age (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2016). Email: mtkramer@ gustavus.edu cHarlottE lanGoHr is an archaeologist, specialist in Minoan (Bronze Age Crete) pottery. She is a F.R .S.-FNR S R esearch Associate within the Aegean Interdisciplinary R esearch Group (AegIS) hosted in Belgium at UCLouvain (INCAL), where she is also Professor. She is currently in charge of the study and publication of pottery assemblages at the sites of Sissi, Malia and Palaikastro in Crete. Her research focuses on the sociocultural and sociopolitical transformations that affected Cretan communities at the beginning of and during the advanced Late Bronze Age (1480–1200 BC). Email: charlotte.langohr@ uclouvain.be antonia liViEratou. After being awarded her first degree in  Archaeology from the University of Athens, she did her PhD on the Late Bronze–Early Iron Age transition in the Argolid and central Greece at the University of Edinburgh. Since 2008, she has been employed by the Greek Archaeological Service and worked in Boeotia, Euboea and currently Attica, in various projects such as museum exhibitions (Thebes and Chalkis) and rescue excavations. Her main research interest lies in the transition from the Late Bronze to the Early Iron Age in Phocis and East Locris. She is also involved in the publication of pottery from Lefkandi, the Academy of

Contributors Plato at Athens and Kamilovrisi in Boeotia. Email: twnia @ hotmail.com susan luPack is a Lecturer in the Ancient History Department of Macquarie University in Sydney, Australia. She has worked on various archaeological surveys and excavations including the Pylos R egional Archaeological Project and the Athenian Agora, and since 2006 she has been part of the Eastern Boeotia Archaeological Project. In her research, Susan combines Linear B textual information with archaeological material to investigate Late Bronze Age society, economy, and religion. She is now looking more intently at the elements of the Minoan and Mycenaean religions that were brought forward in time through the Iron Age into the Archaic and Classical periods, and she is working on her next book, Mycenaean Religion. Email: susan.lupack@ mq.edu.au cHristofilis maGGidis is the Christopher R oberts Professor of Archaeology in the Department of Archaeology at Dickinson College (since 2001). He gained his BA from the University of Athens (1988), his PhD from the University of Pennsylvania and was a postdoctoral Fellow at Brown (1999) and Harvard Universities (Fulbright, William Penn, and Charles Williams Fellowships). Amongst other subjects, he teaches the art, architecture, and archaeology of the prehistoric Aegean, classical Greece, Egypt and the Near East. He is an active field archaeologist and has worked at many  major sites, including Mycenae, Gla, and Archanes; he has served as Field Director of the Lower Town Excavation at Mycenae (2001–), Co-Director of the Mycenaean SpercheiosValley Archaeological Project (MY.SPE.AR ) (2018–), and Director of the Archaeogeophysical Survey of the Citadel of Glas (2009–2010). He has presented more than fifty lectures  and conference papers, published numerous articles and has several books forthcoming, including The Lower Town of Mycenae II: Archaeological Excavations 2007–2013. Email: maggidic@ dickinson.edu natHan mEyEr is a PhD candidate in anthropology at the University of California, Berkeley. His research interests lie in archaeological informatics, the Mediterranean Early Iron Age, and the philosophy of archaeology. He is currently developing informatics for the Cambridge Keros Project and beginning dissertation research on the coarse and plain wares of early Iron Age Cyprus. Email: nathan@ archaeodata.org Guy d. middlEton is a Senior R esearcher in the Czech Institute of Egyptology, Charles University, Prague, and a Visiting Fellow in the School of History, Classics and Archaeology at Newcastle University. He has a BA in Ancient History and Archaeology and an MA in Museum Studies from Newcastle University; his PhD on the Mycenaean collapse c. 1200 BC and the postpalatial period was completed at Durham University. He has written on various aspects of Late

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Bronze Age Greece and the eastern Mediterranean. His publications include Understanding Collapse: Ancient History and Modern Myths (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2017), ‘Nothing lasts forever: Environmental discourses on the causes of past societal collapse’, in the Journal of Archaeological Research (2012), and The Collapse of Palatial Society in LBA Greece and the Postpalatial Period (Oxford, Archaeopress, 2010). Email: gdmiddletonphd @ gmail.com PEnEloPE a. mountJoy has a BA in Classics from the University of Bristol, an MPhil from the University of London, and a PhD from the University of Bristol. She is a member of the British School at Athens and has presented papers at archaeological conferences in Great Britain, Greece, Germany, Austria, Sweden, Israel, Cyprus, Turkey and Australia. She has taught at Q ueens University, Kingston, Canada as Scholar in R esidence and at the Universities of Mannheim, Tü bingen and Frankfurt, at the latter as Mercator Gast Professor. She has also held Alexander von Humboldt Fellowships at the Universities of Mannheim and Heidelberg, the Glassman Holland Fellowship and the Seymour Gitin Distinguished Professorship at the Albright Institute, Jerusalem, and, most recently, a Senior Fellowship at Koç University R esearch Centre for Anatolian Civilisations, Istanbul. In addition, she is a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of London, and a Corresponding Member of the German Archaeological Institute. Author of many articles and several books, including Mycenaean Decorated Pottery: a Guide to Identification (Göteborg, P. Åström, 1986), Mycenaean Pottery: an Introduction (1993), Regional Mycenaean Decorated Pottery (R ahden, Marie Leidorf, 1999), her latest book is Decorated Pottery in Cyprus and Philistia in the 12th Century BC: Cypriot IIIC and Philistine IIIC (Vienna, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2018). t oBias m üHlEnBrucH obtained his PhD in Pre- and Protohistory at Heidelberg University under Professor Joseph Maran, while writing about the settlement of the Lower Citadel of Tiryns in LH III C. Before he became Assistant Professor at Marburg University, he was a member of the SCIEM 2000-project. Following his habilitation thesis, he was granted Heisenberg research funding of the DFG ‘Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft’. His main research interests cover the eastern Mediterranean Bronze Age and the central European Neolithic period as well as the central European Bronze Age. Email: muehlent@ staff.unimarburg.de saraH c. murray is currently an Assistant Professor of Classics at the University of Toronto. She completed her BA in Classical Archaeology at Dartmouth College in 2004, then received a PhD in Classics from Stanford University

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in 2013. Her research is focused on the archaeology of the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages in the Aegean, the history of economic and cultural institutions in early Greece, and methods and interpretation in survey archaeology. She has over  a  decade  of  fieldwork  experience  in  Greece,  and  is  currently directing an archaeological survey project around the bay of Porto R aphti Archaeological in Eastern Attica. Her publications include a monograph The Collapse of the Mycenaean Economy (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2017) and single- or co-authored articles in scholarly journals including the Journal of Field Archaeology, American Journal of Archaeology, Hesperia, American Historical Review, and Journal of Science: Reports. Email: sc.murray@ utoronto.ca roBin osBornE is Professor of Ancient History at the University of Cambridge and a Fellow of the British Academy and of King’s College Cambridge. He has published widely on Greek history, the history of Greek art, and Greek archaeology. His book, The Transformation of Athens: Painted Pottery and the Creation of Classical Greece (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 2018), was joint winner of the 2019 R unciman Prize. He is currently writing on Archaic Athens for the Oxford History of the Archaic Greek World. Email: ro225@ cam.ac.uk JErEmy ruttEr received his BA in Classics with Honours at Haverford (1967) and completed a PhD in Classical Archaeology at the University of Pennsylvania (1974).

He developed a specialty in Aegean prehistoric ceramics and taught Greek archaeology at Dartmouth College in the Department of Classics for 36 years (1976–2012). During this time, he worked on completed and ongoing field projects in  the eastern Peloponnese (Korakou, Gonia, Ayios Stephanos, Corinth, Lerna, Tsoungiza), Crete (Kommos), and central Greece (Mitrou). As a Professor of Classics Emeritus, he continues to work on pottery of the Aegean Bronze Age, most recently at Aigeira (Achaea). He has written four books,  co-edited  a  fifth,  and  made  major  contributions  to  two additional volumes. He has also written or co-authored over 75 articles, book chapters, and published conference papers, in addition to over 50 reviews. In 2013, he was awarded the Gold Medal for Archaeological Achievement by the Archaeological Institute of America, and in 2017 an Honorary Doctorate at the University of Uppsala (Sweden). Email: jeremy.rutter@ dartmouth.edu saro wallacE has been R esearch Fellow at the Department of Archaeology, University of Manchester, since 2016. Prior to this she held senior research fellow positions at the Center for Hellenic Studies, Harvard, the Albright Institute, Jerusalem, and the University of Heidelberg Institut fur Klassische Archä ologie (2010–2015) and a Visiting Professorship at the University of Warsaw (2010–2011). Between 2004 and 2010 she held lectureships in Mediterranean/Classical archaeology at the universities of Bristol, Cardiff and R eading, UK. Email: sarowallace@ hotmail.com and saro.wallace@ manchester.ac.uk

Note on terms and chronology

Pottery provides the basic relative chronological subdivisions of the Mycenaean period, but the standard abbreviations and terminology can be confusing. In addition, Aegeanists also refer to socio-political phases ‘prepalatial’, ‘palatial’, and ‘postpalatial’ periods (and these terms cover different absolute periods on the ‘Mycenaean mainland’ than they do for ‘Minoan Crete’ (which also has ‘old’ and ‘new’ palace periods)). This short outline introduces the main points to bear in mind. On the Greek mainland, the Late Bronze Age or Mycenaean period is the Late Helladic or LH period (preceded by Middle Helladic (MH) and Early Helladic (EH)). This is subdivided into three (pottery) periods LH I, LH II and LH III. The Mycenaean palatial period of the Late Bronze Age mainland falls within LH III, which has the further subdivisions A, B, and C. In absolute terms, the palatial period is roughly speaking from 1400–1200 BC; the fourteenth century is LH IIIA (1 and 2) and the thirteenth century is LH IIIB (1 and 2). The collapse falls at the end

of LH IIIB2, and is given the working absolute date of c. 1200 BC. LH IIIC Early, Middle, and Late, the postpalatial period, follow after c. 1200 BC. After LH IIIC, which lasts until about 1050 BC, comes Submycenaean (SM), which in turn is followed by Protogeometric (PG) – again, both terms for pottery styles that are used as period names. There are some additional and alternative subdivisions and terms for individual sites. On Crete, EM, MM, and LM are used for pottery styles and periods – Early, Middle and Late Minoan, with similar subdivisions to LH; in the Aegean Cyclades there is EC, MC, and LC = Early, Middle, and Late Cycladic. More generally, we can also speak of the EBA, MBA and LBA, the Early, Middle and Late Bronze Age. In Greece, as we move from mainland palatial LH IIIB into postpalatial LH IIIC and after, so we move from the Late Bronze into the Early Iron Age.

Further reading Dickinson, O.T. (1994) The Aegean Bronze Age. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press (Chapter one). Manning, S.W. (2007–2008) Why radiocarbon dating 1200 BCE is  difficult:  a  sidelight  on  dating  the  end  of  the  Late  Bronze  Age and the contrarian contribution. Scripta Mediterranea 27–28, 53–80. Manning, S. (2010) Chronology and terminology. In E.H. Cline (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean, 11–28. Oxford, Oxford University Press.

Mountjoy, P.A. (1993) Mycenaean Pottery: An Introduction. Oxford, The Oxford University School of Archaeology. Shelmerdine, C.W. (2001) The palatial Bronze Age of the southern and central Greek mainland. In T. Cullen (ed.) Aegean Prehistory: A Review, 329–381. Boston, Archaeological Institute of America. Warren, P.M. and Hankey, V. (1989) Aegean Bronze Age Chronology. Bristol, Bristol Classical Press.

Map of Greece and the Aegean. Courtesy of Cambridge University Press.

1 Introducing collapse Guy D. Middleton

Wh

R eaders of this volume should be aware that there are many different ideas of what ‘collapse’ means, as well as theories about what caused any given collapse (see e.g. Middleton 2017a; Storey and Storey 2018). This short review aims to provide an introduction to some of these ideas and related concepts, so that readers may weigh up the evidence presented in the volume and place it in what they feel to be an appropriate context.

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It has been suggested that arguments about collapse, its nature and causes, often stem from different understandings of what is meant by the term and what it is applied to (Demarest 2001; Middleton 2017b; Tainter 2006). Schwartz (2006, 5–6) gives a useful summary of what many archaeologists have in mind: ‘the fragmentation of states into smaller political entities; the partial abandonment or complete desertion of urban centres, along with the loss or depletion of their centralizing functions; the breakdown of regional economic systems; and the failure of civilizational ideologies.’ These are all potentially detectable by archaeologists through changes in material culture and without historical evidence. Inevitably, though, a lack of historical evidence means that narratives of prehistoric collapses are difficult to construct  and will tend to lack securely identifiable actors and events.  This can increase the tendency for overly neat, simplistic or deterministic explanations (such as ‘megadrought’) to be proposed and found plausible. Some authors on collapse have focussed on population or the environment – in combination, overpopulation and environmental damage, or climate change, caused apocalyptic collapse, which was characterised in particular by population loss – a neo-Malthusian ‘overshoot’ model.

Diamond thus states that collapse is ‘a drastic decrease in human population size and/or political/economic/social complexity, over a considerable area, for an extended time’. Post-collapse periods are then seen as times of environmental regeneration and low population (Chew 2005; R edman and Kinzig 2003). However, this overshoot model and Diamond’s approach to collapse have been found wanting by Tainter (2006) and others (McAnany and Yoffee 2014; Middleton 2012). The apocalyptic view of collapse – hundreds or thousands dying in a nightmare scenario of chaos and violence – is not what most archaeologists have in mind when they discuss the subject, even though in a number of examples declining population is thought to have accompanied or resulted from collapse. Poverty too can explain the decreased visibility of parts of the population, or why people ‘disappear’ (in some cases, the poorer sections of the population may never have been visible in the first place).  elevant to note here is that  the massive population loss caused by the Black Death in Europe did not cause any states to collapse, nor did either  the Athenian  plague  of  the  late  fifth  century  BC  or  the Justinianic plague of the sixth century AD bring about Athenian or eastern R oman collapse. A bogey word in collapse studies is ‘civilisation’, on which Yoffee and Cowgill, and the other authors in their 1988 volume, provide useful guidance. Both Yoffee (1988) and Cowgill (1988) suggest separating consideration of states, or political units, which can and do collapse, from civilisations or ‘great traditions’, which do not. Civilisations, if the word must be used, are distinct constellations of material and non-material ‘phenomena’, constantly transforming, and the collapse of political states embedded in them usually – and unsurprisingly – involves some visible changes to the civilisation, especially in elite material culture

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and practices. Cowgill (1988, 256) also argues that neither the term collapse or fall should be used to describe the political fragmentations of states or empires into smaller parts, because there might be no reduction in complexity in those parts. In practice this is what the term is usually used for, though, but Cowgill’s point about complexity in the remaining parts should be held in mind. We can consider the changing material, and political and social culture of the R oman R epublic and Empire over centuries as a clear example of ‘civilisational’ transformation; when the last western emperor died, the western Empire fell and was succeeded by ‘barbarian’ kingdoms and post-R oman enclaves; it was the collapse of a political unit. In this instance, material culture and established traditions did not come  to  an  abrupt  end,  despite  significant  economic  and  material repercussions from the events around the collapse (compare Brown 1971 and Ward-Perkins 2005). The Hittite collapse too was political, but much of established elite Hittite culture continued in the Neo-Hittite kingdoms, if not in the old Hittite heartland (the capital Hattusa having been gradually abandoned – what happened to the king and inhabitants is unknown). The Classic Maya collapse involved the end of many independent city-states at different times (the end of royal lines and the abandonment (total or partial) of urban areas) within the three-century Terminal Classic period, with a long transformation in the totality of Maya material culture observable between, say AD 800 and 1100. Neither the Maya nor their culture disappeared. a le

A political collapse, the collapse or failure of a state, whilst certainly having knock-on effects, need not result in an allout loss of culture and traditions, or a sudden mass die-off of people (Middleton 2017b). More widely referred to in the archaeological literature, though not always followed, is the definition of  ainter in  his classic work on collapse (Tainter 1988). He suggested that collapse is when a society  displays a rapid, significant  loss of an established level of socio-political complexity’ (Tainter 1988, 4). In this clear and helpful view collapse is a political process in which a society becomes less complex and its hierarchy and parts are reduced.  his simplification  may also affect other aspects of life, such as the ability of a power to organise groups, a reduction in the level of investment in monumental architecture and art, a reduction in  socio-economic  differentiation,  stratification,  and  general stability, and may result in the appearance of smaller post-collapse polities. As for causes, Tainter (1988, 38) adopts an economic perspective; he argued that ‘declining marginal returns’ were key – an increase in complexity to solve problems at some point stopped paying off, leaving structures to decomplexify over perhaps two or three decades. Issues that arises here concern the role of people and events  in  collapse  –  how  did  a  process  of  simplification  actually play out ‘on the ground’? Tainter’s views owe something to R enfrew (1984, 367– 369), who provided an outline of the features of ‘system collapse’. These are worth reproducing in full (in Table 1.1),

eatures o colla se identified y en re

General features of system collapse 1 Collapse of central administrative organisation a) Disappearance or reduction in number of levels of central place hierarchy. of the early state b) Complete fragmentation or disappearance of military organisation into (at most) small, independent units. c) Abandonment of palaces and central storage facilities. d) Eclipse of temples as major religious centres (often with their survival, modified,  as local shrines. e) Effective loss of literacy for secular and religious purposes. f) Abandonment of public building works. 2 Disappearance of the traditional elite class a) Cessation of rich, traditional burials (although different forms of rich burials frequently emerge after a couple of centuries). b) Abandonment of rich residences, or their re-use in impoverished style by ‘squatters’. c) Cessation in the use of costly assemblages of luxury goods, although individual items may survive. 3 Collapse of centralised economy a) Cessation of large-scale redistribution or market exchange. b) Coinage (where applicable) no longer issued or exchanged commercially, although individual pieces survive as valuables. c) External trade very markedly reduced, and traditional trade routes disappear. d) Volume of internal trade markedly reduced. e) Cessation of craft-specialist manufacture. f) Cessation of specialised or organised agricultural production with agriculture instead on a local  homestead’ basis with diversified crop spectrum and mixed  farming. Continued

1. Introducing collapse a le 4 Settlement shift and population decline

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Continued

a) Abandonment of many settlements. b) Shift to dispersed pattern of smaller settlements. c) requent subsequent choice of defensible locations – the  flight to the hills’. d) Marked reduction in population density.

Aftermath 5 Transition to lower (cf. ‘earlier’) level of a) Emergence of segmentary societies showing analogies with those seen centuries or millennia earlier in the ‘formative’ level in the same area (only later do these socio-political integration reach a chiefdom or  florescent’ level of development). b) Fission of realm to smaller territories, whose boundaries may relate to those of earlier polities. c) Possible peripheral survival of some highly organised communities still retaining several organisational features of the collapsed state. d) Survival of religious elements as ‘folk’ cults and beliefs. e) Craft production at local level with ‘peasant’ imitations of former specialist products (e.g. in pottery). f) Local movements of small population groups resulting from the breakdown in order at the collapse of the central administration (either with or without some language change), leading to destruction of many settlements. g) apid subsequent regeneration of chiefdom or even state society, partly influenced  by the remains of its predecessor. 6 Development of romantic Dark Age myth a) Attempt by new power groups to establish legitimacy in historical terms with the creation of genealogies either (i) seeking to find a link with the  autochthonous’  former state or (ii) relating the deeds by which the ‘invaders’ achieved power by force of arms. b) Tendency among early chroniclers to personalise historical explanation, so that change is assigned to individual deeds, battles, and invasions, and often to attribute the decline to hostile powers outside the state territories. c) Some confusion in legend and story between the Golden Age of the early vanished civilisation and the Heroic Age of its immediate aftermath. d) Paucity of archaeological evidence after collapse compared with that for preceding period (arising from loss of literacy and abandonment or diminution of urban centres). e) endency among historians to accept as evidence traditional narratives first set  down in writing some centuries after the collapse. f) Slow development of Dark Age archaeology, hampered both by the preceding item and by focus on the larger and more obvious central place sites of the vanished state. Diachronic aspects 7 8 9 10 11

The collapse may take around 100 years for completion (although in the provinces of an empire, the withdrawal of central imperial authority can have more rapid effects). Dislocations are evident in the earlier part of that period, the underlying factors finding expression in human conflicts – wars, destructions, and so on. Boundary maintenance may show signs of weakness during this time, so that outside pressures leave traces in the historical record. The growth curve for many variables in the system (including population, exchange, agricultural activity) may take the truncated sigmoid form. Absence of a single, obvious ‘cause’ for the collapse.

not  least  because  they  are  in  great  part  influenced  by  the  circumstances of the Mycenaean collapse and Early Iron Age Greece (R enfrew 1984, 367). In R enfrew’s view, collapse could take around a century to fully complete, and would affect the political, social, and economic worlds as well as population and settlement. It would be followed by a dark

age that displayed elements of continuity and that was at least partly constructed by post-collapse origin myths and the tastes of modern archaeologists. The collapse would not have an obvious cause. More recent contributions have produced somewhat different  or  extended  definitions,  owing  something  to  the 

4

Guy D. Middleton

development of the archaeological and wider discourses of collapse (Middleton 2017a). Johnson (2017), for example, dislikes the term ‘collapse’: What archaeologists see as a collapse is usually just a transition to a different way of life … the idea of a rapid failure of the systems on which a population depends is intriguing but not an accurate way to describe what happens to most complex societies … ‘Transition’ is a neutral term that better conveys what happens … I use the term ‘collapse’ in a general way, and in most cases I will avoid ambiguity by qualifying what type of breakdown occurred.

This view contrasts strongly with the ‘traditional’ – or at least ‘popular’ – idea of collapse as a negative change or a terrible catastrophe, though ‘just a transition’ perhaps underplays the nature and significance of some of the changes we call  collapse, and their impacts on the people who lived through those periods. Storey and Storey (2017, 11–12) in their informative comparative study of the collapse of the western R oman Empire and the Classic Maya give both a more and less formal explanation, which attempt to draw together the variety of terms centring around collapse. Thus: decline = ‘things going to hell’; political fall = ‘when things go to hell to the extent that major political institutions cease to function’; collapse = ‘if things go so completely to hell that the culture loses coherence and the major defining elements  and dimensions of that culture disappear’; and resilience = ‘after collapse, there is a giving way to a new cultural entity’. More formally they see collapse as: a major disjuncture in the trajectory of a complex culture (those commonly called ‘civilizations’); the political integration completely fails, and the Great Tradition (the assemblage of  material  culture  and  reflected  ideologies  unique  to  that  culture) similarly comes to an end.

Unlike some of the authors mentioned above, this definition  suggests that ‘fall’ applies to political entities and ‘collapse’ should be seen as an end of cultural entities – civilisations. In terms of timescale, there are also some differences of opinion. For Tainter (1988), collapse is rapid, taking two or three decades, but for R enfrew (1984) and Storey and Storey (2017) it can take a century. Partly the problem with this area is where to sketch in the beginning and end of any collapse ‘event’. The western R oman collapse can be seen in hindsight to have had its origins in the late fourth century A  and taken around a century to work out to its final end  (Heather 2005), although collapse was not inevitable and the R oman Empire could have collapsed at many points much earlier than it did (there were many instances of civil war and successful and attempted secessions). The Classic Maya collapse, so-called, took place across the course of the Terminal Classic Period – three centuries. But in the latter

case, the collapse of individual Maya states could be very rapid indeed – marked by conflict and the execution of royal  families. Arguably the collapse of individual Mycenaean states could have been very rapid too, even if the collapse of the palace states as a whole took place over several decades. Given  the  difficulty  in  identifying  neat  boundaries  to  collapse, it can be hard to detect clear beginnings of processes of collapse, and so to isolate causes on multiple levels. While tempting to try to recognise signs of ‘anxiety’, ‘crisis’, or ‘decline’, or at least ‘problems’ prior to collapse, it is possible to fall foul of hindsight and teleology and then to overlook the possibility of sudden and unexpected collapse. Even the collapse of the Soviet Union at the time it happened, came as a surprise, though was predicted in a general sense (Aron 2011). Many ancient states were frequently in a state of crisis, for one reason or another, but clearly these crises did not always lead to collapse; this suggests a key role for chance historical factors in collapse (Bronson 1988; Kaufman 1988). There is an inescapable ‘fuzziness’ here, which makes the study of collapse and causality particularly difficult.

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Collapse is often envisioned as ‘a bad thing’ – after all, when businesses, ecosystems, or populations collapse, it can well be. Scott (2017, 186) points out that collapse is ‘often understood to be a deplorable regression away from a more civilized culture’. The apocalyptic turn in collapse studies has been noted above; while not dominant, it lurks ever present in the minds of many. It is also formalised in some popular and authoritative views of collapse. Diamond thus painted a gloomy and violent picture of the end of the Norse settlements in Greenland, which he says was: sudden rather than gentle, like the sudden collapse of the Soviet Union [ the Eastern settlement was] like an overcrowded lifeboat … famine and disease would have caused a breakdown of respect for authority … starving people would have poured into Gardar, and the outnumbered chiefs and  church  officials  could  no  longer  prevent  them  from  slaughtering the last cattle and sheep … I picture the scene as … like that in my home city of Los Angeles in 1992, at the time of the so-called R odney King riots … thousands of outraged people from poor neighbourhoods … spread out to loot businesses and rich neighbourhoods (Diamond 2005, 271–273).

From a Dahlem workshop on sustainability and collapse comes  an  affirmation  of  this  view,  in  which  oung  and  Leemans  (200 ,  450),  define  collapse  as  a  rate  of  change  to a system that ‘has negative effects on human welfare, which, in the short term, are socially intolerable’. In the archaeological literature, Storey and Storey (2017, 11–12) add that the ‘process also entails human suffering on a large

1. Introducing collapse scale, largely through diminution of population, which almost never means total disappearance of a population; but there is significant loss of life and a smaller population left behind’. Yet to characterise such ‘big’ events as the collapse of a state as good or bad, or a state as a success or failure, is too simplistic – and thus any very general portrayal is bound to be partisan and to break down on close examination. Young and Leemans’ statement is immediately problematic, given that many people could and did live in socially intolerable conditions in the heyday of a given state or empire (even in the contemporary UK, nearly four million people in poverty have used foodbanks; also consider in the ancient world those at the bottom of the heap – slaves, prostitutes, and the rural and urban poor). Scott (2017, 186) observes that collapse does ‘not necessarily mean a decline in regional population … in human health, well-being, or nutrition [ it] may represent an improvement …’ Numerous authors have pointed out that past collapses appear usually to affect a society’s elite much more than its majority population of peasant or subsistence farmers, and that at a lower level both populations and traditions continue (e.g. R enfrew 1984; Tainter 1999; 2016; Scott 2017). Elites that were disempowered or on the losing side would have experienced events as ‘bad’, such as the executed rulers of Maya cities mentioned above (see Demarest 2014), yet for elites on the winning side, assuming conflict  of some kind to be a key part in many collapses, the outcome may have been positive. For the majority there may have been little change – or possibly a positive reduction in taxes and duties owed to the rulers (although increased instability and conflict could have negatively affected rural  life). Storey and Storey (2017, 54) suggest that the fact that peasants survive is ‘unremarkable’, but this seems to privilege the place of the elite in society and to downplay the resilience of the majority – this resilience would seem to suggest an important conclusion for modern complex societies looking for lessons from history. With imperial collapse, formerly ‘attached’ regions may have achieved a cherished – and perhaps more practical – independence, though in these cases it may still have been elites that benefitted  more  than  those  still  at  the  lower  end  of  the  socio-economic spectrum (though if independence brought about  less  conflict  and  exploitation,  the  benefits  would  have been wider). Collapse can be seen as a ‘reset’ of sorts, a situation in which there were both winners and losers before, during and after. For some change was a disaster, for some just change, and for some things stayed largely the same. Given that so many perspectives are possible and that multiple ‘accurate’ narratives can be constructed for any historical event and the people living through them, those seeking to characterise collapse or its consequences, or to add some kind of qualitative dimension to their descriptions, must proceed carefully.

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d f r a gi l i t y

The concepts of resilience and the regeneration of complex societies after collapse have both come to the fore in collapse studies (e.g. Blanton 2010; Faulseit 2016; R edman 2005; Schwartz and  ichols 200 ).  esilience has a specific meaning drawn from ecology, which Walker and Salt (2006, xiii) explain as ‘the capacity of a system to absorb disturbance and still retain its basic function and structure’. R esilience conceptualised  as  an  adaptive  cycle,  expressed  as  a  figure  .  here are four phases in the cycle: exploitation (r), conservation ( ), release ( ), and reorganisation (a). Collapse  is  seen  as  the  release  or    phase,  which  is  followed  by  reorganisation (a). When multiple adaptive cycles are linked, the term ‘panarchy’ is applied, represented as connected figure eights’ (Gunderson and Holling 2002).  hus repeated  and cyclical change – growth and collapse is imagined, in something resembling a biological metaphor. R esilience thinking is applied to population groups, to the environment, and to cultures and societies as a whole and in terms of parts (e.g. R edman and Kinzig, 2003). When using the concept, it is helpful to be specific about what exactly it is  being applied to. Collapse would imply that a system (using this word in a broad sense) as a whole was not resilient, though some constituent parts of it and visible expressions of it may have been. A population may be resilient through collapse (i.e. a village, or region, or broader defined group)  in terms of continued biological survival, whilst abandoning or rejecting elements of the former culture or system – in which case that system (economic/ideological etc.) could be said to be not resilient. To be less abstract, resilience can refer, in an archaeological sense, to the themes of continuity and change in all areas and a society or system as a whole. However, it might be wondered how useful resilience thinking is as a tool for understanding past collapse – or non-collapse. Iannone argues that it can provide a common language and set of concepts for communicating ideas across disciplines, but this assumes many people will be familiar with the terms and concepts (Iannone 2016, 130). He also observes that ‘not all systems pass through the various phases of the adaptive cycle in the anticipated order’ and ‘not all of the ideal characteristics of a particular phase will be exhibited by a specific archaeological example’,  thus  fitting  an  example  into  a  resilience  framework  can be ‘a matter of taste’ (Iannone 2016, 181, 204–205). R esilience seems able to be used for both continuity through and reorganisation (‘adaptation’) after collapse. Thus, for this author at least, the concept of resilience seems – beyond a common sense understanding of the idea – somewhat problematic. Fragility is another concept that has attracted recent attention in relation to the formation, survival and collapse of ancient states (Scott 2017; Yoffee 2019). Scott suggests that early states can be seen as like multi-storey pyramids built by children – the higher the rows of blocks rose, the

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less stable and more prone to collapse the growing pyramid was; ‘that it soon falls apart is hardly surprising’ (Scott 2017, 183–184). The blocks themselves were more resilient than the larger structures they were incorporated into (see also Kaufman 1988; Yoffee 2005, 135–136; Simon 1965). Thus it is clear to see how smaller units could survive the collapse of an overarching unit. States seen this way are fragile, even those that endured for centuries, and here the role of chance and the historically specific comes into play  (Kaufman 1988). Longevity is not necessarily the same as stability – or strength, and, to borrow a phrase from the  financial  sector,  past  performance  is  no  guarantee  of  future results’.

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The resilience cycle has a reorganisation phase following the release phase, and a number of collapse scholars have similarly identified both collapse and post-collapse periods  as periods of reorganisation and even regeneration. R enfrew (1984) noted that collapse could result in the emergence of simpler and smaller polities, which sometimes echoed those found in earlier times and even followed earlier territorial arrangements. He also identified the sometimes rapid regeneration, after a gap, of collapsed regions into chiefdoms or even states. This view is followed by Storey and Storey (2017, 11), who focused on the western R oman and Classic Maya collapses: The people (in most cases) survive, persist, and regenerate into another complex society; usually there is a gap (large or small) before re-establishment or re-integration of complexity into a new political system with a new Great Tradition, which is partly derivative of the old but also distinct.

Scott (2017, 186) agrees with R enfrew that ‘a “ collapse’” at the centre is less likely to mean a dissolution of a culture than its reformulation and decentralization’. Far from slipping necessarily into savage, culturally barren and sparsely populated dark ages, then, there is always continuity in some form through collapse – often at a folk level, sometimes, in part, at a cultural or even organisational level. None of this is intended to downplay the severity of events or obscure the magnitude of change in many identified collapses. Changes could be sudden and profound, but  in the big picture change can be seen as a normal part of the ebb and flow of dynamic human socio-political organisations  and dominant ideologies. It must be remembered that people were always, even when environmental factors may have been key, the agents of collapse and transformation, even though these could be the unintended, rather than planned, consequences of actions and policies on many levels. At an individual level, this means that there was no automatic erasure of the past in the minds of those who lived

through collapse events – though certainly the memory and representation of the past could be manipulated (the erasure of the Bastille and symbols of the old regime in revolutionary France springs to mind). People made deliberate choices to shape their worlds before, through and after collapse, though naturally there were also constraints on action that may have made the perpetuation or reconstruction of a system  difficult  or  impossible.  Change  over  time  meant  that each generation grew up in different circumstances, with different realities, expectations, and desires, and so we should not automatically expect or look for total continuity. In illiterate societies, the ‘real’ historical past may have been easily lost. It is an open question as to why the re-emergence of states in Greece after the Late Bronze Age took so long to occur – some four-to-five centuries – but it  is wrong to devalue the intervening period as in some way a failure and indeed to expect new states as some kind of natural or inevitable outcome. If collapse involved a rejection of what came before, state regeneration may have been deliberately avoided. Eisenstadt (1988, 242) has commented succinctly that ‘the investigation of collapse in ancient states and civilizations really entails identifying the various kinds of social reorganization in these types of societies and so viewing collapse as part of the continuous process of boundary reconstruction’. States were and are not ‘natural’ and were not and are not necessarily the ‘best’ organisation for human communities – they are certainly not the only forms. By seeing states as entities that sometimes appear in the flow  of human history, we remove the necessity to consider collapse as either an aberration or something with a moral value. Collapse can itself be reorganisation and adaptation, and post-collapse periods too can see different forms of organisation appear.

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This short discussion has highlighted some of the key areas of thinking on collapse and associated terms and concepts. It has considered what collapse is – to different scholars, whether collapse is ‘good’ or ‘bad’, and has introduced the ideas of resilience, fragility, reorganisation, and regeneration. It is necessarily brief and many of the issues raised could be explored in much more depth and nuance. Nevertheless, it should serve as something of an introduction to collapse and provide some context to the evidence presented in the rest of the volume.

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I thank Norman Yoffee for alerting me to the publication of his new and important edited volume on fragility (Yoffee 2019), which clearly bears on the issue of the collapse of ancient states.

1. Introducing collapse

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For readers interested in following up this discussion, works to consult include Yoffee (2019), Storey and Storey (2018; 2017), Middleton (2017a and b; 2012), Faulseit (2016), McAnany and Yoffee (2014), Schwartz and Nichols (2006), and the foundational works of Tainter (1988; also 2016; 1999), Yoffee and Cowgill (1988), and R enfrew (1984). An exploration of the various discourses of environmental collapse in modern society can be found in Vogelaar, Hale and Peat (2018).

R e fe r e n c e s Aron, L. (2011) Everything you think you know about the collapse of the Soviet Union is wrong. Foreign Policy. https://foreignpolicy.com/2011/06/20/everything-you-think-you-know-aboutthe-collapse-of-the-soviet-union-is-wrong/ Bronson, B. (1988) The role of barbarians in the fall of states. In N. Yoffee and G.L. Cowgill (eds) he Colla se o ncient tates and Ci ili ations 196–218. Tucson, The University of Arizona Press. Brown, P. (1971) The World of Late Antiquity. London, Thames and Hudson. Chew, S.C. (2005) From Harappa to Mesopotamia and Egypt to Mycenae: Dark Ages, political/economic declines, and environmental/climatic changes. In C. Chase-Dunn and E.N. Anderson (eds) he istorical olution o orld yste s, 52–74. New York, Palgrave. Cowgill, G.L. (1988) Onward and upward with collapse. In N. Yoffee and G.L. Cowgill (eds) he Colla se o ncient tates and Ci ili ations 244–276. Tucson, The University of Arizona Press. Demarest, A.A. (2001) Climatic change and the Maya collapse: the return of catastrophism. Latin American Antiquity 12(1), 105–107. Demarest, A.A. (2014) The Classic Maya collapse, water, and economic change in Mesoamerica: critique and alternatives from the ‘Wet Zone’. In G. Iannone (ed.) The Great Maya Droughts in Cultural Conte t: Case tudies in esilience and Vulnerability, 177–206. Denver, University Press of Colorado. Diamond, J. (2005) Colla se: o ocieties Choose to ail or ur i e. London, Penguin. Eisenstadt, S.N. (1988) Beyond collapse. In N. Yoffee and G.L. Cowgill (eds) Colla se o ncient tates and Ci ili ations, 236–243. Tucson, University of Arizona Press. Faulseit, R .K. (2016) eyond Colla se: rchaeological Pers ecti es on esilience e itali ation and rans or ation in Co le Societies. Carbondale, Southern Illinois University Press. Gunderson, L.H. and Holling, C.S. (eds) (2002) Panarchy: Understanding Transformations in Human and Natural Systems. Washington, DC, Island Press. Heather, P. (2005) he all o the o an ire. London, Pan. Iannone, G. (2016) R elease and reorganization in the tropics: a comparative perspective from southeast Asia. In R .K. Faulseit (ed.) eyond Colla se: rchaeological Pers ecti es on esilience e itali ation and rans or ation in Co le ocieties 179–212. Carbondale, Southern Illinois University Press.

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Kaufman, H. (1988) The collapse of ancient states and civilizations as an organizational problem. In N. Yoffee and G.L. Cowgill (eds) he Colla se o ncient tates and Ci ili ations 219–235. Tucson, The University of Arizona Press. McAnany, P.A. and Yoffee N. (2014) uestioning Colla se: u an esilience cological ulnera ility and the ter ath of Empire. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Middleton, G.D. (2012) Nothing lasts forever: environmental discourses on the causes of past societal collapse. Journal of rchaeological esearch 20(3), 257–307. Middleton, G.D. (2017a) The show must go on: collapse, resilience, and transformation in twenty-first century archaeology.  e ie s in Anthropology 46 (2–3), 78–105. Middleton, G.D. (2017b) nderstanding Colla se: ncient History and Modern Myths. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. R edman, C.L. and Kinzig, A.P. (2003) R esilience of past landscapes: resilience theory, society, and the longue durée. Conser ation cology 7(1), 14. R enfrew, C. (1984) Systems collapse as social transformation. In C. R enfrew roaches to ocial rchaeology 366–389. Cambridge, Harvard University Press. Schwartz, G.M. (2006) From collapse to regeneration. In G.M. Schwartz and J.J. Nichols (eds) ter Colla se: he egeneration o Co le ocieties, 3–17. Tucson, Arizona University Press. Schwartz, G.M. and Nichols, J.J. (eds) (2006) ter Colla se: he egeneration o Co le ocieties Tucson, Arizona University Press. Scott, J.C. (2017) gainst the Grain: Dee istory o the arliest States. New Haven, Yale University Press. Simon, H. (1965) The architecture of complexity. Y earbook of the ociety or General yste s esearch 10, 63–76. Storey, R . and Storey, G. (2017) o e and the Classic Maya: Co aring the lo Colla se o Ci ili ations. New York, R outledge. Storey R . and Storey G.R . (2018) The collapse of complex societies. In C. Smith (ed.) Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. Springer, Cham. Tainter, J.A. (1988) he Colla se o Co le ocieties. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Tainter, J.A. (1999) Post-collapse societies. In G. Barker (ed.) Co anion ncyclo edia o rchaeology, 988–1039. R outledge, London, Tainter, J.A. (2006) Archaeology of overshoot and collapse. Annual e ie o nthro ology 35, 59–74. ainter,  J.A.  (201 )  hy  collapse  is  so  difficult  to  understand.  In R .K. Faulseit (ed.) eyond Colla se: rchaeological Pers ecti es on esilience e itali ation and rans or ation in Co le ocieties, 27–39. Carbondale, Southern Illinois University Press. Vogelaar, A., Hale, B., and Peat, A. (eds) (2018) The Discourses o n iron ental Colla se. London, R outledge. Walker, B. and Salt, D. (2006) esilience hin ing: ustaining cosyste s and Peo le in a Changing orld Washington DC, Island Press. Ward-Perkins, B. (2005) he all o o e and the nd o Ci ili ation Oxford, Oxford University Press.

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Yoffee, N. (1988) Orienting collapse. In N. Yoffee and G.L. Cowgill (eds) he Colla se o ncient tates and Ci ili ations 1–19. Tucson, The University of Arizona Press. Yoffee, N. (2005) Myths o the rchaic tate: olution o the arliest Cities tates and Ci ili atons. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Yoffee, N. (ed.) (2019) he olution o ragility: etting the Terms. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological R esearch. https://doi.org/10.17863/CAM.40692

Yoffee, N. and Cowgill, G.L. (eds) (1988) he Colla se o ncient tates and Ci ili ations Tucson, The University of Arizona Press. Young, M.N. and Leemans, R . (2007) Group report: future scenarios of human-environment systems. In R . Costanza, L.J. Graumlich and W. Steffen (eds) ustaina ility or Colla se n Integrated History and Future of People on Earth, 447–470. Cambridge, Dahlem University Press and Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

2 Mycenaean collapse(s) c. 1200 BC Guy D. Middleton

I n t r od

u c t i on

This chapter provides some context and orientation to the Mycenaean palace period of the Late Bronze Age (LBA), the collapse c. 1200 BC, and the postpalatial period, and critically discusses several suggested explanations. It proposes that, rather than focusing on ‘external’ causes, the existence of which is dubious, we see the collapse primarily at a human level as an outcome of the dynamic political situation that must have existed within and between the states and regions of LBA Greece. Following this line of reasoning, it suggests that expansion, fragility and hegemonic failure might provide at least some explanation of the collapse of the palace states and the archaeological record, as it appears to do in several other cases of collapse, e.g. the Akkadian and Hittite empires, and Classic Maya state collapses (see Middleton 2017, 2018c and forthcoming). It also emphasises that collapse was only partial; that is, only the palace states collapsed and much of thirteenth-century BC Greece was ‘non-palatial’. This means that there was clear uninterrupted continuity in many regions, in terms of population, culture and traditions. It was specifically state-level political units that collapsed c. 1200 BC and some aspects of elite-sponsored material culture and traditions that disappeared, though this was accompanied by a reduction in visible sites that began in the thirteenth century.

T h e M yc e n ae a n w or l d i n t h e t h i r t e e n t h c e n t u r y By 1200 BC, there had been fairly simple state-level societies in mainland Greece for perhaps two centuries (Bennet 2013; Dickinson 2014a). It is generally reckoned that six or seven mainland states developed there, each with small (by Near Eastern standards) urban centres with royal palaces as capitals for ruling kings (wanax = king). There was an Argolid state, dominated by the twin palace sites of Mycenae and Tiryns, a

Messenian state, with its capital at Pylos, a Lakonian state, with its palace at Ayios Vasileios, and palaces at Thebes in southern Boeotia, Orchomenos and Gla in northern Boeotia, and Iolkos (and possibly Kastro-Palaia) in Thessaly; there may have been a Mycenaean state based at Athens in the later thirteenth century too. Tablets with Linear B writing in Greek have been found at several but not all of these palaces (including recently at Kastro-Palaia in Thessaly (Archaeological Reports 57 (2011), 77–78)), and these demonstrate the existence of a clear social hierarchy with a king, ‘companions’, priests and priestesses, dependent workers, and the existence of a civic body called the damos (later Greek demos – the people) (Bennet and Shelmerdine 2008, 292–295). However, not all palaces or palace states were the same in all aspects (Olivier 1984). Various differences in history and society have been deduced from the Linear B records of Pylos and Knossos (see e.g. Olsen 2014 and Shelmerdine 1999a). By way of comparison, in Classical times, there were more than a thousand city-states in Greece, of various sizes, political and social organisation, and clout. How powerful palace centres were, or came to be, in ‘their’ own territories is unclear, and again there may have been differences. Bennet (2007; see also Davis and Bennet 1999) has described the development and expansion of the Pylos state from small local beginnings to a large territorial state. This no doubt involved the Pylian elite employing techniques such as alliance and co-operation, strategic intermarriage, as well as coercion and conflict, over time.  We should not assume a simple linear ‘progress’, expansion, or even consolidation – policy no doubt changed across the LBA and according to circumstance and the personal ambitions and successes of rulers and factions. The Pylos Linear B documents indicate, at the end of the thirteenth century, an administrative organisation of two provinces,

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sixteen districts and around 240 sites; Cosmopoulos (2006) proposes a four-tier hierarchy of sites, with Pylos at the top. The recent excavation of major buildings and the recovery of fresco decoration (Smith 2013, 30) and (the earliest mainland) Linear B from Iklaina, only 10 km from Pylos, add new detail to this story. The evidence suggests that Iklaina may once have been the centre of an independent state close to Pylos (Cosmopoulos 2019). The site was destroyed around the mid-thirteenth century BC, at the same time as Pylos itself was expanding; probably the Iklaina state was conquered and absorbed by the Pylos state. Iklaina seems to have remained important as a local ‘capital’ that was recorded as * a-pu2 on the later Pylian Linear B (Cosmopoulos 2019, 370). Messenia in the late thirteenth century can therefore be considered a large territorial state, or it was imagined as such  in  the  Linear  B,  but  even  so  the  direct  influence  (or  interference) of the palace may have been primarily in its own environs, and at key strategic locations and a ‘light touch’ in peripheral areas. Palaima (2004, 269–270) suggests that their direct influence of the palaces may have been felt  ‘by most inhabitants of the territory only intermittently and indirectly’. Palaces and palace states are no longer seen as totalitarian-type entities that regulated all aspects of life and redistributed most produce. However, elements of the population of palace states may periodically have been ‘recruited’ by the palaces for military service, building, or other work, and some, perhaps of the more elite sort, took part in palace-sponsored events such as feasting. The Mycenae state’s expansion in the fourteenth century may be visible in the destruction and rebuilding of a new and different type of palace at Tiryns (Maran 2015, 280) and in the thirteenth century may be visible with the founding and management of the port town of Kalamianos on the Saronic Gulf (Pullen 2019). This port, emphasising Mycenae’s clout, was presumably used for trade and military purposes, and may have helped Mycenae to eclipse the formerly important site of Kolonna, on nearby Aegina (Tartaron et al. 2011, 630–631). This ties in with the spread of goods originating in the Argolid across the Aegean (Voutsaki 2001). Unfortunately, Linear B texts are not as plentiful as at Pylos. How far Mycenae’s power stretched is unclear – and we return to this below. The relationship between the mainland centres and Crete in Mycenaean palatial times is a matter of considerable debate (Driessen and Langohr 2007). Knossos had a Linear B-using administration after the Neopalatial destruction of the Minoan palace, but this final palace was also destroyed  before 1200 BC (in LM IIIA2-B early, according to R ehak and Younger 1998, 92, 149, 160); Chania, also with Linear B, survived until later on, perhaps to c. 1200 BC or after, but  its  significance,  whether  it  was  the  centre  of  an  independent palace state, as it seems to have been in Minoan times, or was attached to a mainland centre, is not clear. There was movement of goods from Crete to the mainland,

as demonstrated by the presence of inscribed stirrup jars (e.g. Hallager 1987). Sherratt (2001, 238) has characterised the palaces and their administrative culture as ‘clumsily grafted’ onto a client-based warrior society, but this underestimates their importance and longevity in the history of Mycenaean Greece. The long and ongoing development of the palaces and states over a significant time reflected political, social,  cultural and economic changes in the regions and within a Mycenaean culture zone and more widely within the Aegean and eastern Mediterranean. As they cohered and expanded, and became more deeply embedded in the fabric of Greek society, they in turn acted as influencers, creating in some  areas across Greece a ‘palatial habitus’ that enculturated the population around in a certain ‘palace-centric’ world view. The palace societies of the late thirteenth century BC thus had a not inconsiderable body of history and tradition behind them, and the palaces undoubtedly served as focal points in the political, economic, and social landscape of their own regions and the wider Aegean. For the inhabitants of these parts of Greece in the later thirteenth century, their mental world would have incorporated a long palatial past, full of characters and events, and a normative world of kings, palaces, armies and states. Many regions of Greece, such as Achaea, Corinthia, Elis, Arcadia, Phokis and Lokris, Aetolia, Acarnania, have not, at least as yet, revealed any palace centres or Linear B, though there were some notable sites, such as Delphi, Krisa, and Teikhos Dymaion (e.g. Arena 2015; Pullen and Tartaron 2007).1 These regions were no less ‘Mycenaean’ than the palatial areas. The Aegean islands too have revealed no palaces, though sites such as Kanakia on Salamis were important in the thirteenth century (Middleton 2010, 6, 76–77). R hodes is also considered an important ‘Mycenaean’ region, although no major LBA urban centre or palace is known; it has even been proposed as the centre of Ahhiyawa, an important kingdom located to the west of the Anatolian Hittites, generally now accepted to be a Mycenaean/Greek (‘Achaean’) state (Mountjoy 1998). But there was certainly a  flow  of  culture  –  material  and  otherwise  –  and  presumably people between palatial and the equally ‘Mycenaean’ non-palatial areas; Eder (2007) has argued for palatial control of some of these, based on the distribution of seal stones. These areas need not be seen as backward, or as having ‘failed’ to develop, or indeed as subordinate; non-state societies have flourished throughout history alongside states  (see e.g. Scott 2011). Contemporary with the Mycenaean period, the Hittites in Anatolia lived alongside the non-state Kaska peoples. These non-palatial regions too would have had their own histories and traditions, which scaffolded a different but still ‘Mycenaean’ habitus for their inhabitants. We should imagine, then, that there were various political and social arrangements in Mycenaean Greece and the Aegean towards the end of the thirteenth century (Dickinson

2. Mycenaean collapse(s) c. 1200 BC 2014a, 158), and that people’s views of their own domains and their expectations and place in the world, were varied and the product of a deep, dynamic, complex and entangled history.2 Finally, it should be pointed out that the term ‘Mycenaean’ strictly designates a material culture, and only secondarily the people who used that culture. Whilst convenient, referring to the people of Greece as ‘Mycenaeans’ (or as Greeks) may obscure some real diversity felt by the populations in question – we have no idea whether there was any panhellenic feeling amongst (all or some of) the bearers of Mycenaean culture, let alone across Greece, Crete and the Aegean, such as existed much later. It is perhaps most likely that if such a feeling did exist to any extent, it was most apparent amongst the palace rulers and elites, who would have shared more frequent and regular contacts and sets of royal and aristocratic values. Not everyone in the Aegean or even mainland Greece necessarily spoke Greek – even if it was, with apparent local variations, the language of the Linear B tablets (Janko 2018). Diversity is probable, given that Eteocretan and perhaps other languages (e.g. ‘Pelasgian’) survived in the Aegean into historical times (Middleton 2018b, 119–120). The famous quote about the peoples and languages of Crete from the Odyssey may be indicative. Thus, in Crete: … there are many men, past counting, and ninety cities. They have not all the same speech, but their tongues are mixed. There dwell Achaeans, there great-hearted native Cretans, there Cydonians, and Dorians of waving plumes, and goodly Pelasgians (Odyssey 19, 172–177).

Some have thought of a Greek-speaking Mycenaean elite and an oppressed non-Greek underclass, imagined from the notion of Greeks as a distinct group of Indo-European invaders, but there is little support for this view (Dickinson 2016; Janko 2018). In the Late Bronze Age, different dialects of Greek were presumably present, as they were later on, and probably different languages were spoken too. But just as a common language or culture does not automatically equate with shared identity, or fellow-feeling and peaceful relations, differences and diversity need not inevitably  result  in  conflict  and  fault  lines.  e  need  only  look at the historical Greeks to see that a shared identity above the level of polis identity in no way reduced competition or conflict between them – and many were happy to  fight on the side of  barbarians’ against their fellow Greeks.  Whilst they may not have been unusually ‘warlike’, as they have been portrayed (in contrast to supposedly ‘peaceful Minoans’ – see Dickinson 2014b), the Mycenaeans will have regularly engaged in conflicts throughout Greece and  the  Aegean,  and  perhaps  even  further  afield,  in  the  Late  Bronze Age, whether as state actors, other groups, or on an individual level (i.e. as mercenaries).

D e s t r u c t i on

s , e n d i n gs

an

11

d d at e s

The collapse is marked by fiery destructions at major palace sites, including in the Argolid at Mycenae, Tiryns (and Midea), Pylos in Messenia, and elsewhere in northern (Iolkos) and central (Orchomenos, Thebes and Gla) Greece, and probably Athens (a palace?), as well as at the non-palatial defended site of Teikhos Dymaion in Achaea and other smaller sites (Middleton 2010, 12–15). The palaces, built around megaron throne rooms, each with a large hearth surrounded by four columns and a throne on the right wall, were destroyed. The Linear B-style writing and by implication the administrative system used, by at least some of the palaces, was abandoned. The building of ‘cyclopean’ constructions (bridges, citadels, hydrological engineering, roads, tombs), and  numerous  fine  arts,  including  seal  carving  and  fresco  painting, ceased. Many sites appear abandoned, which may indicate population decline, dispersal, and nucleation, a trend perhaps beginning some time before c. 1200 BC; this is particularly noticeable in Messenia. Funerary traditions generally began to shift slowly away, over time, from multiple burials to single burials and cremation and Mycenaean pottery eventually merged into and was superseded by the Protogeometric style in the eleventh century (Lemos 2002, 8). The date of collapse in Greece is generally given, conveniently but almost certainly misleadingly, as a point date – c. 1200 BC, at the end of the LH IIIB2 ceramic phase (Bennet 2013, 252–254; Deger-Jalkotzy 2008; Dickinson 2010; Drews 1993; Knapp and Manning 2016; Middleton 2010).  Manning  (200 )  has  discussed  the  difficulty  of  providing a secure absolute dating for the end of the LBA, but suggests that: a date range ca. 1200 BCE can still be used as a suitable ‘textbook’ round number approximation, so long as we are mindful that the relevant time period might in fact have been a few decades earlier or later (and need not have been contemporary across the relevant cultures/areas), and that the processes involved covered periods of time rather than point events.

This last comment is certainly important and is generally agreed. Jung (2003, 254), for example, has also pointed out that ‘to assume that all Mycenaean palaces of the Aegean and even other sites in remote regions … were destroyed within a short period of time, i.e. more or less contemporarily … is  surely  an  oversimplification’   opham  (1994,  2 1)  too  suggested a period of twenty-five years or more.3 If we consider ‘the collapse’ as a process that took some time,  punctuated  by  historically  specific  events,  rather  than a point, it remains unclear when we should place its beginnings and endings. It has often been suggested that the later thirteenth century was a period of crisis, but this seems largely based on hindsight and a ‘business as usual’ scenario for this period is also supported by the evidence

Guy D. Middleton

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(Maran 2009; Middleton 2017). The construction of wells in citadels and the continued construction of cyclopean defences at Mycenae, Tiryns and Athens were not rushed and need not have been carried out in response to imminent specific  threats  rather  than  being  continued  strategies  of  display and simple improvements to sites by rulers. The ‘crisis’ interpretations of Linear B texts as evidence for heightened defensive measures, such as coastal lookouts and the requisition of ‘temple bronze’ to make extra weapons, are questionable; there is no indication in terms of the supply and demand of goods recorded, or the activities being carried out, that suggest anything out of the ordinary. Surely any major or unusual threat would have resulted in the creation of some more obviously military records at the time (see comment by Shelmerdine 1999b, 405). Based on his work at the citadel of Tiryns, which has involved close examination of the architectural history, and a consideration of the other evidence more generally, Maran (2009, 255) doubts ‘that on the eve of the catastrophe the political dignitaries felt they were living under the shadow of a crisis’. We should be wary of giving a single clear characterisation of the ‘mood’ of the mainland, or the Aegean as a whole, in the later thirteenth century.

P os t p al at i al

G r e e c e

Despite the very visible collapse of the Mycenaean palaces, and the abandonment of a variety of elements of high elite or royal culture (e.g. the megarons, Linear B, major building works etc.), the Mycenaean period did not end. The postpalatial Late Helladic IIIC period was a long phase of about a century and a half, some five or more generations  it cannot  simply be relegated to the status of an irrelevant adjunct to the heyday of the Mycenaean palaces or as a bleak forerunner to a Dark Age. More positive views of the period in its own right are possible. R utter (1992, 70), for example, states that ‘despite some major shifts in how people were distributed in the landscape and what was probably a substantial decline in the overall population, the Aegean world weathered the actual palatial collapse of c. 1200 BC well enough’. Maran (2016) and Thomatos (2006) have suggested something of an LH IIIC Middle resurgence. Continuing work at Tiryns and the publications of Maran especially also show interesting things happening after the collapse, with a new building, Building T, making selective use of the earlier palatial megaron plan and throne emplacement, which suggests the presence of an organising ‘authority’ (see Maran 2002; 2006; 2011; 2016). Of LH IIIC Middle Mycenae, French notes (2002, 140) that ‘it is clear that there must have been some kind of governance’. Even in Messenia, which seems the most affected by apparent population decline (Harrison and Spencer 2008, 148–149), there was activity on the site of the palace, though its precise nature is unclear (Griebel and Nelson 2008; see also Popham 1991 and Mountjoy 1997); a

tholos tomb at Tragana was reused from the twelfth to tenth/ ninth centuries BC and a chamber tomb built at Pisaskion, which contained a bronze bowl and LH IIIC Middle pictorial Mycenaean pottery (Eder 2006, 550–554; Lemos 2002, 194). Janko (2018) has suggested linguistic continuity of the ‘Mycenaean’ Arcado-Cypriot dialect, which he argues remained widespread until c. 1100 BC, after which there was some change and development in language and the distribution of dialects. In non-palatial areas continuity is assured, since there were no palace states to collapse. Morgan (1999, 365–366), for example, writing about Corinthia, suggests that there is ‘no reason to assume anything other than a very gradual and peaceful transformation of community life’ and also that Corinth ‘gained in size and importance during LH IIIC’. Achaea and the Euboean Gulf regions thrived after the palaces (Arena 2015; Kramer-Hajos 2016). In western Greece and the Ionian islands, even in the eleventh century, the Mycenaean kylix remained an important shape and there were  strong  Mycenaean  influences  which  have  parallels  with the Dark Age I pottery from Messenia and Olympia’ (Lemos 2002, 195). LH IIIC bronze swords have been found in Submycenaean or Protogeometric graves in Elis, suggesting that older objects remained in circulation. The west, it has been pointed out, ‘expressed an unwillingness to follow developments that can be traced in the eastern parts of Greece’ (Lemos 2002, 195). At Marmariani in northern Thessaly, in the Late/Sub Protogeometric, six tholos tombs were built and used – the area had had a Mycenaean settlement and burials (Lemos 2002, 176). In other parts of Thessaly, Mycenaean tombs continued to be used alongside single cist burials (Lemos 2002, 178). Lemos (2002, 185) notes, however, that it is significant that  there was a total  rejection of multiple burials in the Argolid’ and ‘areas which had been at the core of Mycenaean culture’, so it seems clear that the regions of Greece had divergent trajectories through 1200 BC. It seems to have been the palace rulers and elites associated with them that felt the collapse most directly and strongly. Technologies such as pottery-making, ship-building, and weapons-manufacture continued, and no doubt there was continuity in some economic and social practices (e.g. farming and fishing, mourning practice, sports, aristocratic  values etc.). Many Mycenaean gods and goddesses are to be found in later Greece, though some dropped out of the pantheon at some point. Physical and symbolic continuity in some holy places seems likely, including in areas outside of palace control that were not destroyed, and some sanctuaries may have been founded (e.g. Cosmopoulos 2014; Middleton 2010, 88). New complex Greek societies did not emerge for several centuries and when they did were quite different to the Late Bronze Age palace states, which is interesting but not surprising (Hansen 2013; Morris 2006).4 There is no reason to suspect (or invent) the arrival of a new population,

2. Mycenaean collapse(s) c. 1200 BC though doubtless there was continued and possibly increased regional mobility without the possible restrictions imposed by state authorities (Middleton 2018b).

C au

s e s an

d e xp

l an

at i on

s of

t h e c ol l ap

se

Many explanations of the Mycenaean collapse have been proposed – twenty-six ‘themes’ are roughly noted in T a b l e 2 . 1 . R ather than describe and review all of these, which there is not space to do (see Cline 2014; Deger-Jalkotzy 2008; Knapp and Manning 2016; Middleton 2010), I address a few key themes here.  irst,   briefly introduce the importance of  multicausal thinking, and then critique a popular but flawed  theory of climate-induced collapse. After that, I turn to an examination of the role of warfare and the plausibility of the Mycenaean palatial collapse c. 1200 BC being an example of hegemonic fragility and failure.

Multicausality Mortimer  heeler (19 ,  ) stated five decades ago:  he  fall, like the rise of a civilization is a highly complex operation which can only be distorted by oversimplification.  t  may be taken as axiomatic that there was no one cause of cultural collapse’. Unpredictable interplay between factors, rather than one factor alone, is likely to be important in

state and system failure; as Cline (2014, 170) notes, ‘we are not even certain that we know all of the variables, and we undoubtedly do not know which ones were critical’. In researching significant episodes of change in prehistory, both  of these comments should be held in mind – the complex and specific historical, political, personal and chance factors,  whilst invisible, were not absent. Substituting an admission of how little we can narrate with a simplistic apocalyptic collapse with a corresponding simplistic monocausal explanation is unsatisfying and misleading. Without many historical sources to give a broad narrative, we are obliged to hypothesise and make educated guesses, but these can only go so far. However, considering collapse can potentially help us ask better questions and seek more thorough answers about what preceded it, and it is the duty of the archaeologist and historian to attempt reasonable description and explanation.

Climate change, famine and migration Some studies have blamed climate change, famine, and violent mass migration of Sea Peoples (or people who became Sea Peoples) into Greece (and Anatolia) for the destructions and collapse c. 1200 BC (Kaniewski et al. 2011; 2013; 2019 and Kaniewski and Van Campo 2017 – see originally Carpenter 1966, who proposed three centuries of drought). This somewhat follows Neumann’s

Table 2.1 Twenty-six suggested explanations for the Mycenaean collapse 1. 2.  3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.  15. 1 .  17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26.

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Civil war (war between parties within a polity). Climate change and drought (aridification,  megadrought’). Changes in warfare (from chariot to foot-soldiers, undermining palace power). Decentralisation (power/trade moves from palace centres to others). Earthquakes (major earthquakes/earthquake storms over several years). Economic change (e.g. changing trade routes/access to goods). Environmental damage (deforestation/reducing carrying capacity/basic subsistence/palace income). Faction (divisions and competition at elite and ruling elite levels). Failure of integration (either general population/local elites/territories). Food shortages (often attributed to drought). Hegemonic failure (expanding/imperial states fall apart/failed expansion). Ideological failure (loss of faith in the dominant ideology that underpins society). Invasion/migration (Dorians, non-palatial Mycenaeans, Northerners, Sea Peoples). nterstate interregional conflict (wars between Mycenaean states non-states). Overcentralisation (rigid, ‘totalitarian’ systems unable to cope with changing circumstances). vercomplexity (leading to forced simplification). Overpopulation (exceeding environmental carrying capacity). Overshoot (environmental issues + overpopulation = reduced carrying capacity). Overreach (military/political overextension = failure and instability). Plague (affecting the population, economy, faith in gods/ideology/rulers, opportunities for enemies/revolt). R evolt (elite/peasant/provinces/slave/vassal states). R oyal succession (division within extended royal families/harem conspiracies). Shortage of bronze. System collapse (fragmentation of palatial system). Trade changes/disruption (whether locally or in eastern Mediterranean; affecting wealth economy). World-system collapse (eastern Mediterranean ‘system’; affecting wealth economy).

After Cline 2014, 139–170; Drews 1993; Middleton 2010, 31–53, R utter n.d., with additions.

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Guy D. Middleton

(1993) suggestion that increased rainfall pushed masses of desperate people from the northern Balkans and central Europe into Greece and Anatolia, though posits an eastern Mediterranean megadrought as a mover of people instead. However, such megadrought studies generally rely on limited palaeoclimatic proxy data from outside the areas of palatial Greece itself, do not take account of regional and local microclimatic differences, assume that aridification  automatically  causes  famine  and  disorder  sufficient  to cause state collapse, assume mass migration (without any evidence for numbers) from and into drought areas as a plausible response, and suffer from chronological imprecision (Knapp and Manning 2016; Middleton 2018c). R ather than relying on data from distant locations, Finné et al. (2017) have gathered and analysed proxy data from the Mavro Trypa cave in southwest Greece, within the area of  influence  of  the  ylos  palace.  his  suggests  a  slightly  drier phase in the thirteenth century gradually changing to a wetter phase at the time of collapse, which in turn was followed by drying, which peaked in the Protogeometric period. They argue against the notion of climate-induced collapse, but suggest that the post-collapse climate may have hindered state reconstruction. In addition to continuing archaeological work, it is important to continue adding to the body of palaeoclimatic evidence from all areas of Greece for the Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age transition; local variations may become evident. Hittite and other texts have been interpreted as indicating megadrought and famine c. 1250–1200 BC, though this is disputed and it must be remembered that kings were able to feed  and  field  armies  until  the  very  end  (texts  reviewed  in  Knapp and Manning 2016, 102–112; Middleton 2018c). In Greece, there is no record of a c. 1200 BC famine. Linear B records show, to the contrary, that palaces were distributing normal rations to those who worked for them and sending offerings to sanctuaries (Lupack 2011). Tablet Un 1322 from Pylos, for example, records a payment to a ‘weaver’ (probably a person in charge of a number of weavers) of enough grain to feed sixty workers for a month (Nakassis, Parkinson, and Galaty 2011, 182 n. 44). Thus records from Pylos do not appear to indicate a shortage of food supplies for palace-dependent workers c. 1200 BC and this casts doubt on the idea of any general or acute problems with agricultural production. It has long been recognised that there is no evidence for the arrival of any new populations in Greece (or Anatolia – see Genz 2013) c. 1200 BC (Middleton 2010, 41–45). Indeed, this is what led Carpenter (1966) to develop his own climate-induced collapse narrative. The notion that there was a mass exodus from Greece (i.e. as the Sea Peoples) is also unproven and questionable, though human mobility throughout the period is not in doubt (Dickinson 2010; Middleton 2010, 42–45; 2015; 2018a; see also Janko 2018). Q uite why anyone, let alone a mass of people, would move into an area supposedly suffering from drought and famine

and then migrate into another one is never made clear in these climate-collapse theories. In a different direction, Betancourt (1976) suggested a picture of palatial overspecialisation and high population – and argued that a failure in (or destruction of) crops could have led to regional conflicts and a situation in which palatial  recovery  was  difficult  (see  also  rake  2012).  owadays,  it is recognised that the palaces were not the all-powerful directors of the Mycenaean economy or society and there is no evidence for an overly high population. That does not mean there could have been no ‘popular discontent’, which might have been caused or aggravated by shortages from bad years, but we have no particular reason to suppose the palaces were oppressive or parasitic (but cf. Deger-Jalkotzy 1996). It is possible that hungry populations might have attacked their own (armed and defended) palace centres on the hunt for grain, but again there is no reason to assume that palace authorities themselves would withhold grain or aid from the general population. On the contrary, rulers throughout history have often taken pride in ensuring that populations were well fed, or at least fed, and the possible ‘buffering’ capacity of a ruler or faction has been a common route to the achievement and maintenance of power. We should be wary of applying a relatively simplistic and deterministic causal chain here. Even when climate changes take place or there are runs of bad weather years, human responses are not entirely predictable. Famine is not an automatic consequence of drought, climate change or bad weather – its occurrence is also bound up with social, economic and political circumstances, and with societal attitudes. Famine too does not automatically result in uprisings sufficient to topple a state. A recent study found a  relationship between climate and conflict in modern times,  but  concluded  that  other  conflict  drivers  are  much  more  influential  for  conflict  risk  across  experiences  to  date,  as  compared to climate variability and change’ (Mach et al. 2019,  194).  he  four  most  significant  of  these  were:  low  socio-economic development, low state capability, intergroup  inequality,  and  a  recent  history  of  violent  conflict  (Mach et al. 2019, fig.  a).  hese four variables are likely  to have been present and important in the history of many ancient states, including in the Mycenaean world, whether they endured or collapsed.

War and disease Mylonas (1966) suggested that warfare within Greece was responsible for the collapse. He argued that the c. 1200 BC destructions were not as synchronous as often thought, and therefore that the collapse ‘event’ could be broken down into several events happening over time, not necessarily related, and not necessarily caused by the same party. His view was derived from the later Greek traditions associated with Mycenaean centres, such as Mycenae and Thebes, and the stories of their ruling families. While the historical value of

2. Mycenaean collapse(s) c. 1200 BC the myths is questionable, his view has merit, as it is highly likely that such rivalries and conflicts existed in Mycenaean  times – the evidence of the conquest of Iklaina by Pylos, Tiryns by Mycenae, and the eclipse of Kolonna through the founding of Kalamianos, being cases in point. A general collapse of the palatial system could have come about by accident, as an unintended consequence of specific conflicts and events happening over decades across  palatial Greece. States could potentially have dropped out of the system one by one, eroding the system as a whole; this change  on the ground’ would have led to the modification  of values, traditions, and ideologies, perhaps resulting in the eventual abandonment of former palatial norms, which seemed increasingly irrelevant. It is possible that a situation  developed  in  which  interstate regional  conflict  and  warfare became more widespread, more intense and more destructive, as seems to have been the case in the Classic Maya collapse (see Wahl et al. 2019 and Iannone, Houk and Schwake 2016). Besides the defeat of rulers and armies, and the loss and destruction of resources and sites – considering both loss of power and loss of life – warfare brings with it other problems, such as unstable conditions that disrupt agricultural production, the economy and society (Outram 2002). Conflict can result in the displacement of people and communities, which could seem in the archaeological record like depopulation – as can increased poverty. Instability could result in real population decline over time. Another hazard connected with warfare is disease – the  first  book  of  the  Iliad begins with Apollo setting a plague amongst the Greek host – and some sort of plaguedriven collapse has been suggested by several researchers (Trevisanto 2007; Wallø e 1999; Wilson 1962). Plague could potentially explain the apparent depopulation of Greece, especially visible in Messenia, but other areas too. Plague is attested textually in Hittite Anatolia and Cyprus in the fourteenth century BC, but eastern Mediterranean sources, surely significantly, do not mention it at the end of the thirteenth century (Middleton 2010, 48–50; Linear B, given its limited purpose, would not mention it). No bioarchaeological evidence has been put forward in support of a plague hypothesis; thus positive evidence is lacking. It does seem very likely that warfare was a key feature of the collapse, and a normal or intensifying level of conflict between states themselves (and possibly within states)  and between states and non-state areas could have been a thirteenth century reality. Disruption to the countryside and agriculture may have increased and disease may or may not have had some impact.

Hegemonic breakdown – a context for collapse? n 19 4  esborough stated that he was  firmly convinced  that there was one ruler over the whole Mycenaean territory, with his capital at Mycenae’ (quoted in Thomas 1970, 184).

15

His view depended on ‘the archaeological material taken in conjunction with the fairly frequent mention by the Hittites, in the fourteenth and much of the thirteenth centuries, of the king of a land called Ahhiyawa, which I believe to represent the entire Mycenaean orbit’. It is now generally accepted that Ahhiyawa, the name of a kingdom with a ‘Great King’ mentioned in some Hittite texts, whose royals had some close personal relations with the Hittite court, was a major Mycenaean kingdom that could act in the eastern Aegean (see Beckman, Bryce and Cline 2011). Scholars have proposed Mycenae, Thebes, and R hodes, amongst other places, as the core of the Ahhiyawa (‘Achaea’) kingdom (Hope Simpson 2003; Kelder 2012; Mountjoy 1998; Niemeier 1998). Whilst demonstrating the existence of a powerful, probably Mycenaean kingdom in the LBA, the texts do not prove the existence of a Mycenaean superstate or empire – but they do refer to one kingdom with one king, which in itself is surely a significant point in Aegean  political geography. Thomas (1970) critiqued Desborough’s view and argued that neither ‘epic tradition nor archaeological evidence nor Hittite records’ proved his one kingdom theory. Although she concluded that it was impossible to draw a definite conclusion, in her view Desborough was wrong and ‘the same factors producing fragmentation that prevailed throughout the Hellenic period of Greek history existed during the Mycenaean Age’ (Thomas 1970, 192). Generally, then, a picture of several individual states has been imagined for the Mycenaean period (e.g. Bennet 2013, 244–246; Dickinson 2014a), but recently Kelder (2008; 2012) and Eder and Jung (2015) have re-proposed the idea of  a  unified  Mycenaean  state,  with  a  single  wanax ruling at Mycenae, and local governors at the other palaces. The archaeological similarities between the megarons at Pylos, Mycenae and Tiryns are highly suggestive, as is the similarity of the tombs the Treasury of Atreus at Mycenae and the Treasury of Minyas at Orchomenos (although these can also be explained by peer-polity interaction and the lending of architects between royal courts). As Kelder (2012, 44–45) explains, the Linear B does not prove that the Mycenaean world was made up of several small states – it can equally be interpreted to suggest a super-state context with a Great King, the ‘wanax’, and regional kings or governors. He concludes that Ahhiyawa may have been a ‘conglomerate state’ (Kelder 2012, 46). hile  the  unified  state  theory  has  (again)  met  with  a  mixed response, the idea of expansive hegemony-seeking Mycenaean states, co-existing within a single culture zone, is highly plausible. Parallels can be seen in ancient Mesopotamia, Hittite Anatolia, or the Classic Maya period in central America. All of these saw interstate rivalry and the rise of hegemonic states attempting to dominate other polities within their culture zones. This is also the situation that existed in Archaic and Classical Greece and the

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Guy D. Middleton

Aegean later on, with states of different sizes co-existing with a variety of different relationships, some competing for primacy – often through military action, which could take  place  across  significant  distances  in  the Aegean  and  the central and eastern Mediterranean. It seems highly doubtful that there was a single ‘Mycenaean Empire’ spanning most of Mycenaean Greece for the entire palatial period, but it is beyond reasonable doubt that the political geography of the Late Bronze Age Aegean from 1400–1200 BC must have been very dynamic, with the growth of states, in terms of complexity, size, and clout,  the  acquisition  and  loss  of  territory  and  influence,  including state destruction and absorption, the formation of alliances and rivalries, the interaction of elites and armies in warfare (potentially far from home), and the interaction of state and non-state areas and people. By example from the busy historical periods of Greek history, we cannot imagine a static period of two centuries of fixed states and  fixed  geopolitics  in  the  Mycenaean  Late  Bronze  Age.  A  hegemonic Mycenaean state need not have lasted long, or been all-powerful across the whole of Greece, yet its creation would have potentially significant repercussions. The takeover of Tiryns and Iklaina, other pre-collapse destructions at palaces, rebuilding, and Linear B records of war-gear (Driessen 1999; Shelmerdine 1999b) all support the idea of regular conflict and the possibility of dynastic  or political change at centres, including takeover and subjection. Early Messenia, for example, was clearly in contact with and influenced by Minoan Crete, as demonstrated by  small finds, the adoption of tholos tombs, and Minoan-style  building (design and techniques) on the Ano Englianos hill (Lolos 2008, 75; Nelson 2001). The destruction of this older and more ‘Minoan’ style palace at Pylos took place c. 1300 BC and it was replaced by a palace more akin to those of Mycenae and Tiryns – with an identical megaron (Shelmerdine 2008, 81). This is certainly suggestive of a new regime taking over, which was more concerned about looking like an Argolid state, with a palace and throne room mirroring those at Mycenae and the ‘new’ palace at Tiryns. t may also be significant that there appears not to be any  fortifications for the later  ylos palace, although there were  earlier on – perhaps they were no longer permitted by a higher power. At Thebes, the ‘House of Kadmos’ was destroyed c. 1300 BC, though the city was still an important palace centre after this (Dakouri-Hild 2001, 101, 106–107). The recently discovered palace at Ayios Vasileios in Lakonia, presumably also capital of a palace state, was also destroyed c. 1300 BC (OAW n.d). And there were periodic destructions at Mycenae and Tiryns too (Middleton 2010, 14). It is quite possible that a king from Mycenae defeated the the Ayilos Vasileios/Lakonia state, which may have collapsed and/or been absorbed and/or turned into a buffer zone of some sort, and conquered (or acquired through some other means, such

as dynastic marriage) the Pylos state c. 1300 BC. Perhaps this king also fought Thebes, though that could have been a local conflict between  hebes and  rchomenos Gla (given  the similarity of the Treasury of Atreus at Mycenae and Minyas at Orchomenos, could it be suggested that Mycenae and Orchomenos were allies, perhaps against Thebes?). his  would  also  fit  a  pattern  of  increasing  influence  from  Mycenae into the eastern Aegean, with the possible conquest of, or at least significant interest in  hodes ( outsaki 2001,  209–211),  and  influence’  at  Miletus  ( elder  2004–2005,  72–75; Niemeier 1998). Gla, which may have taken over as a de facto capital of northern Boeotia was destroyed possibly a couple of decades before 1200 BC. These explanations are, of course, speculations, but they are plausible and echo historical situations found in other times and places. Inter-state warfare surely provides the simplest explanation for many earlier and later destructions, and it may have led to the collapse of individual kingdoms and eventually, over time, the whole palace-state system. A state attempting hegemony may look stable in hindsight, and may indeed endure for a long time, but really it is constantly running the risk of failure (e.g. the Hittite and R oman empires); such states can be regarded as inherently ‘fragile’ and prone to collapse (Scott 2017, 183; chapters in Yoffee 2019).5 Measures taken to achieve and maintain hegemony – alliance, persuasion, coercion, war, the delegation of authority to others, whether pre-existing rulers and power structures or new ‘governors’, reconquest or the putting down of ‘rebellions’, can all become problems or fracture points later on. As Gibbon said of R oman expansion – ‘the causes of destruction multiplied with the extent of conquest’ (Gibbon 2000, 435). Explosive pressure could result from attempting to integrate and retain the people and regions a state or empire has absorbed, which all may keenly seek a return to independence or to take over the centre, as with the war-ridden Akkadian Empire (Yoffee and Seri 2019). Among the Classic Maya states, jostling for position within hierarchies of regional power and status, warfare could be frequent and destructive and certainly was the context for the destruction of individual hegemonies and states, and consequent changes through the Terminal Classic period (Wahl et al. 2019; Iannone, Houk, and Schwake 2016; Webster 2000). The Hittite and R oman empires too were beset by rebellions and civil wars, as well as raiding and settlement by neighbouring non-state populations – that they survived so long is, as Gibbon also said, surprising. Kaufman (1988, 233–235) also quite rightly emphasised the fragility of ancient states and empires and the role of chance and luck in their development, survival, and collapse. Unfashionable as it may be, it should be stressed that the course of events could depend on the outcome of a particular battle or campaign, or the choices of an individual or faction – or the unintended consequences of what in a certain set of

2. Mycenaean collapse(s) c. 1200 BC circumstances was a logical choice made by a ‘knowledgeable  actor’  (Middleton  2010,  – ).  Historically  specific  decisions, actions, and events would have been important. Different contexts too could render once good decisions or strategies inappropriate. ‘Hegemonic fragility’ can certainly be exacerbated by other  factors,  such  as  intra-elite  competition  and  conflict  – even within ruling families themselves (as with the Akkadians, Hittites, and R omans) – and external factors such as natural disasters and weather or climatic perturbations that affected harvests, which could create politically risky conditions. Problems that could be overcome at one point in time may at other times have had more serious impacts. The trajectories of such states are unpredictable, though may seem clear in hindsight. n a context of intense conflict, hegemonic fragility may  explain the collapse of the Mycenaean palace states and system, with the complete destructions of some palaces and their state (or ‘vassal state’) infrastructure, abandonment of symbolic  and  tangible  features  of  that  system,  and  a  final  remnant ‘statelet’ left in the Argolid that developed a new ruling ideology expressed in Building T at Tiryns (Maran 2006 and 2011). This ideology at Tiryns selectively referenced the palatial past but was consciously different from it, suggesting a deliberate break with the past order. Hegemonic collapse can provide valid reasons for the failure to rebuild palaces. For example, if the last Pylos palace was a ‘colonial’ imposition from Mycenae, then being essentially a symbol of an occupying power, its destruction may have been welcomed by, and perpetrated by, ‘locals’. The symbolic value of the palace and the system or order it represented may have been deliberately rejected. A fragmented and potentially war-torn Messenia, perhaps seeking and possibly gaining independence from the Argolid, may have been reduced to poverty and economic decline (though ‘decline’ is a loaded term), hence the relative invisibility of the postpalatial population. Other centres elsewhere in Greece may have been swept up in the conflict, due to  alliances with combatants or seeking advantage in troubled times (as in later Greek history). In a context of intense or severe conflict over perhaps decades, the abandonment of  sites and depopulation can be easily understood. Disease too may have played a role in the context of fighting.  he  selective and regional pattern of population change in formerly palatial areas, with non-palatial areas little impacted, can also make sense here. The hypothesis of hegemonic collapse is speculative, but has many advantages; it draws together a realistic view of a dynamic Mycenaean period, the spread of palatial features and periodic and final destructions, the failure to rebuild palaces, and the changes at postpalatial Tiryns and in Messenia. It can also be integrated with other potentially destabilising factors, such as earthquakes, plague, and drought. It is surely right that ‘the collapse’ was a process – one likely to happen

17

but unpredictable and brought about by historically specific  people, motivations, and circumstances. As another historical parallel, we can recall the conquests of Alexander, driven by the force of his personality. Despite successful conquests and the foundation of cities and even an interconnected Hellenic world, he failed to create a stable empire, and following his death came forty years of wars between his successors, which were marked by ‘high adventure, intrigue, passion, assassinations, dynastic marriages, treachery, shifting alliances, and mass slaughter on battlefield after battlefield’ ( aterfield 2011, ix).  e have  a rather bare picture of the LBA collapse, but can imagine similar circumstances obtaining in the Aegean across two, three or four decades.

T h e e as t e r n M e d i t e r r an

e an

So far, the Mycenaean collapse has been considered on its own, without being included within a wider eastern Mediterranean collapse narrative that envisions, or implies, a single ‘great collapse’, and a single cause of collapse, or at least a single set of defining characteristics – namely  climate change, mass migration, and the Sea Peoples – for everything happening c. 1200 BC (see e.g. Bachhuber and R oberts 2009; Fischer and Burge 2017; Gitin, Mazar and Stern 1998; Oren 2000; Ward and Joukowsky 1992). The key sources of evidence that the Sea Peoples narrative is built on (reviewed in Knapp and Manning 2016, also Middleton 2015 and 2018a and b) are the Medinet Habu inscriptions on the mortuary temple of R amesses III, which accompany vivid depictions of the pharaoh defeating the Sea Peoples as they approach in ships. It states: The foreign countries made a conspiracy in their islands. All at once the lands were removed and scattered in the fray. No land could stand before their arms, from Hatti, Q ode, Carchemish, Arzawa and Alashiya on, being cut off at one time. A camp was set up in one place in Amurru. They desolated its people, and its land was like that which has never come into being. They were coming forward toward Egypt,  while  the  flame  was  prepared  before  them.  heir  confederation was the Peleset, Tjeker, Shekelesh, Denyen, and Weshesh, lands united. They laid their hands upon the land as far as the circuit of the earth, their hearts confident  and trusting: ‘Our plans will succeed! ’ (Bryce 2005, 333).

The idea of an invasion of Greece by ‘Sea Peoples’ from the  north  (not  by  sea )  has  already  been  discussed  briefly  above. However, a number of researchers (e.g Vermeule 1960; Sandars 1978; Sherratt 2001; chapters in Parkinson and Galaty 2010) have sought to demonstrate that Greece c. 1200 BC became increasingly cut-off from vital supplies from the eastern Mediterranean – an idea of economic failure and collapse due to external causes. However, what is clear is that contact with the east continued after 1200 BC, it did

Guy D. Middleton

18

not stop, and imports to Greece in the postpalatial LH IIIC were more than in the early palatial (Cline 2007). The development of some aspects of locally made material culture in the east, such as ‘Mycenaean-inspired pottery’, also suggests continued interconnections in the east, especially between Cyprus and the Levant. The Medinet Habu inscription is problematic – it is not history but propaganda and cannot be taken at face value. It is doubted now that the Sea Peoples destroyed the Hittite Empire; their capital, very far from the sea, was gradually abandoned, not torched in an all-out attack (see Genz 2013). Hittite ‘civilisation’ continued in the Neo-Hittite kingdoms (Bryce 2012). There is no evidence for a destruction at Carchemish at this time (and it continued as the major Neo-Hittite kingdom into the Iron Age), and Arzawa had not been a state for decades (Middleton 2018b, 136). The important site of Ugarit was destroyed c. 1200 BC, but this is not mentioned in the Medinet Habu text. Greece too is not mentioned – yet the Egyptians knew of ‘Tanaja’ (Greece) and ‘Keftiu’ (Crete) (Cline and Stannish 2011). Egypt did not collapse c. 1200 BC (Taylor 2000) – and it is ironic that the key evidence for the Sea Peoples narrative, on which so much has been pinned, comes from there (see Adams and Cohen 2013; R oberts 2009; see generally Middleton 2015; 2018a and b). Drews (1993, 51–53) has rightly observed that much has been ‘based not on the [ Medinet Habu] inscriptions themselves, but on their interpretation’. It remains unproven that the collapse of the Mycenaean kingdoms – or the hegemonic power – was at all related to anything happening elsewhere in the Mediterranean, even if it is tempting (or ‘neat’) to infer such a relation. The collapse of the Mycenaean palaces and the trajectory of Greece and the Aegean through c. 1200 BC requires, in the first place, consideration on its own merits, hence this  chapter and this volume.

C on

c l u s i on

s

Of the collapse c. 1200 BC in Greece, it remains difficult to  describe more than that there was a relatively widespread set of destructions at major centres and significant culture  change, mostly involving the loss of high elite features such as megaron-palace centres, writing and monumental building. At Tiryns, a remnant power seems to have established itself, though its relation to the preceding power is unclear. At the same time, there was continuity and no collapse in non-palatial areas. It is accurate to say that the palatial society of Greece collapsed, along with its key visible features, but that the Mycenaean culture transformed over time into what would become the Protogeometric and eventually historical Greece. With such a bare picture of events and history, it is then  difficult  to  offer  convincing  explanations  for  why  such changes occurred. However, comparison with other

periods of Greek history and with other cultures, especially independent polities within shared culture zones, helps us set the Mycenaean period and its end in a more realistic, and surely more accurate context of dynamic changes and constant interaction between centres and regions. Working back from the collapse to imagine the palatial-era world, we can plausibly hypothesise that it may well have come about as  a  result  of  kingdoms  seeking  influence  and  hegemony  and experiencing the well-known problems that come with such a strategy. Collapse was not necessarily predictable, though its occurrence is also unsurprising; the collapse need not have been preceded by any kind of special ‘decline’ or ‘anxiety’, or ‘crisis’. The milieu of Late Bronze Age Greece and the Aegean was created by human factors – the ambitions of individuals and groups, politics at local, regional, and pan-Aegean levels, the search for resources and wealth, the need to subsist, all set in a real historical and cultural context and ongoing. The collapse must primarily be seen through this lens. At the same time, this was a collapse of palatial societies only – perhaps driven by a failed (at least in the long run) attempt at some sort of hegemony. The continuity and developments in non-palatial areas and areas more peripheral to some states is made more understandable – no palaces   no conflict   no collapse, just continuity and slow  transformation of their own Mycenaean culture. Thus ‘the collapse’, significant and severe as it was, was not a single  universal break between Mycenaean and later Greek culture.

A c k n ow

l e d gm

e n ts

I would like to thank Michael Cosmopoulos for kindly sending me his 2019 article on Iklaina and R ichard Janko for sending me his paper on the dialects of Greece in the palatial and postpalatial periods.

Notes 1

2

Assuming that a lack of palaces, urban areas, or populous, showy, or otherwise ‘big’ sites equates to a lack of clout is, as Thucydides pointed out, a fallacy; as he stated: ‘… I suppose if Lacedaemon were to become desolate, and the temples and the foundations of the public buildings were left, that as time went on there would be a strong disposition with posterity to refuse to accept her fame as a true exponent of her power. And yet they occupy two-fifths of  eloponnese  and lead the whole, not to speak of their numerous allies without. Still, as the city is neither built in a compact form nor  adorned  with  magnificent  temples  and  public  edifices,  but composed of villages after the old fashion of Hellas, there would be an impression of inadequacy. Whereas, if Athens were to suffer the same misfortune, I suppose that any inference from the appearance presented to the eye would make her power to have been twice as great as it is’ (1.10). For comparison, in Classical Greece there were large and small poleis as well as other political arrangements such as

2. Mycenaean collapse(s) c. 1200 BC

3

4

5

ethnoi and amphictyonies and confederacies. Some states were territorially large – e.g. Sparta, others tiny. Poleis themselves differed widely in their style of governance – democracies, oligarchies, etc. See e.g. R oger Brock and Stephen Hodkinson Alternatives to Athens: Varieties of Political Organization and Community in Ancient Greece (Oxford University Press, 2002). A workshop organised by R einhard Jung and Eleftheria Kardamaki was held at the Austrian Academy of Science in 2018. Entitled ‘Synchronising the destructions of the Mycenaean palaces’, it engaged experts in attempting to refine  what happened when. Unfortunately, at the time of writing, the proceedings have not yet been published. One way it is interesting is that it demonstrates that quite different socio-political entities could exist in the same environments, their historical trajectories affected by, but not determined by them. Elite factions or ruling dynasties within ancient states faced the same problems in getting and maintaining power over a ‘state’ as they did an ‘empire’, but clearly on a different scale. Both were fragmentable units.

R e fe r e n c e s Adams, M.J. and Cohen, M.E. (2013) The ‘Sea Peoples’ in primary sources. In A.E. Killebrew and G. Lehmann (eds) The Philistines and Other ‘Sea Peoples’ in Text and Archaeology, 645–664. Atlanta, Society of Biblical Literature. Arena, E. (2015) Mycenaean peripheries during the palatial age: the case of Achaia. Hesperia 84, 1–46. Bachhuber, C. and R oberts, R .G. (eds) (2009) Forces of Transformation: The End of the Bronze Age in the Mediterranean. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Beckman, G., Bryce, T. and Cline, E.H. (2011) The Ahhiyawa Texts. Atlanta, Society of Biblical Literature. Bennet, J. (2007) Pylos: the expansion of a Mycenaean palatial center. In M.L. Galaty and W.A. Parkinson (eds) Rethinking Mycenaean Palaces II, 29–39. Los Angeles, The Cotsen Institute of Archaeology. Bennet, J. (2013) Bronze Age Greece. In P.F. Bang and W. Scheidel (eds) The State in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean, 235–258. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Bennet, J. and Shelmerdine, C.W. (2008) Mycenaean states: economy and administration. In C.W. Shelmerdine (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Aegean Bronze Age, 289–309. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Bryce, T. (2012) The World of the Neo-Hittite Kingdoms: A Political and Military History. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Carpenter, R . (1966) Discontinuity in Greek Civilization. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Cline, E.H. (2007) R ethinking Mycenaean international trade with Egypt and the Near East. In M.L. Galaty and W.A. Parkinson (eds) Rethinking Mycenaean Palaces II, 190–200. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology. Cline, E.H. (2014) 1177 BC: The Y ear Civilization Collapsed. Princeton, Princeton University Press. Cline, E.H. and Stannish, S.M. (2011) Sailing the great green sea? Amenhotep III’s ‘Aegean list’ from Kom el-Hetan, once more. Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 3(2), 6–16.

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Cosmopoulos, M.B. (2006) The political landscape of Mycenaean states: A-pu2 and the hither province of Pylos. American Journal of Archaeology 110(2), 205–228. Cosmopoulos, M.B. (2014) Cult, continuity, and social memory: Mycenaean Eleusis and the transition to the Early Iron Age. American Journal of Archaeology 118(3), 401–427. Cosmopoulos, M.B. (2019) State formation in Greece: Iklaina and the unification of Mycenaean  ylos. American Journal of Archaeology 123(3), 349–380. Dakouri-Hild, A. (2001) The House of Kadmos in Mycenaean Thebes. Annual of the British School of Athens 96, 81–122. Davis, J.L. and Bennet, J. (1999) Making Mycenaeans: warfare, territorial expansion, and representations of the other in the ylian kingdom.  n  . Laffineur (ed.) POLEMOS. Le contexte guerrier en É gée à l’Â ge du Bronze. Aegaeum 19, 105–120. Liè ge: University of Liè ge. Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (1996) On the negative aspects of the Mycenaean palatial system. In E. De Miro, L. Godart and A. Sacconi (eds) Atti e memorie del secondo Congresso internazionale di micenologia, Roma-Napoli, 14–20 ottobre 1991, 715–728. R oma, Gruppo editoriale internazionale. Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (2008) Decline, destruction, aftermath. In C.W. Shelmerdine (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Aegean Bronze Age, 387–415. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Dickinson, O.T. (2010) The collapse at the end of the Bronze Age. In E.H. Cline (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of the Aegean Bronze Age, 483–490. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Dickinson, O.T. (2014a) The mainland Bronze Age. Pharos 20(1), 145–161. Dickinson, O.T. (2014b) How warlike were the Mycenaeans, in reality? In Y. Galanakis, T. Wilkinson and J. Bennet (eds) Athyrmata: Critical Essays on the Archaeology of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honour of E. Susan Sherratt, 67–72. Oxford, Archaeopress. Dickinson, O.T. (2016) The Coming of the Greeks’ and All That. In J. Bintliff and N. R utter (eds) The Archaeology of Greece and Rome: Studies In Honour of Anthony Snodgrass, 3–21. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. rake, B.L. (2012)  he influence of climatic change on the late  Bronze Age collapse and the Greek dark ages. Journal of Archaeological Science 39, 1862–1870. Drews, R . (1993) The End of the Bronze Age: Changes in Warfare and the Catastrophe ca. 1200 BC. Princeton, Princeton University Press. Driessen, J. (1999) The archaeology of Aegean warfare. In R . Laffineur  (ed.)  POLEMOS. Le contexte guerrier en Égée à l’Â ge du Bronze. Aegaeum 19, 11–20. Liè ge, University of Liè ge. Driessen, J. and Langohr, C. (2007) R allying ‘round a ‘Minoan’ past: the legitimation of power at Knossos during the Late Bronze Age. In M.L. Galaty and W.A. Parkinson (eds) Rethinking Mycenaean Palaces II, 178–189. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology. Eder, B. (2006) The world of Telemachus: western Greece 1200–700 BC. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 549–579. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Eder, B. (2007) The power of seals: Palaces, peripheries and territorial control in the Mycenaean world. In I. Galanaki, H.

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Kaniewski, D. Van Campo, E., Van Lerberghe, K., Boiy, T., Vansteenhuyse, K., Jans, G., Nys, K., Weiss, H., Morhange, C., Otto, T. and Bretschneider, J. (2011) The Sea Peoples, from cuneiform tablets to carbon dating. PLoS One 6(6), e20232. Kaniewski, D. and Van Campo, E. (2017) 3.2 ka BP megadrought and the Late Bronze Age collapse. In H. Weiss (ed) Megadrought and Collapse: From Early Agriculture to Angkor, 161–182. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Kaufman, H. (1988) The collapse of ancient states and civilizations as an organizational problem. In N. Yoffee and G.L. Cowgill (eds) The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations, 219–235. Tucson, The University of Arizona Press. Kelder, J.M. (2004–2005) Mycenaeans in western Anatolia. Talanta 36–37, 49–87. Kelder, J.M. (2008) A Great King at Mycenae. An argument for the wanax as Great King and the lawagetas as vassal ruler. Palamedes 3, 49–74. Kelder, J.M. (2012) Ahhiyawa and the world of the Great Kings: a re-evaluation of Mycenaean political structures. Talanta 44, 41–52. Knapp, A.B. and Manning, S.W. (2016) Crisis in context: the end of the Late Bronze Age in the eastern Mediterranean. American Journal of Archaeology 120(1), 99–149. Kramer-Hajos, M. (2016) Mycenaean Greece and the Aegean World: Palace and Province in the Late Bronze Age. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Lemos, I.S. (2002) The Protogeometric Aegean: The Archaeology of the Late Eleventh and Tenth Centuries BC. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Lolos, Y.G. (2008) Mycenaean burial at Pylos. In J.L. Davis (ed.) Sandy Pylos: An Archaeological History from Nestor to Navarino, 75–78. Princeton, The American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Lupack, S. (2011) R edistribution in Aegean palatial societies. A view from outside the palace: the sanctuary and the damos in Mycenaean economy and society. American Journal of Archaeology 115, 207–217. Maran, J. (2002) Tiryns town after the fall of the palace: some new insights. Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 46, 223–224. Maran, J. (2006) Coming to terms with the past: ideology and power in Late Helladic IIIC. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 123–150. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Maran, J. (2009) The crisis years? R elections on signs of instability in the last decades of the Mycenaean palaces. Scienze dell’antichita. Storia Archeologia Antropologia 15, 241–262. Maran, J. (2011) Contested pasts – the society of the 12th c. BCE Argolid and the memory of the Mycenaean palatial period. In W. Gauss, M. Lindblom, R .A. Smith and J.C. Wright (eds) Our Cups Are Full: Pottery and Society in the Aegean Bronze Age. Papers Presented to Jeremy B. Rutter on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, 169–178. Oxford, Archaeopress. Maran, J. (2015) Tiryns and the Argolid in Mycenaean times. In A.-L. Schallin and I. Tournavitou (eds) Mycenaeans Up To Date: The Archaeology of the North-Eastern Peloponnese – Current Concepts and New Directions, 277–293. Stockholm, Swedish Institute at Athens.

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J. Killen (eds) Economy and Politics in the Mycenaean Palace States, 195–213. Cambridge, Cambridge Philological Society. Wahl, D., Anderson, L., Estrada-Belli, F. and Tokavinine, A. (2019) Palaeoenvironmental, epigraphic and archaeological evidence of total warfare among the Classic Maya. Nature Human Behaviour 3, 1049–1054. Wallø e, L. (1999) Was the disruption of the Mycenaean world caused by repeated epidemics of bubonic plague? Opuscula Atheniensis 24, 121–126. Ward, W.A. and Joukowsky, M.S. (eds) (1992) The Crisis Y ears: The 12th Century BC from Beyond the Danube to the Tigris. Dubuque, Kendall/Hunt. aterfield,  . (2011) Dividing the Spoils: The War for Alexander the Great’s Empire. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Webster, D. (2000) The not so peaceful civilization: a review of Maya war. Journal of World Prehistory 14(1), 65–119. Wheeler, M. (1966) The Civilizations of the Indus and Beyond. London, Thames and Hudson. Williams, E.W. (1962) The end of an epoch. Greece and Rome 9(2), 109–125. Yoffee, N. (ed.) (2019) The Evolution of Fragility: Setting the Terms. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological R esearch. https://doi.org/10.17863/CAM.40692 Yoffee, N. and Seri, A. (2019) Negotiating fragility in ancient Mesopotamia: arenas of contestation and institutions of resistances. In N. Yoffee (ed.) The Evolution of Fragility: Setting the Terms, 183–196. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological R esearch.

3 The destruction of Mycenaean centres in eastern Thessaly Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani

It is a fact that the destruction of the Mycenaean centres at the end of the thirteenth century did not only affect the Mycenaean centres and settlements of continental Greece but also the island regions as well, where large Mycenaean centres had developed, such as in Kydonia in western Crete. Thessaly too was no exception to this phenomenon. Although surveys of the better-known Mycenaean settlements of Thessaly are still limited, and we do not have a complete picture of the inhabited areas, there is nevertheless excavation evidence that indicates that many Mycenaean settlements of both inland Thessaly and on the coast suffered disasters during this period. Some of these settlements were abandoned immediately after the disaster, some recovered for a short period of time and were later abandoned, while very few still continued to be inhabited after the disaster until the end of the Mycenaean period, despite the general insecurity that followed the collapse of the Mycenaean palaces. These settlements are certainly very important since they formed the background of civilisation in Thessaly during the Early Iron Age. Although a strong seismic phenomenon (Nur and Cline 2000, 43–63), which occurred at the end of the thirteenth century BC, has been considered the most likely cause of the destruction of most Mycenaean settlements in the Peloponnese, including the palaces of Mycene (French 1996; Kilian 1996, 63–68), Tiryns (Kilian 1996, 63–68), of Midea (Åstrom and Demakopoulou 1996, 37–40), as well as of the palace of Thebes in Boeotia (Aravantinós 2008, 240), and of Kydonia (Andreadaki-Vlazaki 2009) in western Crete, an earthquake case as a cause of the disaster at east coastal Thessaly can not be safely documented. Indeed, the cause of the disasters in Thessaly, as in the rest of Greece, is not yet clear. Several factors, including

rapid climate change, have been discussed as causes that triggered these disasters. For the Mycenaean settlements within Thessaly, our information is limited and does not help in understanding the phenomenon. In eastern Thessaly nevertheless, where organised administrative and economic centres mainly connected with the large palace centre of Iolkos were investigated, the excavations help, to a certain extent, the study of the social and economic conditions that prevailed just before the collapse, as well as the study of social change immediately after the disaster. At the end of the thirteenth century, BC (end of the LH IIIB2 period), there were three organised settlements around the port of Volos: Dimini, Kastro Volou/Palia and Pefkakia (Fig. 3.1), which together constitute the large centre of Iolkos (Dimini: Adrymi-Sismani 2014; Kastro Volou/Palia: Tsoúntas 1900, 72–73; 1901, 42; Theocharis 1956, 119–130; 1957, 54–55; 1958, 13–18; 1960, 49–59; Theocharis and Theochari 1970, 198–203; Adrymi-Sismani 2007, 324–347; Pefkakia: Theocharis 1956, 119–130; 1957, 54–69; 1960, 49–59; 1961, 45–54; Efstathiou 1996, 1175–1188; BátziouEfstathíou 1998, 59–70; 1999, 117–130; 2012, 177–192; Adrymi-Sismani 2007, 348–351). Only two of these three settlements, Dimini and Kastro Volou/Palia, show with certainty, characteristics of central organisation, while all three of them suffered in the same destruction, which in  excavations  was  detected  as  an  extensive  layer  of  fire  destruction, and which, according to the stratified sequence  of ceramics, is perfectly synchronised with the destruction layers of the Mycenaean centres of Tiryns, Mycenae, Midea and Thebes (Tiryns: Stockhammer 2007; Mycenae: French and Stockhammer 2009, 179–180; Midea: Demakopoulou 2003; Thebes: Andrikou 1999, 79–102). The destruction of

Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani

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Fig. 3.1. Mycenaean settlements and tholos tombs in the inlet of the Pagasetic Gulf.

Iolkos was not, therefore, an isolated phenomenon, but part of the general pattern of disasters that affected the whole Mycenaean world, as well as many other settlements in the Aegean and the Mediterranean. The most substantial data for the social organisation of a settlement in Thessaly during the palatial era comes from Dimini, as it is the only settlement in the coastal zone of the Pagasetic Gulf, as well as the only Mycenaean settlement of  hessaly, to have been sufficiently excavated (AdrymiSismani 2014). Given the absence of post-Bronze Age backfills, the architectural remains were preserved without  later interventions or the destruction of the underlying buildings. As a result, its contribution is extremely important as a ‘living’ image of the residential architecture, and the administrative, economic and religious organisation of an urban centre with a central administration, shortly before its destruction at the end of the thirteenth century BC.

T h e ro gan i s ta i on na d t h e s oc i al u r b na s e t t l e m e n t i n D i m i n i

s t r u c t u r e s of

th e

The Mycenaean settlement was founded around the end of the Middle Bronze Age and the beginning of the Late Bronze

Age on the plain east of the hill with the well-known Neolithic settlement; It is located 5 km west of the Volos city plain and 3 km from the current coastline of the Pagasetic Gulf (Adrymi-Sismani 201 , 110).  he first organised habitation  is documented in the early fourteenth century BC, when the settlement was transformed into an urban installation by the implementation of a land use plan and creation of an axial plan.  n  addition,  the  first  administrative  complex  and  the  large tholos tomb ‘Lamiospito’ was built for the needs of the central power. The establishment of a local craft industry of pottery production, with the operation of a big ceramic kiln (Adrymi-Sismani 1999, 131–142), which is currently the largest known ceramic kiln (at 3.60 m in diameter) in central Greece, was an important step towards further economic growth. At the end of the fourteenth century BC, the settlement was destroyed by fire, as was the neighbouring settlement at Kastro Volou/Palia, which affected the administrative centre and some of the other buildings of the settlement (Theocharis 1956, 128–9). From the beginning of the thirteenth century BC the settlement was rebuilt with the same spatial organisation and with  the  same  pre-defined  land  use  conditions,  with  most  of the buildings repaired in the same location. This form of

3. The destruction of Mycenaean centres in eastern Thessaly habitation survives exceptionally well, providing a great deal of information on the town planning and the economy of the settlement, which, just before the end of the thirteenth century BC, had a clear spatial organisation indicative of a complex and well-organised society with central planning and production specialisation (Adrymi-Sismani 2014). The new administrative centre was built in a delimited private area at the intersection of the two main road axes (Adrymi-Sismani 2014, 11 –224).  he intention to demonstrate the social hierarchy with the construction of this great complex, which constituted the administrative, economic and religious centre of the settlement, is clear. A monumental propylon with a 10 m facade led to a courtyard at the bottom of which a unit of buildings was distributed. This was divided into two complexes, parallel to each other, with a central building in each complex (Fig. 3.2). Its development is placed in the second half of the thirteenth century BC, when it was consolidated and extended with new spaces for worship. The rich and exceptionally well-preserved architectural remains of both the administrative centre and the houses of this period testify to the ability of the local rulers to proceed with the immediate reorganisation of the settlement and to achieve its economic recovery without any social change being required. he  excavation  finds,  and  especially  the  knowledge  of  Linear B, as well as the use of seals and sealings to certify products, indicate that Dimini was an independent administrative centre governed by a political system that had developed economic activities and trade with other areas of Greece as well as with some of the centres of the eastern Mediterranean coast (Adrymi-Sismani 2004–2005, 39–41). n  idea  of  the  commerce  and  economy  is  provided  by specialised local craft industries, the establishing of warehouses and the imported commodities. Centralised storage areas or areas belonging to larger-scale housing units  were  not  identified.  ather,  the  evidence  shows  that  private households were relatively self-reliant because the storage of products was different for each household, and, even though they were part of the same building program, they show both a variety of characteristics, such as different sizes  of  buildings  and  significant  differences  in  the  quantity of agricultural produce, which apparently came from different sources. Their lack of direct dependence on a coordinated, central administrative and financial centre for the control and  redistribution of agricultural products is, therefore, very likely. Although the administrative centre’s involvement in the control of agricultural production cannot be totally excluded, the excavation data do not offer any proof that it operated as an institution that controlled all aspects of the economy or as a centre for the redistribution of agricultural or processed products. Given that no Linear B records have been found, it is not possible to detect either the importation of raw materials

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for the needs of craft industries or the disbursement of processed products. Neither is it possible, on the basis of the archaeological evidence, to draw conclusions about the area of exploitation corresponding to the Dimini centre, the distribution of land, or to reconstruct the political relationships in relation to adjacent settlements. he excavation evidence, however, clearly confirms that  the administrative, religious and economic organisation of the centre was autonomous and based solely on its own economy.  he excavation evidence also confirms that in its final  period the administrative centre was facing a reduction in the production of grain. It was noticed that while one of the five storage jars of the warehouse   of Megaron B remained  in its place, the remaining four had been removed and their sockets  on  the  floor  were  filled  with  stones,  which  shows  that  their  removal  was  final  and  did  not  happen  suddenly  (Fig. 3.3) (Adrymi-Sismani 2014, 212). In the same complex, in the megaron-like building, the single large storage jar had been removed from warehouse 9 and its interior filled with waste (Adrymi-Sismani 2014, 2 1). The decline in grain is also documented during the same period in houses, where the agricultural stock seemed to be diminishing, as the storage pits were empty without any bio-archaeological residues. The removal of storage jars was noticed as well (House Z) (Adrymi-Sismani 2013, 110). his could be interpreted as reflecting reduced agricultural  production  from  the  fields  and  a  failure  to  replenish  the  cereals from neighbouring areas. Therefore, this shortage may have been due to a prolonged drought that affected the whole of Thessaly. Consequently, as there is no evidence of war or conflicts,  we may assume that one of the main factors that led to the collapse of small and large settlements might have been a lack of basic goods due to prolonged drought, which could undoubtedly have caused upheaval and would have had a negative impact on the welfare of all residents. Under these circumstances, there was then a change in the administrative system in the organised centres of eastern Thessaly. At the Dimini administrative centre, the valuable objects were removed from both the large rooms of Megaron B and the public sanctuary just before the disaster. However, these objects have not been found anywhere, possibly because local  officials,  who  left  the  building  and  the  settlement  before the disaster, took them to a safe place or because they were snatched away by others. An effort was also made to remove some large vessels from room 3 of Megaron B at  the  last  moment  before  the  spread  of  the  fire  (AdrymiSismani 2014, 204). This attempt to remove domestic equipment does not, in any case, prove that a strong earthquake preceded the generalised  fire,  as  there  is  no  excavation  evidence  for  a  major catastrophic earthquake; at least in Megaron B, which remained intact after the destruction, neither collapse of walls in one direction, nor openings of partitions, nor human

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Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani

Fig. 3.2. Aerial view of the administrative centre at Dimini.

3. The destruction of Mycenaean centres in eastern Thessaly

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system was largely unable to cope with the consequences of the disaster. Moreover, the larger question arises as to why the existing system of political power collapsed throughout the Mycenaean world and was replaced by a new form of administration. At Dimini, while its population gradually came to terms with the difficulties resulting from the site’s  extensive damage and reorganised itself and the management of the economy, the control of agricultural production, the export trade and international relations, why did the new power not manage to recapture the settlement’s old glory, even though it continued to be inhabited in its new form until the mid-twelfth century BC, when it was finally  abandoned?

T h e r e h ab i t at i on d e s t r u c t i on

Fig. 3.3. Pithoi and pithoi imprints in situ from the store rooms of Megaron B in Dimini.

victims that would undoubtedly constitute evidence of a sudden large earthquake were to be found. he administrative centre was not fully restored during  the following period, as only a part of the Megaron A was repaired in order to be used by the new administration, a small group, probably coming from the old regime (Maran 2006, 143), while the rest of the buildings remained buried and new small private dwellings were built over them (Fig. 3.4). Subsequently, the question we are most concerned about is not the cause which led the settlement to suffer its second disaster at the end of the thirteenth century BC, but mainly with what occurred during this time, and why the political

of

t h e s e t t l e m e n t af t e r t h e

The three settlements that coexisted around the port of the Pagasetic Gulf, Dimini, Kastro Volou/Palia and Pefkakia, less than three kilometers from each other, seem to have suffered the same impact from the disaster at the end of the thirteenth century BC, but afterwards they evolved differently, separately and individually. The effort of the new administration to reorganise and make the Dimini settlement viable again is very clear archaeologically. This is despite the layer of rehabitation itself being difficult to locate, as this period not only lasted for a  very short time but also because its backfillings, which lie  only at a depth of 0.30 m from the current ground surface, were largely destroyed by modern cultivation (AdrymiSismani 2014, 248–272). In the period that followed, the surviving population immediately  proceeded  to  make  significant  changes  in  their political structures, since it is obvious that the disaster affected mainly the class in power, who abandoned the imposing buildings, the architecture of which constituted a symbol of the social, political, economic and religious role it had played. The private space which had previously dominated the administrative centre was appropriated and incorporated into the urban plan of the city to be used for the construction of new houses, small and built with poor or second-hand building material. The theory of the deposition of the former ruling elite after the destruction is also reinforced by the fact that, during the same period, every use of the large tholos tombs, as well as the commemoration ceremonies to the eminent dead, were interrupted. Activities were identified that were more likely  to demonstrate in practice the end of the glorious period of the former rulers. More  specifically,  the  excavation  finds  from  the  tholos  tomb at the ‘Kazanaki’ site, which was revealed in 2004 in the northern outskirts of the city of  olos, confirm that an  unfinished burning ceremony of all the dead that had been 

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Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani

Fig. 3.4. Plan of Mycenaean Dimini, with phase of repairs after the destruction during LH IIIC early period.

buried there over time had occurred inside and near the entrance of the tomb after the bodies had been exhumed from their own shaft graves (Adrymi-Sismani 2005, 59–61; Adrymi-Sismani and Alexándrou 2009, 133–149). After the group burning, and without showing any respect, the remains of the dead were indiscriminately swept back into the graves regardless of whom they had belonged t . Some of the grave  offerings were scattered on the floor of the tholos tomb and  these were then covered with slabs and sealed.

The pottery which was found inside the tholos tomb, inside and outside of the shaft graves, was joined into 30 decorated and undecorated vessels that date to the LH IIIA1–LH IIIA2 period, during which we consider that all seven burials took place. Five undecorated small basins (FS 295) and small cups (FS 204), found exclusively next to the entrance, were used during the burning ceremony. These vessels, as well as the decorated jug, found outside the relieving triangle are dated to the end of the LH IIIB2/

3. The destruction of Mycenaean centres in eastern Thessaly early LH IIIC. The tholos tomb was not used any further after this act. The same practice was applied to the tholos tomb ‘Lamiospito’ at Dimini as well, within which an incomplete burning of all dead that were buried there over time had occurred (Lolling and Wolters, 1886, 435–448; Lolling and Wolters, 1887, 136–138). Given that the pottery of the tomb had not been published until recently, the burning act was interpreted as a secondary ritual burial rite of cleansing and no further interpretations were suggested. The same burial practice was, however, applied to two more tholos tombs of the same period, within the tholos tomb Kapakli, connected with the settlement at Kastro Volou/Palia (Kourouniótis 1906, 222; Avila 1983, 5–60), and within the tholos tomb at Ano Dranista in southwest Thessaly as well (Galanakis and Stamatopoulou 2012, 205). Consequently, after the collapse of the palatial system and their transition to a different institutional set-up, the local community of Iolkos, as well as the inhabitants of Thessaly more widely, went forward with symbolic burning ceremonies of all the buried dead which were associated with the previous rank of power.  his act was, at least for  Thessaly, a conscious choice. Indeed, since it is clear that this act cannot be linked with a plan for subsequent use of the tombs, how else can the rituals of the collective burning of the dead inside the large tholos tombs immediately after the collapse be interpreted? At the same time, the remaining inhabitants tried, with the help of a new administration, to reorganise the settlement, generally respecting the previous land-use plan and the urban infrastructure with the road axes. They also kept the Mycenaean habits in their everyday lives, including in religious practices, and continued their ritual activities on the large outdoor altar. However, a limitation of resources is evident, as the economy focused on agricultural and livestock farming activity, with short-term storage of goods within the residences, while the importation of goods  was  significantly  reduced,  resulting  in  a  decline  in the settlement’s economy, evident both in architecture and in pottery. he  most  significant  blow  to  its  economy  was  nevertheless the interruption of the production of particular products by specialised craftsmen working in or under the supervision of the administrative centre. This is evident by the replacement of the large pottery kiln with a smaller kiln, fit only for the needs of the settlement, by the abandonment  of the workshops once used for the production of metal objects and essential oils, and by the absence of specialised craftsmen. Even if the exchange of products with other Aegean  settlements,  at  a  reduced  scale,  is  confirmed,  the  decrease in imported raw materials and valuable items and the interruption of seal stone circulation are nevertheless clear, indicating a regression of the economy and a more introverted character of the settlement.

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The new architecture is characterised by the use of small houses, the construction of which was carried out in two phases,  which  according  to  pottery  occurred  in  the  first  decades of the twelfth century BC (in the early LH IIIC period), as is known from the excavations at Tiryns. In the pottery sequence, two new pottery categories, the handmade burnished and the grey wheel made pseudominyan pottery (Fig. 3.5), appear as a very small percentage, along with the earlier Mycenaean types (Adrymi-Sismani 2006, 85–110). These pottery categories were not found in the neighbouring settlement of Pefkakia, which was deserted immediately after the destruction (personal communication with the excavator Mr Badziou-Efstathiou), though they are present in the settlement of Kastro Volou/Palia, where habitation continued after the destruction of palatial centres (Kilian 1988, 5, 7, 8a, 8b). The origins of these two ceramic categories, found in many Mycenaean sites of the south (Mycenae, Korakou, Sparta, Aegina), central (Thebes) and northern Greece during the period following the fall of the palaces (KoukoúliKhrisantháki 1992, 568), should be sought, at least for handmade burnished pottery, in southern Italy, where similar vases were found rather than in the north, as Kilian claimed (Jung 2009, 145; Kilian 1978, 311–332; Kilian 1981, 170). A large handmade cylindrical vessel, found in Dimini in a layer of the early LH IIIC period, indicates, however, contacts with the Levant, as a similar handmade vase was found in Tel Kazel. Badre (2006, 83–84) reports that it is of domestic manufacture and came from LH IIIC period backfillings, dating back to the destruction of the settlement  by the ‘peoples of the sea’, i.e. before year   of  amesses  III (1176 BC). Jung (2009, 149) argues, with reference to the pottery, that with the fall of the palatial systems in Greece and the Near East new options emerged for the migration and mobility of people. As a result of these new conditions, the exchange of products took place in a decentralised way, since they were based on the personal contacts of local actors with buyers, as production relations and political structures were radically different from those existing in the Mycenaean palatial society. Thus, the new conditions that followed the collapse of the palatial system and certainly the turmoil that dominated during that period in the entire Mycenaean world, the Aegean  and  the  Mediterranean,  also  significantly  affected  the settlement of Dimini, which was now cut off from the port facilities of Pefkakia, since the settlement had been abandoned immediately after the disaster. As a result of not having the possibility of export trade by sea, the settlement shows a clearly lower level of economic activity. These general economic difficulties and the isolation of the settlement  from direct access to an organised harbour might have been the result of local conflicts and revolts, the remembrance of  which we are conveyed by Strabo, in his book Geography

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Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani and its inhabitation continues smoothly until the last phases of the Mycenaean period, as well as in the Submycenaean period, and later on. Of course, radical changes in the style of administration have been observed, but these changes show that the population managed to gradually restore prosperity and lead the settlement on to develop further. Also, after the destruction of Pefkakia and the abandonment of Dimini, the settlement at the Kastro Volou/Palia became dominant in the area of the harbour, acquiring the full control of a large area of land in the plain around the  port  of  olos,  attaching  to  its  territory  first  the  lands  of Pefkakia and then those of Dimini (Bátziou-Efstathíou 2012, 177–192). It would seem very likely indeed that part of the population coming from the neighbouring settlements moved at the end of the twelfth century BC to Kastro Volou/Palia, but  no  excavation  evidence  to  confirm  this  exists.  rom  the three Mycenaean settlements in the coastline of Volos, Kastro Volou/Palia is, therefore, the only settlement with uninterrupted habitation.

T h e d e s t r u c t i on fo t h e M yc e n ae an s e t t l e m e n t s fo T h e s s al y

Fig. 3.5. LH IIIC early Pseudo-minyan and handmade burnished ware from the layer after the destruction in Dimini.

(9.5.15), where he states that: ‘… seditions and tyrannies destroyed Iolkos after its power had been greatly increased …’ he final depopulation of this once thriving urban centre  came at the end of the first half of the twelfth century BC  (the end of early LH IIIC), when the inhabitants left it peacefully and along with their precious goods migrated to another site (Adrymi-Sismani 2004–2005, 1–54; AdrymiSismani 2011, 269–286). Since then Dimini was forgotten by the later inhabitants of the area, who never returned to continue even to the minimum extent any religious activities in the previous places of worship, nor did they organise ancestral worship ceremonies at the entrances of the great tholos tombs. The complete oblivion of the Mycenaean settlement of Dimini shows that the inhabitants migrated away and did not reside in the neighbouring Mycenaean centres that continued to be inhabited after the depopulation of Dimini. The settlement at Kastro Volou/Palia, on the contrary, recovered gradually after the disaster. Later, when the other two  settlements  had  ceased  to  exist,  it  began  to  flourish, 

After the destructions at the end of the thirteenth century BC, the habitation environment in Thessaly changed and continuity of habitation is assured only in settlements located on main axes of land and sea communication and next to low arable land with water springs or, rarely, close to small natural harbours in the seaside areas, where the development of trade and exchanging activities would ensure sustainability. At the same time, a process of synoecism, a type of integration into larger settlements, which were in more sheltered locations, can be seen, but there is no evidence to support that refugees fled to these. Consequently,  hessaly  experienced a dramatic decrease in settlements with population migration from small settlements to larger centres. Most settlements were permanently abandoned during the early LH IIIC period, while few recovered and continued to be inhabited, such as Chtouri and Farsala (Bequignon 1931, 450–522). A good example is the Mycenaean settlement of Pheres, present day Velestino, which is on the road to northern Greece and controls a large area in the valley that is irrigated by the springs of the Hypereia Fountain and the ancient lake of Voiveis (Píkoulas 2002, 152–153). It is an organised Mycenaean settlement, which continued to be inhabited in early LH IIIC, middle LH IIIC and later in the Submycenaean, if the cremation pit (of the dead) belongs to this period (Arakhovíti 2000, 355–371; Kakavoyiánnis 1977, 2, 174–187). Indeed, during the middle LH IIIC period, a new ceramic kiln (Bátziou-Efstathíou 1994, 215–224), was built, which

3. The destruction of Mycenaean centres in eastern Thessaly ensured  the  self-sufficiency  of  the  settlement  in  ceramic  products. Moreover, it was found that the Protogeometric layers directly follow the Mycenaean, without a trace of destruction or inconsistency, which indicates that in Pheres, as well as Kastro Volou/Palia, there was a smooth and uninterrupted transition from the Late Bronze to the Early Iron Age (Apostolopoúlou-Kakavoyiánni 1992, 312). The smaller Mycenaean settlements in the valley around Lake Karla (ancient Voiveis), Korifoula, Visviki, Delichani, Aerani, Tsingene, followed the same fate as Pefkakia and were abandoned at the end of LH IIIB2, with their inhabitants migrating to Pheres. The only exception is one small settlement that is preserved on the hill of Agios Athanasios in Karla (Adrymi-Sismani 2007, 160). As for the Mycenaean settlement at  etra, there is insufficient evidence. At Aerino, the Mycenaean settlement continues to be inhabited throughout the LH IIIC period by the same population, as the burial practices suggest, with the re-use of the same LH IIIC small tholos tombs during the beginning of the Protogeometric period as well (Arakhovíti 2000, 367–368). The phenomenon of the reuse of the small tholos tombs of the LHIIIC period can be seen not only at Aerino and at Pheres (Arakhovíti 2000), but also on the plain of Almyros with tholos tomb D of Gritsa Pteleos (Verdelís 1951, 141; 1952, 164; 1953, 120–132) and at Halos (Malakasióti and Mousióni 2001, 359), and also in the semi-mountainous areas of Trikala as well, at Agrielia (Verdelís 1953, 126– 132), Exalofo (Theocharis 1968, 291; Deger-Jalkotzy 2006, 161) and Fiki (Bátziou-Efstathíou 1984, 74–86). Additionally in Thessaly, the local population continues the same burial practices during the Early Iron Age as well with the construction of new small tholos tombs in the same cemeteries where small Mycenaean tholos tombs already existed, as evidenced by sets of small tholos tombs revealed in Pheres (Arakhovíti 1994, 125–138), Aerino (Arakhovíti 2000, 367–368), Voulokaliva and Halo (Malakasióti and Mousióni, 2001, 353–368), Marmariani (Heurley and Skeat 1930–1931, 1–55) and Argyropouli (Liángouras 1965, 318; Tziaphálias 1981, 255–257). For the plain of Almyros there is no evidence that the Mycenaean settlements suffered destructions. However, on current evidence, and with the exception of the settlements of Pteleos and Halos (Malakasióti and Mousióni 2001, 359), where a continuity evidenced by the burial practices is confirmed, the small Mycenaean settlements in  Megali Velanidia, Pyrasos, Almiriotiki Magoula, Phthiotides Thebes, Zerélia, Magoula Sourpi, and Aidiniotiki Magoula seem to be abandoned (Adrymi-Sismani 2011, 318). The re-use during the Protogeometric period of a small tholos tomb dated back to the late LH IIIC period at the cemetery of Pteleos (Verdelís 1953, 120–132) shows a relative continuation, which is true of the cemetery of

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Halos as well, where the continuous use of the tombs in the Agrielia cemetery indicates a smooth transition to the Early Iron Age (Malakasióti and Mousióni 2001, 353–368). Excavation data and surface surveys show, therefore, that continuation  of  habitation  after  the  disaster  is  confirmed  in eastern Thessaly only for a very short period of time at the settlement of Dimini, and up until the end of the Late Bronze Age only for Kastro Volou/Palia (Bátziou-Efstathíou 2003, 253–262), Pheres (Kakavoyiánnis 1977, 2, 174–187), Aerino (Arakhovíti 2000, 364–365), Halos (Malakasióti and Mousióni 2001, 353–368) and perhaps for Pteleos (Verdelís 1952, 164–185; 1953, 120–132) as well. The reasons that led to the abandonment of so many settlements and the integration into centres may be attributed to the inherent weakness of the smaller settlements to overcome the crisis that occurred because of the disasters at the end of the thirteenth century BC. However, it was also noticed that the disastrous phenomenon did not have the same economic and social impact on either all of the palace centres or on all of the settlements throughout Greece. For the small Mycenaean settlements around Lake Karla, another reason has been proposed as a possible cause of the abandonment of the settlements and the movement of population. This is that the level of the lake rose, suggested by Miloj i  (19 0, 150–1 ) for  etra.  n addition,  Kuniholm’s (1996, 780–783) observations point in the same direction; He argues that after 1159 BC, and for twenty years, dramatic climate changes occurred, which may also be linked to the twelfth century BC disasters, when a period of intense rainfall followed a period of prolonged drought. Perhaps the inhabitants of these smaller lakeside Mycenaean settlements were forced to move after the rise of Lake Karla and were integrated into the community at Pheres, where the inexhaustible springs of the Hypereia Fountain (Doulyéri-Intzesíloglou 2002, 40–43) provided the necessary water for agriculture, as it did to the adjacent Aerinos (Arakhovíti 2002, 49). According to the opinion of many scientists, therefore, natural disasters and general climate changes, and more specifically a prolonged drought after the thirteenth century BC  in the region of the eastern Mediterranean, could have been responsible for the collapse of the Mycenaeans, the Hittites of Anatolia and other peoples of the Late Bronze Age. The serious climate change and, above all, a chronic and long lasting drought may have caused, in addition to a  lower  level  of  economic  activity,  a  series  of  conflicts,  famines, internal unrest/turmoil and, in particular, migratory movements of a large number of people, which in turn, could have had as a consequence the destabilisation of the eastern Mediterranean, where the destruction of many major cities and the collapse of many powerful peoples and states has been noted, including that of the Mycenaeans who had flourished in prehistoric Greece.

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Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani

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Neotéron Mnimíon tou IP. PO. sti Thessalía kai stin evríteri periokhí tis (1990–1998), 355–371. Vólos, Ministry of Culture. Arakhovíti, P. (2002) Ta Mnimía tou áxona tis Ethnikís Odoú sta ória tou Dímou Pherón-Aerinó. In A. Dimóglou (ed.) Mnimía tis Magnisías, 48–55. Vólos, Ekdósis Vólos. Åström, P. and Demakopoulou K. (1996) Signs of an earthquake at Midea   n S. Stiros and  .E. Jones (eds) Archaeoseismology, 37–40. Athens, Institute of Geology and Mineral Exploration and The British School at Athens. Avila,  . (19 )  as  uppelgrab von  olos- apakli. Praehistorische Zeitschrift 58, 15–60. Badre, L. (2006) Tell Kazel-Simyra: a contribution to a relative chronological history in the eastern Mediterranean during the Late Bronze Age. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 343, 65–95. Bátziou-Efstathíou, A. (1984) Protoyeometriká apó ti Ditikí Thessalía, O Tímvos tou Exalóphou kai i isvolí ton Thessalón. Athens Annals of Archaeology 2, 74–87. Bátziou-Efstathíou, A. (1994) Mikinaïkós Keramikós Klívanos. In «Thessalía»: Dekapénte khrónia arkhaioloyikís érevnas (1975–1990), 215–224. Athína, Hellenic Ministry of Culture. Bátziou-Efstathíou, A. (1998) I Ísteri Epokhí Khalkoú stin periokhí tis Magnisías: to Kástro (Paliá) kai ta Pefkákia. PhD thesis, Aristotle University, Thessaloníki. Bátziou-Efstathíou, A. (1999) To nekrotaphío tis N. Ionías (Bólou) katá ti metávasi apó tin YE IIIG stin PG Epokhí. In E. Phroússou (ed.) I Periphéria tou Mikinaïkoú Kósmou 1, 117–130. Lam a, Hypourgeio  olitismo ,  4 Ephore a  ro storik n kai  lassik n Archaiot ton. Bátziou-Efstathíou, A. (2003) I IIIIG sto Kástro Vólou. In N. Kyparissi-Apostolika and M. Papakonstantinou (eds) I Periphéria tou Mikinaïkoú Kósmou 2, 253–262. Athína, Ipouryío olitismo  –  Ephor a  ro storik n kai  lasik n Arkhaiot ton. Bátziou-Efstathíou, A. (2012) Anaskaphí mikinaïkoú ikismoú sta Pefkákia 2006–2008. In A. Mazarákis-Ainián (ed.) Arkhaioloyikó Érgo Thessalías kai Stereás Elládas 3, 177–192. Vólos, Ergastírio Arkhaioloyías Panepistimíou Thessalías, Ipouryío Politismoú. B quignon,  .  (19 1)  Chronique  des  fouilles  et  d couvertes  archéologiques dans l’Orient hellénique. Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique 55, 450–522. Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (2006) Late Mycenaean warrior tombs. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece from the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 151–179. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Demakopoulou, K. (2003) The pottery from the destruction layers in Midea. Late Helladic IIIB2 Late or transitional Late Helladic IIIB2/Late Helladic IIIC Early? In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) LHIIIC. Chronology and Synchronisms , 77–92, Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Doulyéri-Intzesíloglou, A. (2002) To Arkhaioloyikó-Istorikó Párko Pherón Velestínou –10 khrónia metá. In A. Dimóglou (ed.) Mnimía tis Magnisías, 40–43. Vólos, Ekdósis Vólos. Efstathiou, A. (1996). Néa Stikhía yia tis Mikinaikés Thésis stin Periokhí tou Vólou. In E. De Miro, L. Godart and A. Sacconi (eds) Atti e Memorie del secondo Congresso Internazionale di Micenologia,  ,  11 5–11 .  ome,  Gruppo  editoriale  internazionale.

3. The destruction of Mycenaean centres in eastern Thessaly French, E. (1996) Evidence of an earthquake at Mycenae. In S. Stiros and  .E. Jones (eds) Archaeoseismology, 51–54. Athens, Institute of Geology and Mineral Exploration and The British School at Athens. French, E. and Stockhammer, P. (2009) Mycenae and Tiryns: the pottery of the second half of the thirteenth century BC. Contexts and definitions. Annual of the British School at Athens 104, 174–232. Galanakis  J.  and  Stamatopoulou,  .  (2012)  A  preliminary  report on the archival material from the excavations of the tholos tomb at Ano Dranista (Ano Ktimeni) in Thessaly by A.S. Arvanitopoulos (1911). In A. Mazarákis-Ainián (ed.) Arkhaioloyikó Érgo Thessalías kai Stereás Elládas 3, 205–212. Vólos, Ergastírio Arkhaioloyías Panepistimíou Thessalías, Ipouryío Politismoú. Heurtley, W.A. and Skeat, T.C. (1930–31) The tholos tombs of Marmariane. Annual of the British School at Athens 31, 1–55. Jung,  .  (2009) I ‘bronzi internazionali’ ed il loro contesto sociale fra Adriatico, Penisola balcanica e coste Levantine. In E. Borgna and P. Cassola Guida (eds) From the Aegean to the Adriatic: Social Organisations, Modes of Exchange and Interaction in Post-Palatial Times (12th–11th BC), 129–157. ome, Quasar. Kakavoyiánnis, E. (1977) Anaskaphikés érevnes stis Pherés tis Thessalías to 1977, O Tímvos tou Exalóphou kai i isvolí ton Thessalón. Athens Annals of Archaeology 10, 174–187. Kilian, K. (1978) Northwestgriechische keramik aus der Argolis und ihre entsprechungen in der Subapennin-facies. In Atti della iunione cientifica dell Istituto Italiano di Preistoria e Protostoria in Basilicata 1976, 311–332. Firenze, Istituto Italiano di Preistoria e Protostoria. Kilian, K. (1981) Ausgrabungen in Tiryns 1978, 1979. Bericht zu den grabungen. Archäologischer Anzeiger, 149–194. Kilian, K. (1988) Ausgrabungen in Tiryns 1982, 1983. Bericht zu den grabungen. Archäologischer Anzeiger, 105–151. Kilian, K. (1996) Earthquakes and archaeological context at 13th century BC.  n S. Stiros and  .E. Jones (eds) Archaeoseismology, 63–68. Athens, Institute of Geology and Mineral Exploration and The British School at Athens. Koukoúli-Khrisantháki, K. (1992) Protoïstorikí Thásos. Ta nekrotaphía tou ikismoú Kastrí. Arkhaioloyikón Deltíon 45, 568. Kourouniótis, K. (1906) Anaskaphí tholotoú táphou en Vólo. L’Année Épigraphique, 211–240. Kuniholm, P.I., Kromer, B., Manning, S.W., Newton, M., Latini, C.E. and Bruce, M.J. (1996) Anatolian tree rings and the absolute chronology of the eastern Mediterranean, 2200–718 BC. Nature 381, 780–783. Liángouras, A. (1965) Aryiropoúli Tirnávou. Arkhaioloyikón Deltíon, Khroniká, 20, 318. Lolling, H.G. and Wolters, P. (1886) Das kuppelgrab bei Dimini. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Athenische Abteilung 11, 435–448.

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Lolling, H.G. and Wolters, P. (1887) Das kuppelgrab bei Dimini. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Athenische Abteilung 12, 136–138. Malakasióti, Z. and Mousióni, A. (2001) Néa evrímata tis Ísteris Epokhís tou Xalkoú kai tis Epokhís tou Sidírou stin Álo. In N. Stampolídis (ed.) Káfsis stin Epokhí tou Xalkoú kai tin Próimi Epokhí tou Sidírou, 353–368. Athína, Panepistímio Krítis. Maran, J. (2006) Coming to terms with the past. In S. DegerJalkotzy and I.S. Lemos (eds) From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 12 –150.  dinburgh, Edinburgh University  Press. Miloj i ,  . (19 0)  ie versuchsgrabungen im Gebiete von  etra  am Boibi-See und die Gelandebe-gehungen in nordostthessalien. Archäologischer Anzeiger, 150–166. Nur, A. and Cline, E.H. (2000) Poseidon’s horses: plate tectonics and earthquake storms in the Late Bronze Aegean and the eastern Mediterranean. Journal of Archaeological Science 27, 43–63. Píkoulas, G. (2002) I Velestinóstrata. Simvolí sto odikó díktio tis arkhaías Thessalías. In Ipéria. Praktiká 3 Diethnoús Sinedríou Pheraí-Velestíno-Rígas, 152–153. Athína, Epistimonikí Etairía Mel tis  her n- elest nou- ga. Stockhammer, P. (2007) Kontinuität und Wandel. Die Keramik der Nachpalastzeit aus der Unterstadt von Tiryns. Unpublished thesis, University of Heidelberg. heocharis,  . .  (195 )  olkos:  whence  sailed  the  Argonauts.  Archaeology 11, 13–18. heocharis,  . .  (195 )  Anaskapha   en  olk .  Pra ti t s n th nais r haioloyi s tair as, 119–130. heocharis,  . .  (195 )  Anaskapha   en  olk .  Pra ti t s n th nais r haioloyi s tair as, 54–69. heocharis,  . .  (19 0)  Anaskapha   en  olk .  Pra ti t s n th nais r haioloyi s tair as, 49–59. heocharis,  . .  (19 1)  Anaskapha   en  olk Pra ti t s n th nais r haioloyi s tair as 45–54. heocharis,  . . (19 )    mvos tou Exal phou kai i isvol  ton  Thessalón. Athens Annals of Archaeology 1, 289–295. heocharis,  . . and  heochari, M. (19 0) Ek tou  ekrotaph ou  tis Iolkoú, O Tímvos tou Exalóphou kai i isvolí ton Thessalón. Athens Annals of Archaeology 3, 198–203. Tsoúntas, K. (1900) Ergasíai en Vólo. Pra ti t s n th nais r haioloyi s tair as, 72–73. Tsoúntas, K. (1901) Anaskaphaí en Dimíni. Pra ti t s n th nais r haioloyi s tair as, 41–42. Tziaphálias, A. (1981) Aryiropoúli Tirnávou, tholotós táphos. Arkhaioloyikón Deltíon 36, V, 255–257. Verdelís, N.M. (1951) Anaskaphikaí érevnai en Thessalía. Praktiká t s n th nais r haioloyi s tair as, 141–158. Verdelís, N.M. (1952) Anaskaphikaí érevnai en Thessalía. Praktiká t s n th nais r haioloyi s tair as, 164–204. Verdelís, N.M. (1953) Anaskaphikaí érevnai en Thessalía. Praktiká t s n th nais r haioloyi s tair as 120–132.

4 Mycenaean Achaea before and after the collapse Emiliano Arena

A c h ae a b e f or e t h e c ol l ap

se

Before the Collapse at the end of the thirteenth century BC, Achaea represents a paradigmatic example of a Mycenaean periphery which did not develop a palatial state or depend politically on faraway palaces (cf. Eder 2009). As I have discussed elsewhere, the relationships between non-palatial areas and the palaces during the LH IIIA–B suggest, in most  cases,  some  kind  of  cultural  influence  or  economic  interaction. At the most, some indirect link to palatial elites, possibly through a gift exchange network, can also be implied, but it is unlikely that strong territorial control was exerted by a faraway palatial administration and, thus, no actual, formal, ‘political’ subjection of the areas outside the immediate hinterland of the palaces can be inferred (Arena 2015, 37). The archaeological record of Mycenaean Achaea, describing two well-populated subregions with peculiar features, separated into east and west by the Panachaikon range, shows clearly, until LH IIIA2, the presence of Achaean elites and the existence of local power centres. Some ample dwelling structures are recorded in Katarraktis, at Ayios Athanasios (Fig. 4.1.41), and Drakotrypa (Fig. 4.1.40) in central-western Achaea. R emains of a LH I megaron occur in eastern Achaea at Aigion (Fig. 4.1.58), where a large rectangular building remained in use until its destruction in LH IIA. Western Achaea records the earliest examples of prominent tombs: at Portes (Fig. 4.1.34), a very large cist tomb in the middle of tumulus C dates to LH IA. At Kallithea: Laganidia (Fig. 4.1.22) a single tholos tomb, dated to LH IIB–IIIA, was surrounded by a LH II–IIIC chamber tomb cemetery. Two intact LH II–IIIA tholoi in the area of Pharai (Fig. 4.1.42), usually connected to the megaron-like building at Ayios Athanasios, yielded rich

offerings (including the ‘Pharai hoard’). The list of elite burials is enriched by the LH IIB–IIIA1 tholoi in Petroto: Mygdalia (Fig. 4.1.13), Pournari (IIIA ?; Fig. 4.1.26), Chalandritsa: Troumbes (Fig. 4.1.36), and by the LH IIIA monumental ‘princely’ chamber tomb no. 4 in Voundeni: Amygdalia (Fig. 4.1.3). With its extraordinarily long dromos (19.80 m), ample rectangular burial chamber (28 m2), and precious grave goods, it may represent the clearest case of a local Achaean ruler during the early palatial age. At the dawn of the full palatial age a break seemingly occurred: at the end of LH IIIA1 or early LH IIIA2, four tholoi in western Achaea (Kallithea, Petroto, and the two at Pharai) were abandoned and plundered; in LH IIIA1 the destroyed Aigion megaron went through changes in ground plan; but above all, no new tholoi were afterwards built. During the palatial age in LH IIIB the Achaean elites, as in other Mycenaean peripheries, became almost shadowy. In western Achaea no ordinary people could obtain the precious items (including orientalia) recovered in chamber tombs dating to LH IIIA–B in western Achaea at Portes, Spaliareika: Lousikon (Fig. 4.1.30), Monodendri: Stenosia (Fig. 4.1.23), Mitopolis: Ayia Varvara (Fig. 4.1.33), and Koukoura: Klauss (Fig. 4.1.12), whereas in eastern Achaea the Aigion Psyla Alonia Square cemetery (Fig. 4.1.58) experienced great prosperity during LH IIIA–B. But in general evidence relating to important tombs and individuals is barely detectable. This and the comparison with the late literary evidence of the ‘Catalogue of Ships’ in the Iliad (II, 569–577), recording eastern Achaea as part of Agamemnon’s realm, and some mythohistorical traditions referring to Achaea during the heroic age, such as that of Tisamenos’s refuge in Helike, led some to infer the political dependence at

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Emiliano Arena

Fig. 4.1. Achaea LH site map.

4. Mycenaean Achaea before and after the collapse least of eastern Achaea on Mycenae (Vermeule 1960, 19; Papadopoulos 1978–1979, 184). This literary evidence, however, is related more to constructions of Achaean identity in the Archaic rather than the Mycenaean period (Arena 2006–2007, 27–34). The issue of political dependence is scarcely supported by the archaeological record. If anything, Mycenae’s rise as the major regional power in the eastern Peloponnese at the beginning of LH III stunted the development of the Achaean polities into palace stated by intercepting resources from the central Aegean and eastern Mediterranean (Eder 2003, 38). At the same time, some evidence rather suggests that Mycenae was not able to later extend its ‘political’, territorial control either to eastern or to western Achaea (Arena 2015, 24–29). Achaean elites probably continued to exist in a politically autonomous region, but they were overshadowed by the economic primacy of the major palaces, which, by draining imported prestige goods, caused their paucity within Mycenaean peripheries. This relative invisibility of elites could be due to ‘archaeological invisibility’, caused by homogenous Mycenaean burial customs, which can substantially skew our perception of grave wealth (Arena 2015, 19), but it can now also be explained within a more general phenomenon: the crisis of the early Mycenaean strategy of status display through the warrior status. Within major states, in fact, the ‘wanax ideology’ imposed a severe restriction in status display (Kilian 1988); the ‘heroic’ warriors of early Mycenaean times had been stripped of their weapons and power, and incorporated into the palatial ranks. Those involved in warlike activities were now equipped with mass-produced swords under palatial control (Knossos tablets R A 1450 and R a 7948, listing 50 and 117 swords: Driessen and MacDonald 1984, 64, and the 16 swords discovered in Building A of Ayios Vasileios in Laconia: Morgan 2009). he new palatial elites, mainly officials, expressed their  status through a ‘civic’ strategy, by using seals of precious stone, no longer depicting combat scenes (Kramer-Hajos 2016, 76–77). Within the peripheries, instead, local elites tried to mirror this by using the inexpensive Mainland Popular Group seals, which, due to the association of administrations with palaces, in core areas were identity markers of commoners. In non-palatial areas such as Achaea, the MPG seals, far from marking a political tie with the palaces (Eder 2009, 114–115), became the status markers of sub-elites and elites (Kramer-Hajos 2016, 100). Achaean societies during the palatial age lacked an administrative hierarchy, palatial buildings, and the ‘wanax ideology’, but participated in the common Mycenaean culture, which is evident in the relative uniformity of the architecture and tombs types, mortuary practices, ceramic products, and luxury goods (Dickinson 1994, 78). This cultural koine was founded on a widespread competitive emulation, innovation,

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and transmission of symbolic and material interactions as described by R enfrew (1986) for ‘peer polities’. There are also some truly ‘Achaean’ features, marking the cultural independence of the two subregions: the extreme paucity of imports from the Argolid, as early as the LH IIB and IIIA1 periods; a peculiar independence of the Achaean pottery style (Papadopoulos 1978–1979, 177), which attests to local production at least at Aigion in LH IIIA1 (Mountjoy 1999, 403); the rarity of kylikes in burial contexts, which suggests that libation rituals were not widely practiced, and which marks a difference from palatial practice (Cavanagh 1998, 107, 109, 112). As for the ‘political’ outline of Achaea before the Collapse, the concentration in western Achaea of contemporary sites producing elite evidence, at least in the Patras and Pharai areas, may hint at a network of close, interrelated small chiefdoms, perhaps developing in a hierarchy of sites centred on something like a ‘primary centre’. In eastern Achaea the apparent lack of distinctive tombs such as tholoi, and of site hierarchy in early Mycenaean times, might suggest a more loosely ranked, ‘lateral’, heterarchical pattern of regional organisation characterised by self-organised societies and the absence of controlling centres. This may have persisted through the palatial period, as in Corinthia (Arena 2015, 36–37). The case of Achaea demonstrates that at least until the end of the LH IIIB period different socio-political entities coexisted in Greece. In addition to possible cases of heterarchy, chiefdoms characteristic of the Early Mycenaean era, probably survived alongside Mycenaean palatial states; these re-emerged, after the destruction of palaces, as the dominant form of organisation in the LH IIIC period.

A c h ae a af t e r t h e c ol l ap

se

Achaea during the postpalatial LH IIIC period displays elements of continuity from LH IIIB. Among 29 LH IIIB sites recorded by Papadopoulos (1978–1979, 172–173), only five were abandoned in LH  C.  he levels of regional  population remained fairly stable – the vertical demographic collapse characterising the eastern Peloponnese, Laconia and Messenia did not occur, nor was there such a significant  increase to give substance to the theory of Late Mycenaean Achaea as a ‘refugee land’ (Desborough 1964, 101). If refugees did arrive, they had little impact. Conversely, some significant new features appear  there  was a relocation of some settlements inland (e.g. Aigeira), signalling the need for more defensible sites, and, in LH IIIC early, Handmade Burnished Ware (HBW), which disappeared, as elsewhere, by LH IIIC Middle (Bettelli 2009). Above all, the postpalatial period provides a picture of general prosperity during the LH IIIC Middle, which is also visible in central Greece (Thomatos 2006), and which

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found material expression in the ‘explosion’ of the so-called ‘warrior tomb’ phenomenon within western Achaea. he  cause  of  this  prosperity  has  been  identified  as  the  ultimate result of the Collapse of the palace states at the end of LH IIIB2, which allowed regions such as Achaea (especially the west), eastern Lokris, Phokis, and Attica to further develop (Middleton 2010, 81). Nevertheless, I doubt this happened primarily because such regions were freed from any political control by the palaces, which is far from established; rather it should be recognised that these peripheries now had the chance for direct ‘access’ to resources previously intercepted and monopolised by the palaces (Burns 2010; Arena 2015). Above all, access to prestige goods, carried within new networks by actors such as LM IIIC Crete and LC IIIA Cyprus, now free from the ‘bottleneck’ previously represented by the palaces, is the key to understanding the emergence of new regional elites on the Greek mainland during LH IIIC. In my opinion, the renewed possibility to gain these goods reactivated the ‘conspicuous consumption’ dynamics, peculiar to the elites. This possibility also signals, within the material culture, the related processes of power acquisition by individuals, who were able in postpalatial times to attract and maintain followers within their communities. The end of the palatial world also opened up room to individual communities of western Greece, especially in western Achaea and to individual ‘entrepreneurs’ to manage business and commercial networks on a smaller scale. The material outcome of these exchanges – informal and individual driven rather than formalised and state-driven (Murray 2017, 60) – is partly deposited in the tombs of the postpalatial elites, whereas prestige goods, as weapons and amber, were probably transmitted via gift exchange (Eder 2003, 49), However, since at least 40 years separate the collapse from the prosperity of the LH IIIC Middle in Achaea, this phenomenon cannot represent the immediate effect of the crisis of the palatial world. It rather denotes the result of a process, during which the access to external resources, although benefiting from contacts with the southern  talian  polities of Final/R ecent Bronze and Cyprus, did not have a gradual progression, but a fluctuating, nearly  parabolic’  one, also conditioned by a complex of external factors. The LH IIIC outline in Achaea is however far from unitary: the individual phases of the period, Early–Middle (Developed and Advanced) and Late, examined in detail by Moschos (2009), who has offered a local and fundamental periodisation based on ceramic evidence (‘Achaean phases’ 1–5), have developments which assume ever better defined  features.  n  view  of  our  topic,  the  first  half  of  LH  C  is  extremely significant. During the transitional phase between LH IIIB and LH IIIC early (Moschos’ ‘Achaean Phase 1’) the collapse destructions seem to have selectively touched western

Achaea: the  eichos  ymaion fortified citadel ( ig. 4.1.2 ),  Ayia Kiriaki (Fig. 4.1.5) and maybe Pagona (Fig. 4.1.10) settlements  were  destroyed  by  fire,  but  were  reoccupied  after a brief abandonment phase, whereas it seems that Chalandritsa (Fig. 4.1.35), Mygdalia (Fig. 4.1.13) and Aigeira (Fig. 4.1.65) escaped this fate (Moschos 2009, 346–347). In this phase the western Achaean cemeteries yield exotic items of Italian provenance or inspiration (two Italian manufactured spearheads from Mitopolis, one ‘Scoglio del Tonno type’ fenestrated razor at Klauss, ‘Matrei type’ knives, one ertosa dagger, violin bow fibulae from  eichos  ymaion   Moschos 2009, 350–351; Borgna 2013, 132–133), now recognised as locally produced (Jung and Mehofer 2013, 182), and Cretan products (pottery and bronze ladles) at Patras and Voudeni ‘warrior’s tombs’ furnished with daggers of Sandars’ type D (Moschos 2009, 351). Moreover, the HBW found in Teichos Dymaion’s destruction levels and the local production of manufactured objects of Italian design at the same  site  testifies  to  the  possible  presence  of  immigrants  from southern Italy (Gazis 2017, 468) and of itinerant Italic craftsmen, as much as an interest of the local polity toward cultural and military traditions, extraneous to the Mycenaean culture (Jung and Mehofer 2013, 181–182). This special relationship  is  reflected  by  the  fact  that  eichos  ymaion  might be the place of origin of the several imported vessels with monochrome decorations found in layers of R BA 2 at Punta Zambrone, on Tyrrenic Calabria (Jung and Pacciarelli 2017, 191–192). Western Achaea appears as a consumption and diffusion space for the bronzes of a metallurgic koine comprising Italy, central-eastern Europe, and the Balkans; likewise, the western Achaean elites were intermediaries within the Aegean–Adriatic networks, touching the ports of call in the Patras area and Teichos Dymaion. On the other hand, eastern Achaea, with a generally meagre archaeological record, provides a scenario reminiscent of that of LH IIIB, i.e. unrelated to any alleged influence  of nearby Argolis: the architectural and pottery evidence of the Aigeira settlement phase IA describe a community apparently lacking rank distinctions, which, nevertheless, seems to entertain cultural relations with western Achaea. Such evidence may be interpreted as the result, in the first  instance, of the destructions recorded in some parts of the region, which may have caused a physiological rearrangement of power relations between communities – the Patras area surpassed the Dyme region in prosperity (Moschos 2009, 349) – although the main political framework detected relating to LH IIIA and LH IIIB was not basically altered. The people reoccupying the destroyed sites, as with the other western Achaeans, seemingly benefited from the opportunities offered by the postpalatial Aegean ‘small world’ rather than suffering.

4. Mycenaean Achaea before and after the collapse Prosperity and richness in exotic contacts of the western Achaean polities, indeed, represent the immediate effect of the collapse of the Peloponnese palatial centres, and resulted in a temporary access of the Achaeans to resources that, through LH IIIB, had been siphoned off by them. This may explain the preference, reflected in the funerary costumes,  especially of the western Achaean elites of the transitional age, for prestige objects, coming from an area stretching from Crete to Italy. Thanks to a close relationship especially with the Italian west, these elites acquired valuable goods, functional to social display and to the strengthening of their status. The full LH IIIC Early, together with the initial part of the Middle (‘Achaean Phase 2’) presents some elements of discontinuity from the preceding phase, being instead characterised by the meaningful absence of some ‘diacritical elements’ such as distinctive burials and other evidence ascribable to elites, to any military and socio-political form of hierarchy. This phenomenon could be explained by some sort of cultural restriction for display in the funerary and architectural arenas, while the absence of elite evidence could be found in local turmoil, caused by the Teichos Dymaion, Ayia Kiriaki and Pagona destructions (Moschos 2009, 353). A similar trend is recorded within the coeval phase IB of the Aigeira settlement. This now presents a more articulated plan with a residential area, distinct from the production and storage ones in the northern and western part of the Acropolis plateau, and cultic evidence, such as Psi idols, whereas pottery evidence continues that of the IA phase settlement ( eger-Jalkotzy 200 , 5 – 4). Here we find one  self-sufficient  community,  dedicated  to  metalworking  and  wool production, still presenting little evidence of social rank distinction (Alram-Stern 2008, 18–19). This more obscure period of LH IIIC western Achaea is also characterised by a strong decrease of objects coming from the Italian west, the absence of central European characteristics in local metallurgy, and the interruption of contacts with the central Mediterranean. Instead, contacts with Crete, Cyprus and R hodes lingered, albeit because of the strategies of these eastern Mediterranean countries (Moschos 2009, 353), who were free to directly reach the Aegean area, due to the end of palatial control of the commercial networks: Cyprus, e.g., although suffering the abandonment of several centres after 1200 BC, showed a particular resilience with respect to the ‘Collapse’, since its centralised political economic system seems to have embraced competitive traders, operating within a more open economy, alongside the centrally controlled elite trades (Knapp 2013, 451). The absence of elite diacritics within the funerary space could be due to a new cultural habit or to the archaeological invisibility of the Achaean elites, caused by the reduced circulation of exotic goods. This may have encouraged

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the local production of goods, such as the ‘Early Achaean Style’ pottery; access to goods shared by all the members of the polity could have caused the sort of material egalitarianism visible within the archaeological record. We cannot exclude, however, that this absence could reflect a different  socio-political state of affairs, resulting in poorly hierarchically organised communities, and suggesting a temporary generalisation, in this phase of the LH IIIC, of heterarchical forms of political organisation as an adaptive response to a renewed context of a general economic downturn. Perhaps, once the initial ‘surprise effect’ of the ‘transitional’ period ran out, the collapse of the palatial networks and economic demand from the Near East, has made people feel, in the starting decades of the twelfth century BC, all its negative effects. During this ‘Achaean Dark Age’ poor access to prestige goods, which usually show the emergence of rank differences, probably temporarily prevented ambitious individuals from (re)constituting, within their polities, any archaeologically detectable organisational form such as chiefdoms. These socio-economic developments ended during the LH IIIC Middle (‘Achaean phase 3’), which marks the maximum blossoming of postpalatial Achaea. In western Achaea, pottery records the peak of the ‘Early Achaean style’ and the rise of the ‘Mature Style’. Furthermore, new weapon types were introduced, including the long Naue II swords, adopted from the Alpine and Balkan regions (Molloy 2012, 421), and locally produced HBW appears (Jung and Mehofer 2013, 175). Above all, the presence of elites, now clearly recognisable in the archaeological record, and new ways of expressing individual power, connote in both Achaean sub-regions a change of socio-political attitude. The most remarkable features were the emergence of settlements such as Mygdalia in western Achaea and phase II of the Aigeira acropolis, with their prominent ruler-related buildings and the so-called ‘warrior tombs’, especially in western Achaea in the Patras and Dyme regions. Mygdalia presents considerable evidence of buildings, arranged along hill terraces, and significant traces of social  organisation. On the top of the hill, one large building stood isolated from the lower terrace structures. It was provided with a second floor and a complex plan with three rooms  (7.80 × 3.60; 5 × 3.60; 8.50 × 2.40 m), two of which had column bases, with rare comparisons in Tiryns and Midea. This building is likely recognisable as the sole example of a chief’s mansion in western Achaea during the postpalatial period. In the lower terraces, among a dense pattern of residential structures, a second large building (15 × 4.1 m), probably a storeroom, stands out. It had a wooden column on a stone base, which supported the roof. Pottery evidence hints at two phases of the building: one LH IIIC Early–Middle, destroyed by an earthquake, and a second one of the LH IIIC Late/SM, which was abandoned, without traces  of  violence,  after  a  final  feast.  races  of  spinning 

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and an area for food preparation and consumption hint at a communal use (Papazoglou-Manioudaki and Paschalidis 2017, 457). n the east, it is significant that, after a destruction in LH  IIIC Early–Middle/Developed, the urban plan of the Aigeira phase II acropolis settlement of LH IIIC Middle/Advanced has a new and different layout, with larger buildings and storage areas, which were likely ascribable to new settlers that levelled the area without rescuing the metal objects of IB phase (Alram Stern 2003, 16). In the middle of the acropolis, a large building with multiple rooms stood, the so-called ‘fringed decorated krater House’. This, together with a second large building, with fragments of pictorial kraters and a circuit wall with votive vases in its foundations, describes the Aigeira acropolis as the residence of a local lord (Alram Stern 2003, 19); recent investigations have located also a lower town (Gauss 2015), resembling Mygdalia’s lower terraces and the well-known Tiryns Unterburg. Aigeira phase II, on the basis of the shared presence of an industrial area, metal workshops and a main building in the centre of the settlement, is also comparable with the Grotta of Naxos settlement, and with the 2A phase of XeropolisLefkandi, where we find a large building called the megaron,  used until the LHIIIC Late, one long wall, and houses with storage areas and a second floor (Lemos 2014, 1 ). Mygdalia and Aigeira allow us to observe approximately the same process that occurred in some central Greek settlements: a destruction at the end of the LH IIIC Early, caused  by  local  conflict  (as  in  ynos  and  eropolis)  or  by an earthquake (as, perhaps, Mygdalia), is followed in the LH IIIC Middle/Developed by a new social ideology, marked by new settlement plans and distinctive buildings. his testifies to the capacity of chiefs to organise labour to  build walls, mansions and storerooms, and plan the spatial organisation of the settlements (Lemos 2014, 119). These chiefs are likely represented by the ‘Warrior tombs’. As many as 2  such burials have been identified in the  Patras and Dyme regions, in the chamber tomb cemeteries of Voudeni, Klauss, Krini, Kallithea, Spaliareika, Kangadi, and Portes (Papadopoulos 1999; Giannopoulos 2008). Their funerary assemblages are characterised by the almost constant presence of the Naue II type sword; but they also contained pottery, bronze objects (including vessels, toilet equipment and rare headgears) and knives, spearheads and greaves. At first sight the  arrior tombs’ mark a significant discontinuity with the palatial period, by showing an increased enfranchisement of persons characterised in the funeral sphere as warriors: they have been frequently interpreted as evidence of a post-collapse re-organisation of social structure, in which ‘warriors’, who did not inherit their status, were able to seize power through their personal prowess (Giannopoulos 2008, 256; Senn 2013, 74; Steinmann 2012, 258; Bettelli 2015, 142).

Undoubtedly, military leadership in LH IIIC Middle was highly valued: the funerary record shows the same emphasis on conflict visible in the fragments of LH  C Middle  pictorial pottery depicting warriors in land and sea battle scenes, which occur with greater frequency than before (Thomatos 2006, 248). Nevertheless, as these representations may not be totally realistic, but evocative of the ethos peculiar to the postpalatial elites, based on ability in battle (Bettelli 2015, 135), likewise, it is possible to go beyond this simple exegesis of the ‘warrior tombs’ and to consider them in light of social ideology and, therefore, to read their grave goods, by attenuating the alleged warlike nature of the deceased (Eder 2003, 39). The individuals buried with warrior attributes usually received particular reverence in the cemeteries by the living as they likely did during their lives in their respective polities: the male burial of Krini-Drimaileika tomb 3 (Fig. 4.1.15) is associated with a corresponding female burial and the sword, in its bronze-studded leather scabbard, appears to have been preserved through later burials. At Portes, the sole warrior tomb is built within one of the MH tumuli. Together with the weaponry, greaves and bronze cylindrical headgear appear, the latter comparable in shape to the Sea Peoples’ helmets depicted in the Medinet Habu temple of R amses III and similar ones in Kallithea tomb A, in Crete (Praisos-Foutoula), and in Kephallenia (Lakkithra,  tomb  )  ( eger-Jalkotzy  200 ,  1 0–1 1).  According to Moschos (2009, 360) this kind of headgear, resembling a sort of tiara, denotes higher status than that of a ‘simple’ warrior. In one case, a hereditary ‘warrior position’ may also be observable: in Tomb 2 of Spaliareika-Lousikon cemetery (Fig. 4.1.30), the largest and most carefully carved grave, warrior status seems to cross different generations of the same family: as many as three individuals, one cremation of LH IIIC Early, two inhumated respectively in LH IIIC Middle and LH IIIC Late, received warrior attributes. Burial  A  of  tomb    in  lauss  cemetery  ( ig.  4.1.12   Fig. 4.2) is also worth mentioning, where palaeoanthropological analysis attest a tall (1.77 m) and robust individual, but one lacking traces of large muscle insertions, peculiar to those used to military activity. His rich grave goods, without comparisons in the same generation of the dead (copious pots, ivory pins, bronzes, Peschiera knife), included a Naue II sword and spearhead without any traces of use. This deceased, also associated with a rich, simultaneous female burial (B), shows signs of reverence by the living: at the end of LH IIIC Advanced/Late it was covered with soil, on which two large amphoras and the remains of a sacrificed bovid were deposited, by way of ritual offerings  (Paschalidis and McGeorge 2009, 89–95). Naue II swords and weapons surely mark high social rank and status. It is worth noting that cemeteries usually hold no more than two ‘warrior tombs’, which cannot represent the

4. Mycenaean Achaea before and after the collapse

ig lauss ce etery: to urial ro Paschalidis and McGeorge fig courtesy o C Paschalidis

actual percentage of individuals involved in warlike activities. This, together with the peculiar reverence mentioned above, shows that within western Achaea the attribution of warrior status in the funeral sphere was an all but ordinary prerogative, and must have denoted an elite. According to Papadopoulos (1999, 272–273), the tombs reveal the need for protection after the crisis, evidence of regional  instability,  but  also  the  flourishing  of  the  chiefs,  who were able to gain the Naue II swords from abroad, thanks to which they avoided further invasions. In addition, the ‘warrior tombs’ could be seen as the possible preservation of a sort of centralised organisation, under a military elite leading the single polities, which depended ultimately on Teichos Dymaion. Deger-Jalkotzy (2006, 175–176) has related the ‘warrior tombs’ to the rise of the leading rank of minor palace officials, such as the qasireu; she also suggested meaningful analogies between the hereditary position of the palatial qasireu and the evidence of the abovementioned Spaliareika tomb  2.  he  warrior  tombs’  are  to  be  identified  with  the  burials of individuals holding the power and being able to be called basileis  these were, she guesses, the bridging figures  between Mycenaean qasirewe and the Homeric basileis. Both theories, however, do not perfectly fit the Achaean  state of affairs (cf. Middleton 2010, 104): it seems unlikely that western Achaea, lacking a centralised organisation

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during the palatial age, preserved or spontaneously developed it during LH IIIC (Senn 2013, 69). Secondly, I am inclined to share the scepticism relating to the rise of the qasireu as the main authority in the postpalatial polities, whereas this possibility seems to relate more to the elite members who survived the collapse in palatial areas, who were responsible for various building activities, such as the restoring of the megaron, of the cyclopean walls of Tiryns and of the planning of residential areas (Crielaard 2011, 88–89). We have also to envision that, if during LH IIIB, Achaea qasirewe ever existed, they were not palatial officials, but  local petty chieftains, successors of the Early Mycenaean period lords, leading small chiefdoms; not to mention the possible generational hiatus in an elite presence (or visibility?) observed within ‘Achaean phase 2’, which warns against a continuous process. If one accepts the equation basileis/chiefs = warriors, it should be worthwhile to move the focus from an actual warrior role of the dead to a high or leading status, militarily connoted, despite the actual skills of the living. As noted by scholars from Whitley (2002) onwards, weapons presence within graves, far from being a ‘biographical fact’ accurately recording an alleged martial status of the dead, could have a symbolic and connotative value. Sometimes the weaponry symbolism comes to be remarkably redundant: e.g., the individual in the LH IIIA1 ‘King’s tholos’ of Dendra, described as being of small stature and narrow building, could hardly wield  the  five  bronze  swords  in  his  tomb.  Clearly,  in  this  case a warrior status was ascribed by the living, rather than having been achieved by the man himself. So, it should be appropriate to distinguish between actual ‘warrior tombs’ and ‘tombs with weapons’ (Whitley 2002, 222). The use of a sword as a power symbol within the burial is not strictly a new feature, but the reactivation of an Early Mycenaean cultural trait. As said above, in prepalatial LH I–II, a weapon funerary set had sometimes characterised the burials of prominent individuals; after the ‘domestication of the warrior’ phenomenon, which happened within palatial kingdoms during LH IIIA–B, local chiefs in non-palatial regions are thought to have returned during LH IIIC to prepalatial strategies, focusing on the sword as an individual power symbol (Kramer-Hajos 2016, 100, 164). In all likelihood, the absence of a policy of display restriction of the ‘wanax ideology’, allowed the sword to be restored to the chiefs, who, starting from LH IIIC Middle, were ‘free’ again to use it as an emblem of personal power. However, sometimes this probably happened, just like in the impressive case of the ‘warrior’ of Dendra King’s tholos, regardless of their actual prowess, military virtues, and leading skills of the sword possessor: the case of the tall individual in burial A of tomb   in  lauss cemetery, whose  weapons appear almost unused and the body untrained to military practices, could prove, indeed, that at least some of

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the Achaean LH IIIC ‘warriors’ during life did not actually perform warlike activities. In the case of Achaea, such shifts in ideological strategies and the rise, or re-emergence, of basileis in the postpalatial period, possibly marked by LH IIIC Middle warrior tombs, may be connected to the exploitation of the void after the collapse and of the renewal of favourable economic circumstances. We may conclude that, at least some of the persons buried with military features in LH IIIC Middle and Late Achaea represent an ‘updated version’ of the LH IIIB chiefs. But, whereas during the palatial period the latter, as with the other peripheral elites, had tried to equate themselves with the palatial elites without resorting to the sword as a power symbol (Kramer-Hajos 2016, 100), now Achaean chiefs returned to their former strategy. Being able to fully access to the Adriatic and Italian west-centred networks without any competition from the palaces, they were capable of displaying their leading status, by choosing as a ‘new’ marker the most desirable weapon of their times: the ‘exotic’ Naue II sword.  his, reflecting the capacity by the chiefs of forming  relationships with contemporary Italian polities, more likely helped  to  affirm  the  leader  authority  within  their  polities,  rather than to protect them against external enemies. These Achaean chieftains, moreover, proved to be more versatile than their ancestors: the Mygdalia and Aigeira LH IIIC Middle settlements, with their chief’s mansions, storage areas and complex urban plans, and the ‘warrior tombs’ suggest that they developed something like the Homeric oikoi (Jung and Pacciarelli 2017, 200), at once consumption and production units, but they combined also social leadership and technical skills, including warfare, business and manual activities, and above all, through their personal relationships and transactions, they were able to transform the declining Palatial society in a complex of ‘integrated societies, based on inclusive institutions, open to participation and innovation’ (Borgna 2013, 134).

R e fe r e n c e s Alram-Stern, E. (200 ) Characteristic small finds of LH  C from  Aigeira and their context. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy, S.M. Zavadil, (eds) IIIC Chronology and ynchronis s II IIIC Middle, 15–27. Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Arena, E. (200 –200 )  er una storia dell’ Acaicit ’: la definizione  identitaria degli Achei del Peloponneso. Annali dell’Istituto rientale di a oli archeol , n.s., 13–14, 15–80. Arena, E. (2015) Mycenaean peripheries during the palatial age: the case of Achaea. Hesperia 84(1), 1–46. Bettelli, M. (2009) ‘Handmade Burnished Ware’ e ceramica grigia tornita in Egeo nella tarda età del bronzo: una messa a punto. tudi Micenei ed geo natolici 51, 95–99. Bettelli, M. (2015) From wanax to basileus. Archaeological evidence of military and political leadership in late Mycenaean society. Origini 37, 123–149.

Borgna, E. (2013) Di periferia in periferia. Italia, Egeo e Mediterraneo orientale ai tempi della koinè metallurgica: una proposta di lettura diacronica. i ista di cien e Preistoriche 6, 125–153. Borgna, E. and Cassola Guida, P. (eds) (2009) Dall’Egeo all’ driatico: organi a ioni sociali odi di sca io ed intera i one in et ost ala iale II I sec a C . Atti del seminario interna ionale dine dice re . R ome, Q uasar. Burns, B.E. (2010) Mycenaean Greece Mediterranean Co erce and the Formation of Identity. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Cavanagh, W.G. (1998) Innovation, conservatism and variation in Mycenaean funerary ritual. In K. Branigan (ed.) Ce etery and ociety in the egean ron e ge,  10 –114.  Sheffield,  Sheffield Academic  ress. Crielaard, J.P. (2011) The ‘Wanax to basileus model’ reconsidered: authority and ideology after the collapse of the Mycenaean palaces. In A. Mazarakis Ainian (ed.) The ‘Dark Ages’ Revisited. n International Con erence in Me ory o illia D Coulson olos une , 83–111. Volos, University of Thessaly Press. eger-Jalkotzy, S. (200 ) Stratified pottery deposits from the Late  Helladic IIIC settlement at Aigeira/Achaia. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) III C Chronology and ynchronis s, 53–75. Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (2006) Late Mycenaean warrior tombs. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I.S. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the ge o o er, 151–180. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Desborough V.R .d’A. (1964) The Last Mycenaeans and Their uccessors. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Dickinson O.T.P.K. (1994) The egean ron e ge. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Driessen J.M. and MacDonald, C.F. (1984) Some military aspects of the Aegean in the late fifteenth and early fourteenth centuries  B.C. Annual of the ritish chool at thens 79, 49–74. Eder, B. (2003) Patterns of contact and communication between the regions south and north of the Corinthian Gulf in LH IIIC. In N. Kyparissi-Apostolika and M. Papakonstantinou (eds) The Peri hery o the Mycenaean orld, 35–54. Athens, Ministry of Culture – 14th Ephorate of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities. Eder, B. (2009) Ü berlegungen zur politischen geographie der mykenischen welt, oder: argumente fü r die ü berregionale bedeutung Mykenes in der spä t bronzezeitlichen Ä gä is. Geographia Antiqua 18, 5–46. Jung, R . and Mehofer M. (2013) Mycenaean Greece and Bronze Age Italy: cooperation, trade or war? Archäologische orres onden e latt 43, 175–194. Jung, R . and Pacciarelli, M. (2017) Greece and southern Italy 1250– 1050 BC: manifold patterns of interaction. In A. Vlachopoulos, . Lolos,  . Laffineur and M.  otiadis (eds)  P . The egean seen ro the est. egaeu 185–204. LeuvenLiè ge, Peeters. Kilian, K. (1988) The emergence of wanax ideology in the Mycenaean palaces. ord ournal o rchaeology 7(3), 291–302. Kramer-Hajos, M. (2016) Mycenaean Greece and the Aegean orld Palace and Pro ince in the ate ron e ge. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

4. Mycenaean Achaea before and after the collapse Gauss, W. (2015) Ü berlegungen zur mykenischen befestigungsmauer und ‘unterstadt’ von Aigeira. In S. and R . Nawracala (eds) , Festschrift fur Hartmut Matthaus anlaslich seines Ge urtstages, 149–162. Aachen, Shaker Verlag. Gazis, M. (2017) Teichos Dymaion, Achaea. An Acropolis-harbour of the Ionian Sea looking westwards. In A. Vlachopoulos, Y. Lolos,  .  Laffineur  and  M.  otiadis  (eds)  ES E S.  The egean een ro the est egaeu 463–472. LeuvenLiè ge, Peeters. Giannopoulos, T.D. (2008) Die let ten liten der y enische elt: chaia in y enischer eit und das h no enon der rieger estattungen i arhunderts Chr Bonn, Habelt. Knapp, B. (2013) he rchaeology o Cy rus Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Lemos, I. (2014) Communities in transformation. An archaeological survey from the 12th to the 9th century BC. Pharos 20(1), 161–191. Middleton, G.D. (2010) he Colla se o Palatial ociety in Greece and the Post alatial Period. Oxford, Archaeopress. Molloy, B. (2010) Swords and swordsmanship in the Aegean Bronze Age. erican ournal rchaeology 114, 403–428. Morgan, C. (2009) Agios Vasileios. ulletin de Corres ondence elleni ue Chroni ue des ouilles en ligne. http://chronique. efa.gr index.php fiches voir 1494 Moschos, I. (2009) Evidence of social reorganization and reconstruction in Late Helladic IIIC Achaea and modes of contacts and exchange via the Ionian and the Adriatic Sea. In E. Borgna and P. Cassola Guida (eds) From the Aegean to the Adriatic: ocial rganisations Modes o change and Interaction in Post alatial i es 345–414. R ome, Q uasar. Mountjoy, P.A. (1999) egional Mycenaean Decorated Pottery R aden, Marie Leidorf. Murray, S.C. (2017) he Colla se o the Mycenaean cono y I orts rade and Institutions C . Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

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Papadopoulos, T. (1978–1979) Mycenaean Achaea. Göteborg, P. Åströms Förlag. apadopoulos,  .J. (1999)  arrior graves in Achaean Mycenaean  cemeteries.  n  . Laffineur (ed.) P M e conte te guer rier en ég e l ge du ron e I II egaeu 267–274. Liè ge-Austin, KLIEMO. Papazoglou Manioudaki, L. and Paschalidis, K. (2017) A society of merchants and warriors to the east of the west. The rise of the Mycenaean settlement on Mygdalia hill, near Patras, in Achaea.  n A.  lachopoulos,  .  Lolos,  .  Laffineur,  and  M.  Fotiadis (eds) P , he egean een ro the est. egaeu 453–462. Leuven-Liè ge, Peeters. Paschalidis C. and McGeorge P.J.P. (2009) Life and death in the periphery of the Mycenaean world at the end of the Late Bronze Age: the case of the Achaea Klauss cemetery. In E. Borgna and P. Cassola Guida (eds) From the Aegean to the Adriatic: ocial rganisations Modes o change and Interaction in Post alatial i es 1–41. R ome, Q uasar. R enfrew, C. (1986) Peer Polity Interaction and ocio olitical Change. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Senn, H. (2013) Warrior burials and the elevation of a military elite in LH IIIC Achaia. Chroni a 3, 67–77. Steinmann B.F. (2012) Die a engr er der g ischen ron e eit a en eiga en so iale el stdarstellung und delsethos in inoisch y enischen ultur. P I IPPI . Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz. Thomatos, M. (2006) The inal e i al o the egean ron e ge: Case tudy o the rgolid Corinthia ttica u oea the Cyclades and the Dodecanese during IIIC Middle. Oxford. Archaeopress. lachopoulos, A., Lolos,  ., Laffineur,  . and  otiadis, M. (eds)  (2017) P he egean een ro the est Aegaeum 41. Leuven-Liè ge, Peeters. Whitley, J. (2002) Objects with attitude: Biographical facts and fallacies in the study of Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age warrior graves. Ca ridge rchaeological ournal 12(2), 217–232.

5 Chaos is a ladder: first Corinthians climbing – the end  of the Mycenaean Age at Corinthia Eleni Balomenou

Since the twentieth century, scientific research has reserved  only a small place in the shadow of the Argolid or Aegina  for  Mycenaean  Corinthia  ( ig.  5.1),  refusing  to  acknowledge  sometimes  even  its  mere  existence  (Cherry- avis  2001, 15  Morgan 1999,  51– 5   right 2004, 119, 12   ullen and  artaron 200 , 15 –15 ). As Leaf wrote,  we are  justified,  so  far  as  evidence  goes,  in  saying  that  there  was  no Corinth in Mycenaean, or if  r. Blegen prefers, in Late  Helladic days.  he latter statement is, however, more than    originally  asserted,  and  for  the  purposes  of  Homer  and  History  is  unnecessary.    wonder  why  there  should  be  so  strong a desire to believe in a Mycenaean Corinth for which  the evidence is absolutely non-existent   t hardly seems to  display a scientific spirit’ (Leaf 192 , 154).  t was Carl  .  Blegen with his excavations at  orakou and  ygouries who  struggled to convince the scientific community that Corinthia  not  only  existed  during  the  Mycenaean  period,  but  that  it  was  a  territory  which  was  actually  densely  populated  and  thriving (Blegen 192 , 1 2  .  19 4a, vi). Even so, during  the years that followed, and even up to now, attitudes towards  Corinthia remained with few exceptions almost the same in  most of the bibliographical sources ( -Herbst 2015). And it would have remained so, had a tholos tomb not  been discovered by the local Greek Archaeological Service  during works for the construction of the new national highway (Archaiologikon Deltion  2 (200 ), 5 5–5  Bulletin de correspondance hellénique 2019).  Suddenly  it  became  evident  that  the  area,  long  considered  to  be  the  poor  and  insignificant relative of the  golden’ Argolid, might hold rich  surprises, proving that it was no such thing.  his tomb has  proven to be extremely valuable as an argument in favour  of  a  strong  Mycenaean  presence  during  the  Late  Helladic  period, extending chronologically to all of its subdivisions,  LH  C included.

he  tholos  tomb  is  located  2  km  north  of  the  central  archaeological site of Ancient Corinth, west and very near  to the  orth Cemetery, which itself is predominantly occupied  by  graves  that  are  Late  Geometric  through  Classical  in  date,  but  with  some  Middle  Helladic  burials,  possibly  part  of  a  tumulus  ( ig.  5.2)  (Blegen,  almer  and  oung  19 4, 1–12   utter 1990, 455–45  Shear 19 0, 40 –411).  espite having been looted since the Mycenaean period, it  nevertheless contained sumptuous finds ranging chronologically  from  LH    to  LH  C. As  mentioned,  the  artefacts  were impressive, large in number and in variety  decorated  large  pithoi,  squat  jars  and  jugs,  signets,  beads  and  other  items were found.  he earliest artefact, from LH  , was a  decorated  tall  narrow-necked  jar  with  the  handle  below  the  rim.  his  is  an  exact  parallel  with  a  jar  from  tomb    of  Grave  Circle  B  of  Mycenae.  he  latest  finds  from  the  tomb  were  two  bronze  violin-shaped  pins,  found  intact  and  dated  to  LH  C  (   201 ,  4 –50,  picture  ).  he  same  type  of  pins  have  been  found  at  the  ymaion  all, adjacent to Corinthia, in the prefecture of Achaia (      19 , 2 , fig. 2 9).  he pottery and  the rest of the excavated material is yet to be fully studied  and  published,  but  according  to  the  excavators  the  tomb  was used continuously and uninterruptedly throughout the  Late Helladic period (rather than re-used later: CavanaghMee 19 ,  1–44)  a further and more detailed study of the  pottery found inside and on the overlying layers of the tomb  might also reveal a Submycenaean layer. Apart from the Early Mycenaean tomb, four more were  lying  in  the  outline  of  the  tholos,  in  the  overlying  layers.  All  were  stone  sarcophagi,  three  of  which  dated  back  to  the Geometric and one to the Archaic period. A cluster of  Geometric  sarcophagi  were  also  unearthed  in  the  dromos  of the tholos tomb. All of them contained a rich number of 

4

Eleni Balomenou

Fig. 5.1. Late Bronze Age activity in the Corinthia.

artefacts,  including  decorated  pottery,  bronze  and  golden  jewellery,  indicating,  as  in  the  case  of  the  tholos  tomb,  the wealth and the importance of the people buried inside  (   201 ,  45,  pictures  2  and  ).  t  seems  that  the  burial of the high status dead in the tholos tomb during the  Mycenaean  period  had  created  a  tradition’  which  echoed  into  the  subsequent  periods  by  the  continued  use  of  the  landmark of the tholos as a burial place of later important  dead people. est of, and very near to the tholos tomb ( ig. 5.2), the  new railway excavations unearthed another ancient cemetery.  t contained burials dating from the Submycenaean up  to the  oman period.  he Submycenean is well represented  by two pit graves, both dated to the eleventh century BC and  a pottery deposit south of a ninth century pit grave (tombs  5  and 59).  he tombs contained a few pottery vessels and  bronze  pins   tomb  5   contained  gold  foil  and  tomb  59  a  bronze ring.  ombs of the tenth to eighth centuries are present as well, either with pits, cists or larnakes (information 

from  the  excavators  and  the  archives  of  the  Ephorate  of  Antiquities at Corinth    am grateful to Mrs Giota  asimi  and Mr  asilios  assinos for their valuable help).  t seems,  then, that the cemetery was not in use before the eleventh  century, the very end of the Mycenaean period, and that it  remained in use in the  ron Age without a hiatus. Significant in the area of ancient Corinth ( ig. 5. ) is  the LH  C Late material from the Mycenaean settlement,  possibly a small hamlet, in the area of the later sanctuary  of  emeter and  ore, of which one building and possible  remains of at least one more structure, a terrace wall and a  cist grave survive ( utter 19 9).  he pottery coming from  the site is consistent with a LH  C Late–Submycenaean  date and seems to be homogenous, indicating that all of the  structures are contemporary.  he  emeter and  ore vessels  are  also  linked  with  the  pottery  of  two  Submycenaean  domestic deposits found at the  einberg House, of a fill  beneath the South Stoa and of a Submycenaean cist grave  found at the  orum in the area of  oman temples G and H 

Chaos is a ladder: first Corinthians cli

ig

he tholos to

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4

at ncient Corinth and its location in the area

(the grave contained two successive child burials  another  child burial of Submycenaean period was also found in the  area northwest of  emple G:  illiams 19 0, 12–15) at the  archaeological  site  of  ancient  Corinth. All  the  decorated  pottery  shares  a  similar  dark-ground  appearance  ( utter  19 9  Mounjoy 1999, 201–202, figs 215–21 , 219–2 0).  est  of  the  theatre  another  Submycenaean  grave  was  found, located five metres south of a Geometric well, which  contained  one  Late  Helladic  sherd  ( faff  19 ,  24–2 ,  fig.  2).  t  contained  only  an  aryballus,  similar  to  vessels  found in late burials at Mycenae and  iryns ( esborough  19 , 95, no.  , pl.  5: b) dated to the Submycenaean. At  the  orth Cemetery, sherds dating back to LH , including  C,  Submycenaean  and  G  have  been  found,  filling  in  the picture of the Early  ron Age period at ancient Corinth 

(Shear  19 0,  409   ickey  1992,  9).  he  rotogeometric  is documented in the area by graves, remains of domestic  architecture and pottery from various fills (Morgan 1999,  4 1). Meanwhile,  the  settlement  of  orakou,  which  was  the  biggest  settlement  of  the  area  from  the  Middle  Helladic  through the Late Helladic period, seems to have been abandoned in Late Helladic  C Early ( utter 19 4).  ts most  ambiguous feature is a fortification wall at the west side of  the acropolis slope, part of which was unearthed by Blegen  (1921,  9 ).  A  resistivity  survey  conducted  in  200 ,  and  examination of the notebooks, revealed evidence of a substantial wall around the eastern and southern slopes as well.  urther  excavation  will  document  whether  orakou  was  indeed  a  fortified  settlement,  why  this  might  have  been, 

4

Eleni Balomenou

Fig. 5.3. Ancient Corinth.

and may also shed light on the reasons for its abandonment  ( z -Herbst 201 ,  ). he  end  of  orakou  in  LH  C  seems  to  have  substantially  altered  the  settlement  pattern  of  the  area.  n  the  position of this prominent and possibly fortified settlement,  small hamlets or farmsteads appear in the  urban’ landscape,  at some distance from the sea, within the area later enclosed  by the city walls of Ancient Corinth.  he Late Helladic  C Submycenaean sites at  emeter and  ore, at the  orum and  at the east of the  heatre area seem to represent the existence  of this type of habitation ( utter 200 ,  0). Moving west of ancient Corinth and towards Sikyon, a  recently discovered Bronze Age site at  orati, located on the  eastern side of the  emea river, overlooking the Sikyonian  and Corinthian coastal plains, seems to continue up to LH  C (Marchand 2002, 124–125, fig. 1).  he surface survey  conducted there came across pottery which indicates that the  site was occupied from the  eolithic to Late Helladic  .  Especially for the Late Helladic, the pottery sequence has  shown  that  orati  must  have  been  occupied  continuously  up to its latest period, even though a decline in the pottery  specimens of LH  C is apparent  some  rotogeometric or  Geometric might also exist.

A  great  number  sherds  made  of  crude  red  clay  with  coloured  black  paint  decoration  is  of  importance,  since  it  is  characteristic  of  vessels  from  areas  of  Achaia  such  as  Aigeira and the  ymaion  all.  his type of pottery is also  found at  orakou ( utter 19 4,  ,  1–420, fig. 1 1).  f  considered  alongside  the  two  LH  C  violin-shaped  pins  which were found at the Mycenaean tholos tomb at ancient  Corinth,  and  which  are  of  the  same  type  of  pins  found  at  the  ymaion  wall  (       19 ,  2 ,  fig. 2 9), it becomes evident that contacts with their western  neighbours  in Achaia  must  have  been  very  important  for  Corinth at the end of the Mycenaean period (Marchand et al. 201 , 5 –5 , n. 11). Moving  towards  the  east  coast  of  Corinthia  we  come  across  sthmia  where  one  of  the  most  important  Greek  sanctuaries  is  situated.  he  establishment  of  the  sthmian  sanctuary is dated back to the Early  rotogeometric  eriod  and an unbroken activity sequence is followed throughout  the  Early  ron Age.  t  is  located  in  the  centre  of  a  region  containing  a  number  of  sites,  including  orakou  (up  to  LH  C  Middle:  Blegen  1921),  erachora  Heraion  (up  to  LH C  Middle:  Morgan  1999,  ,  4 )  erachora  Skaloma (LH  C possibly Early: Archaiologikon Deltion

Chaos is a ladder: first Corinthians cli

ing the end o the Mycenaean ge at Corinthia

(19 1)  B,  90–92), Alamanos  (up  to  LH  C:  iseman  19 ,  90),  Evraionisos  (up  to  Late  Helladic  C  Early:  ardulias, Gregory and Sawmiller 1995), Ancient Corinth,  Agia  yriaki Loutrakiou (LH  C SM: Gebauer 19 9, col.  2 9   iseman 19 , 4 –4  Morgan mentions that sherds  from  this  location  in  the  collection  of  the  British  School  of  Athens  include  LH  C  pieces:  Morgan  1999,  4 ,  n.  5) and  ato Almyri  igla, which either by evidence of  domestic  or  burial  context  or  by  pottery  scatters  give  the  impression  of  continuity  through  the  LH  C,  some  even  up to LH  C Late. ottery scatters of LH with a few LH  C Middle and  Late  sherds  have  been  found  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  sthmian plateau and  est Cemetery as well (Morgan 201 ),  although Late Helladic  C was not recognised during the  survey  of  a  Mycenaean  house  excavated  200  m  west  of  the  temple  of  oseidon.  his  was  dated  to  Late  Helladic  B– A1, but it is thought that further study of its pottery  might reveal sherds of later periods as well.  urthermore,  the house is part of a wider settlement, which, if surveyed,  will offer better evidence of the chronological sequence of  the site and its correspondence with the pottery found at the  sanctuary (Balomenou and  assinos 2015). n the other hand, further south along the coastline, the  extensive  cemetery  of  the  Late  Mycenaean  eriod  which  occupied the Bechri ridge at  ato Almyri  igla was used  throughout LH  , from LH  A up to LH  C Late.  he  19 excavated chamber tombs, which were part of a wider  cemetery,  even  if  looted,  were  probably  meant  for  reuse,  possibly as family tombs.  he cemetery might have served  more than one community. Grave goods included sealstones,  beads, figurines, bronzes and   pots, objects considered  to  be  of  considerable  value.  Since  this  cemetery  is  situated  rather  far  from  any  known  Mycenaean  settlements,  it  would  be  reasonable  to  assume  that  another  settlement  existed nearby and spanned the same period as the cemetery  (Archaiologikon Deltion  (19 0)  5B,  102–105   Morgan  1999,  5 – 5  Balomenou 201 , 244–245, fig.  ). n  the  other  side,  if  we  take  into  account  the  model  proposed  for  ancient  Corinth,  and  the  fact  that  no  major  settlements,  e.g.  Gonia  (Blegen  19 0 19 1)  –  which,  as  orakou,  was  also  fortified  –  seem  to  have  prospered  in  the area at the very end of the Mycenaean period, we can  assume that the cemetery served a net of different isolated  hamlets  spread  on  the  east  side.  f  so,  it  would  show  that  this  disurbanisation’ was not just a phenomenon localised  in Corinth, but applied in a wider context. Archaeological  investigation  has  made  evident  the  decrease  in  sites  that  continued  through  the  Late  Helladic  C up to the end of the Mycenaean period.  n the case of  Corinthia there is no evidence of major destruction caused by  an earthquake, an invasion (Sakellariou and  araklas 19 1,  42–4   have  previously  supported  that  the  orian  invasion  was  responsible  for  the  dramatic  reduction  of  Mycenaean 

49

sites in Corinthia) or social unrest (Jung 201 ), as reported for  Argolid and elsewhere, that could be linked with this decrease.  he fact is that the majority of the evidence for the collapse  and destruction, and the chaos that surrounded it, comes from  the  palaces,  and  a  palace  in  Corinthia,  if  there  was  one,  is  yet to be found. Certainly, the fall of the palaces will have  influenced the region greatly, but in general the transformation  of community life and the settlement pattern seems to have  gone through a gradual and rather tranquil process.

R e fe r e n c e s Balomenou,  E.  (201 )          .            .  n  .  issas  and  . .  iemeier  (eds)  Corinthia and the Northeast Peloponnese: Topography and History ro Prehistoric i es until the nd o nti uity thenaia 2 9–24 . M nchen, Hirmer.    Balomenou  E.  and  assinos  .  (2015)  ecent  finds  on  the  sthmus: preliminary report of an Early Mycenaean inhabitation  site  at  yras  rysi.  n  E. .  Gebhard  and  .E.  Gregory  (eds) he ridge o the ntiring ea: he Corinthian Isth us ro Prehistory to Late Antiquity, 1 –24.  rinceton,  he American  School of Classical Studies at Athens. Blegen,  C. .  (1921)  ora ou Prehistoric ettle ent ear Corinth.  Boston,  he  American  School  of  Classical  Studies  at Athens. Blegen,  C. .  (192 )  r.  Blegen’s  reply.  erican ournal o Archaeology 2 , 15 –1 . Blegen,  C. .  (19 0)  reface.  n  C. .  Blegen,  .  Stillwell,  .  Broneer and A. . Bellinger (eds) Acrocorinth. Excavations in  vii–ix. Cambridge, Harvard University  ress. Blegen,  C. .  (19 0 1)  Gonia.  Metro olitan Museu tudies (1), 55– 0. Blegen,  C. .  (19 2)  re-classical  sites.  n  H. .  owler  and  .  Stillwell (eds) Introduction o ogra hy rchitecture Corinth I, 10 –114. Cambridge, Harvard University  ress. Blegen, C. . (19 4)  he Middle Helladic period.  n C. . Blegen,  H.  almer and  .S.  oung (eds)  he orth Ce etery Corinth III, 1–12.  rinceton,  he American School of Classical Studies. Bulletin de correspondance hellénique (2019) Ancient  Corinth.  https: chronique.efa.gr kroute report id 450 Cavanagh,  .G. and Mee, C. (19 )  he re-use of earlier tombs  in the LH   C period.  nnual o the ritish chool at thens ,  1–44. Cherry,  J. .  and  avis,  J.L.  (2001)  Under  the  sceptre  of  Agamemnon: the view from the hinterlands of Mycenae.  n  .  Branigan (ed.)  r anis in the egean ron e ge, 141–159.  London, Sheffield Academic  ress. esborough,  . . (19 ) Late burials from Mycenae.  nnual o the ritish chool at thens  ,  –101. ickey,  . (1992) Corinthian urial custo s ca C.  Unpublished thesis. Bryn Mawr College.  Gebauer,  .  (19 9)  orschungen  in  der  Argolis.  ahr uch des Deutschen rch ologischen Instituts 54, 2 –294. Jung,  .  (201 )                .  1,  –12 .

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ardulias,  .  , Gregory,  .E. and Sawmiller, J. (1995) Bronze Age  and  later  antique  exploration  of  an  islet  in  the  Saronic  Gulf,  Greece.  ournal o ield rchaeology 22,  –21.  asimi.  G.  (201 )                .  n  .  issas and  . .  iemeier (eds)  Corinthia and the Northeast Peloponnese: Topography and istory ro Prehistoric i es until the nd o nti uity thenaia  4 –5 . M nchen, Hirmer.  Leaf,  . (192 ) Corinth in prehistoric times.  erican ournal o Archaeology 2 , 151–15 . Marchand, J. (2002) A new Bronze Age site in the Corinthia: the  rneai of Strabo and Homer  Hesperia 1, 119–14 . Marchand,  J.,  -Herbst,  .  and  Boyd,  M.  (201 )                .  n  .  issas  and  . .  iemeier  (eds)  Corinthia and the Northeast Peloponnese: Topography and istory ro Prehistoric i es until the nd o nti uity thenaia , 55– 1. M nchen, Hirmer.  Morgan, C. (1999) Isth ia III he ate ron e ge ettle ent and arly Iron ge anctuary.  rinceton,  he American School  of Classical Studies at Athens. Morgan,  C.  (201 )  he  Late  Bronze Age–Early  ron Age  at  the  sthmian  sanctuary.  n  .  issas  and  . .  iemeier  (eds)  Corinthia and the Northeast Peloponnese: Topography and istory ro Prehistoric i es until the nd o nti uity thenaia  24 –250. M nchen, Hirmer. Mountjoy,  .A.  (1999)  egional Mycenaean Decorated Pottery ahden, Leidorf.       (19 )      :          ,  1 00–1100  The Mycenaean orld i e Centuries o arly Gree Ci ili ation C . Athens, Ministry of Culture,  C M. 

faff, C.A. (19 ) A Geometric well at Corinth: well 19 1–19 .  Hesperia 5 , 21– 0. ullen,  .J.  and  artaron,  . .  (200 )  here’s  the  palace   he  absence of state formation in the Late Bronze Age Corinthia.  n  M.L.  Galaty  and  .A.  arkinson  (eds)  Rethinking the Mycenaean Palaces,  second  edition, 14 –15 .  Los  Angeles,  Cotsen  nstitute of Archaeology.  utter,  J.B.  (19 4)  he ate elladic III and IIIC Periods at ora ou and Gonia in the Corinthia. Unpublished  h  thesis,  University of  ennsylvania. utter, J.B. (19 9)  he last Mycenaeans at Corinth. Hesperia 4 ,  4 – 92.  utter,  J.B.  (1990)  Appendix:  the  orth  Cemetery  at  Corinth.  Hesperia 59, 455–45 . utter, J.B. (200 ) Corinth and the Corinthia in the 2nd Millennium  BC.  n  C. .  illiams  and  .  Bookidis  (eds)  Corinth he Centenary ,  5– 4.  rinceton,  he American School  of Classical Studies at Athens. Sakellariou, M. and  araklas,  . (19 1) Corinthia-Cleonai. Athens,  Athens  echnological  rganization. Shear,  .L. (19 0) Excavations in the  orth Cemetery at Corinth  in 19 0.  erican ournal o rchaeology  4, 40 –4 1. illiams, C. . (19 0) Corinth 19 9:  orum Area. Hesperia 9, 1– 9.  iseman J. (19 )  he and o the ncient Corinthians G terborg,  Astroms.  right,  J.C.  (2004)  Comparative  settlement  patterns  during  the  Bronze Age in the northeastern  eloponnesos, Greece.  n S.E.  Alcock and J. . Cherry (eds)  ide y side ur ey: Co arati e egional tudies in the Mediterranean orld, 114–1 1.  xford,  xbow Books.

6 LH IIIC and Submycenaean Laconia Chrysanthi Gallou

The LH IIIC and the Submycenaean periods are often viewed as the ‘black holes’ of Laconian archaeology. Earlier scholars in the field of Aegean studies (e.g. Ålin 1962, 98, 148; Desborough 1964, 88, 91; Snodgrass 1971, 29–30) have painted a rather gloomy picture of postpalatial south-eastern Peloponnese from its very beginning: ‘The general impression … is one of destruction and desertion at the end of LH B  or  the  transition  to  LH  C’  ( esborough  19 4,  ).  This pessimistic view is certainly the result of the severe brevity (sometimes even the complete absence) of excavation  reports and of the incomplete (if any) publication of archaeological corpora from the post-collapse period in the region. Fortunately, though, the elusive image of postpalatial Laconia has begun to be restored as a result of Demakopoulou’s comprehensive syntheses of the post-collapse evidence from  the  region  (19 2,  200 ,  2009a,  2009b)  and  of  the  publication of the important archaeological corpora from the Menelaion (Catling 2009),  ellana (Spyropoulos 201 ),  Agios Stephanos ( aylour and Janko 2009) and Epidavros  Limera (Gallou 2009  2019), and the fieldwork undertaken  at  Agios  asileios  ( asilogamvrou  2010,  2012,  2014,  2015a, 2015b), the Amyklaion ( emakopoulou 19 2  200   2015) and the (now submerged) harbour town at  avlopetri  (Henderson et al. 2011  Gallou et al. in press). Furthermore, the re-examination of the archaeological material collected  during extensive surveys, fieldwalks and rescue excavations  presents the opportunity to add more missing pieces to the jigsaw of postpalatial Laconia.

T h e l i vi n g As elsewhere on mainland Greece, palatial power in Laconia  was lost at the end of LH IIIB, conventionally around 1200 BC. This devastating event signalled a period of turbulence

and instability mainly in the central territory of the southeast eloponnese (Cavanagh 201 ,  2).  n current evidence, the  administrative centre at Agios  asileios near Sparti was probably destroyed a century earlier, and pottery of postpalatial date has been reported from secondary deposits dating to the earliest LH IIIC horizon, roughly equivalent to Mountjoy’s transitional LH  B2 C Early ( ardamaki 201 ,  4, 114   Cavanagh 2018, 62). Most of the palatial centre’s satellite sites appear to have followed its misfortunes, with the probable exception of  ouno  anagias and Agios Georgios that  have heralded limited ceramic evidence of transitional LH B2 C Early date (Banou 199 ,  9, pls 15–1  2009,  9,  1,  figs  .1  and  .2  for  the  site,  figs  .   (11)  and  .   (1 )  for the finds  2009,  0.  ote though that Banou 199 –199 ,  2  records only LH  – B sherds at  ouno  anagias)  even  less certain is the fate of nearby Anthochori: Analipsis (cf. Hope Simpson and Dickinson 1979, 110; Cartledge 2002, 59,  2).  Extensive  destruction  and  abandonment  horizons  also scarred the history of the formerly powerful secondary LH  A–B centres at the Menelaion,  ellana and  apheio:  alaiopyrgi (Menelaion: Catling 2009, 452–454, 4 1, 4 2   Pellana: Spyropoulos 2002, 22; 2013: 262; Palaiopyrgi: Spyropoulos 201 : 101, 115).  f these three sites, the evidence from the Menelaion is most informative. The buildings of  the  complex  were  burned  down  and  abandoned  in  LH  B2 (Catling 2009, 4 1).  n the transitional LH  B2 C  Early houses and structures on the south flank of  rophitis  Ilias and the enigmatic Structure C on the north side of Aetos were abandoned (Catling 2009, 144, 14 , 150, 15 ,  155–15 , 4 1).  he Great  errace on the Aetos South Slope  collapsed due to either a prodigious rainfall (Catling 2009,  1 9,  24 ,  fig.  ,  pl.  5a–c,  244–ill.  22)  or  an  earthquake  ( ur and Cline 2000, 55  see, though, Catling 2009, 21 )   less likely are the scenarios of human agency and structural

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Chrysanthi Gallou

Fig. 6.1. Laconia. Courtesy of Richard Janko (from Studi Micenei ed Egeo-Anatolici 53 (2011), 98).

failure (Catling 2009, 21 ). Unfortunately, the collapse of the  Great  errace also caused the tragic death of a middle-aged  man (between  0 and 59 years old) who happened to be  in  the wrong place at the wrong time’ (Catling 2009, 45 ).  n  the area covered by the Laconia Survey, only one or two sherds of LH IIIB2/IIIC Early Dark-surfaced Handmade Burnished  are  (HB )  came  from  the  Menelaion  ridge  (Cavanagh  1995,  5,    Crouwel  199 ,  1),  which  confirms the pattern of abandonment and desertion.  he HB   fabric from the Laconia Survey and the Menelaion itself is particularly  well  paralleled  in  the  Argolid,  leading  to  the  hypothesis that the type’s first appearance in the Argolid in  contexts  slightly  earlier  than  its  earliest  appearance  at  the  Menelaion suggests it travelled from north to south and not vice  versa  (Catling  2009,  0– ,  459   also  Catling  and  Catling 1981). This pottery style is not known from other contemporary Laconian assemblages except for a handmade  jug with incised zigzag decoration from chamber tomb 1 at Pellana, which Demakopoulou attributes to the HBW type ( emakopoulou 19 2, 11 –11 , 1 , pl. 59. 1 5) – this is  interesting considering that the presence of HBW in postpalatial funerary contexts elsewhere is far from certain.

n  the  other  hand,  the  hiatus  in  postpalatial  habitation  in the southern territories was not as dramatic as in central Laconia.  he sites at Apidia:  rophitis  lias,  eristeri  Skala:  eronisi, Epidavros Limera,  avlopetri and  outiphari: Svina  ( latanos) continued to be occupied, as may be inferred from  tomb material and pottery sherds collected during extensive  surface  surveys  (Gallou  2020).  he  harbour  town  at Agios  Stephanos, which was virtually deserted since LH  A1 times,  saw a revival in the transitional LH IIIB2/IIIC Early phase when settlers, probably of central Laconian and perhaps also ytheran origin, started to arrive at the site ( aylour and Janko  200 a, 20, 4  Mountjoy 200 ,  ,   Janko 200 , 59 ,  599,  92  Gallou et al. in press). Pottery of transitional date, in particular drinking vessels, bowls and coarse closed vessels, has come from Areas Epsilon and Beta,  rial  rench   of  19  and  rench  elta 15 ( aylour and Janko 200 a, 20, 4   Mountjoy 200 ,  ,   Janko 200 , 59 , 599), although  it should be noted that the pottery from Area Epsilon cannot  be stratigraphically distinguished from the LH IIIC Early deposit (Mountjoy 1999,    aylour and Janko 200 a, 20). n the Malea peninsula, the harbour towns at Epidavros  Limera  and  avlopetri  received  an  influx  of  refugees  and 

6. LH IIIC and Submycenaean Laconia settlers  too,  probably  from  central  Laconia,  ythera  and  even beyond, at this time (Cartledge 2002, 59  Gallou 200   in  press   Gallou  et al. in press). However, most satellite communities, except for Sykea (cf. Mountjoy 1999, 251) and the Cave of Apsiphi north of the plain of Agioi Apostoloi (cf. Efstathiou-Manolakou 2009, 14, fig. 2.1 ), were abandoned  – it is probable that the locals may have found it safer and more viable to move closer to the powerful local centres. At  Epidavros Limera, the positive effect of the arrival of new settlers is reflected in the developments and transformations  in the port’s ceramic production, which is now branded by a  mixture  of  pre-collapse  traditions,  innovative  localisms,  Minoanisms and similarities with workshops of the northeast and southwest  eloponnese ( emakopoulou 19 , pl.  9d  no. 68; Mountjoy 1999, 251 and nos 145, 279, 282, 345, 52).  he  site  also  mediated  external  influences  on  the  ceramic production elsewhere on the Malea peninsula, as suggested, for example, by the Minoan decorative patterns  on a large FS 170 collar-necked jar with the overhang on the false mouth opposite the spout and banding all over the body (Steinhauer 19 –19 4, pl. 1 9 ) and the slightly later  S  63 collar-necked jar with a horned motif at the nearby site of Sykea (Mountjoy 1999, 251, 2  Gallou et al. in press). Although the beginning of LH  C seemingly heralded  a precipitous decline in the number of habitation sites, even more marked in the Evrotas furrow (Cartledge 2002, 5 – 1,  fig.   Cavanagh and Crouwel 2002, 14  Janko 200 ,  00),  recent excavation has started to reveal new sites in the area,  e.g. the LH  B–C site at  aravas: Mouchteika near Sparti  (Maltezou  2011,  19 –199). Although  most  of  the  smaller  sites appear to be abandoned during this phase, the formerly powerful centres at  apheio:  alaiopyrgi and Agios  asileios in the Spartan vale experienced temporary revival  phases ( alaiopyrgi: Banou 199 ,  5 contra  lin 19 2, 9   Spyropoulos 19 2, 112. Agios  asileios: Banou 199 ,    199 –199 , 20  2009b, 5, fig.  ).  he habitation levels on the  Palaiokastro hill at Pellana and the burial offerings from the chamber tombs at the nearby locality of  elekete (Spelies)  testify to the site’s uninterrupted occupation (Spyropoulos  2002, 22  201 ).  he Menelaion entered a final habitation  phase datable perhaps to the second quarter of the twelfth century  (Catling  2009,  45 ,  4 2  –  see  also  Catling  2009,  0– 1),  with  squatter  occupation  identified  at  three,  possibly four, points including the Squatter Building (Catling  2009, 2 –24 , fig.  2).  he Squatter Building was almost  certainly the last structure to be erected on the Menelaion spur, not long after the collapse of the Great  errace  all  and the  Bastion’ (Catling 2009, 2 , 2 , figs  2 and  4,  pls 60–62). The structure was roughly rectangular in plan (5.50  m  east–west  by  5  m  north–south)  with  a  massive  threshold  (0.90  m  by  0.25  m)  and  its  longer  axis  was  east–west; it was clumsily constructed of reused, piled-up massive terrace blocks. Part of the building was embedded within the debris, and only the north half of its floor, which 

53

rested on stereo, has survived. The pottery from the Squatter Building  is  closely  comparable  to  eposit A  at  the Aetos  Stone Mound and Deposit PE at the Prophitis Elias Erosion Gully (Catling 2009, 2 ).  he Laconia Survey has produced neither LH IIIC ceramic material nor a single hint of any small farmstead-like sites around the Menelaion ( ickinson  2006, 244). The area of the modern town of Sparti was probably abandoned too; only two sherds from unspecified  vessels  from  the  armoiris  plot  and  one  unstratified  fragment from a stirrup jar from the area of the modern sports ground ( ourinou 2000, 2   icholls 1950, 29 –29 ,  fig. 19) have been published, but it should be stressed that  the evidence for occupation during the main palatial era is equally scanty.  otably, the stirrup jar sherd belongs to  the LH IIIC Early FS 174 type and shares similarities with A   ( 24 1)  from  the  Aetos  Stone  Mound  assemblage  at  the  Menelaion  (Gallou  2020,  250).  or  the  sherd  from  Sparti,  icholls  1950,  29 –29 ,  fig.  19   aterhouse  and  Hope Simpson 1960, 70 footnote 21; Banou 1996, 23. For the parallel from the Menelaion: Catling 2009, 251, 368). he  influx  of  refugees  continued  in  southern  Laconia  and, unsurprisingly, a pinnacle of economic prosperity and population growth was witnessed in the region during the  years  that  were  overshadowed  by  the  crisis  (Gallou  et al.  in  press).  Sites  such  as  eristeri  (f.  sasi):  ranae,  Mavrovouni,  Agios  Stephanos   Asteri:  araousi,  Apidia   Asopos:  Bozas   aimonia:  astelli,  Sykea,  Epidavros  Limera and Pavlopetri, which had access to rich agricultural resources,  metalliferous  ores  and  the  sea,  throve  (Gallou  et al. in press).  he Armakas Cave at  arax and the Cave of  Apsiphi ( rypalia) at Agioi Apostoloi  oion on the Malea  peninsula  (cf.  Efstathiou–Manolakou  2009,  14,  fig.  2.1 )  could have provided temporary shelter to pastoralists and herders, while also serving as guardias since they watch over fertile  plains  and  important  land  and  sea  routes. At Agios  Stephanos, new buildings were erected (Janko 200 , 59 ,  fig. 14.11).  he domestic character of Structures Epsilon    and   may be inferred from the pottery, figurines, pins and  whorls discovered therein (Janko 200 , 1 , 599, tables 1.1.  and  1.2,  fig.  1.1).  Structure  Lambda    –  a  complex  of  four rooms – was hastily constructed in two phases within LH  C Early, and two of its rooms featured paved floors  (Janko  200 ,  599).  he  occurrence  of  stone  equipment  (a  saddle-quern, stone pounders, a polisher, and other rough stones intended as raw material for the fashioning of tools), various spinning and weaving implements and remains of bronze-working (fragments of bronze sheet, a crucible, an  axe-shaped pestle of greenish-black stone with purple tinge,  and perhaps a black polished ‘incised’ stone, metallurgical residue and charcoal) along with pottery, may allow the identification  of  these  rooms  as  workshops  ( aylour  and  Janko  200 a,  5,  ,  able  1. ).  Structures  eta    and  elta   may belong to this phase too ( aylour 19 2, 244   Mountjoy  200 ,    Janko  200 ,  599).  n  architectural 

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Chrysanthi Gallou

terms, the LH IIIC Early buildings at the site were rectangular with stone foundations and rubble walls, therefore continuing the tradition of the preceding construction phases. The strong built drain in the irregular Street Delta II, the walls bp and bq in Trench Delta 12, and a similar one in  rench Beta 11 may also belong to this phase ( aylour  and  Janko  200 c,  15   Janko  200 ,  599).  he  very  thick  wall bq might have belonged to the gate of a fortification  wall (Janko 200 , 599), in which case it may be taken as  evidence of the local community’s grave concerns over security. The material culture from the site is interesting. HS2 , a bronze violin-bow fibula of  ilian’s type  B with  a four-sided rectangular cross section to the bow decorated with parallel, incised lines, may attest to the site’s external  links during this revival phase, due to the artefact’s parallels from  taly and the similarities shared with examples from  Mycenae  and  iryns  ( aylour  19 2,  24   pl.  51d   Gallou  et al. in press). The locally produced pottery is typical of the ceramic tradition of the period in other Laconian sites (e.g. the Menelaion) and elsewhere in the Peloponnese and Attica, e.g.  ylos,  iryns,  ria and Agios  osmas (Mountjoy  1999,  15 ,  2 2,  2 5  fig.  9 .19   200 ,  9   Janko  200 ,  599–600; for the deep bowls from the Menelaion see Catling 2009, 383–394). Industrial activity at the site involved metalworking over hearths, but neither furnaces nor slags to indicate smelting ( aylour 19 2, 2 0, 2 1   rench 200 ,  44 , 450–451   aylour and Janko 200 a,   Janko 200 ,  586). It is not certain whether the locally produced metal products served local consumption or not. The postpalatial revival was short-lived and the settlement was abruptly abandoned, possibly due to an external attack with parts of it  destroyed by fire before the start of LH  C Middle (Janko  200 , 59 , 599,  05) – the floor of a large room in  rench  Beta 11 bore traces of heavy burning unparalleled to other sectors of the settlement (Janko 200 , 599).  he inhabitants  likely fled leaving their possessions behind including a dog  whose skeleton lay unburied in Structure Lambda   (Janko  200 , 59 ). Sling-stones from Areas Alpha and  elta (near  the  fortification wall’) and four adult skulls (burials Beta  12–15) with only the post-cranial bones from a pit dug into the heavily burnt paved floor of a large room in  rench Beta  11, support the scenario of a devastating external attack followed by destruction, burning and massacre ( aylour 19 2,  2 5, 2 9, fig. 15, pl. 44 f  Janko 200 ,  05). Further south, the pottery from the harbour town at Epidavros  Limera  tells  a  different  story.  o  residential  remains of this phase are yet known from the site, but the pottery from the chamber tombs gives a sense of the local community’s continuous prosperity and external contacts  that manifest themselves in Minoan-inspired pots and actual Cretan imports, e.g. the locally produced FS 251 spouted mug SM 541  and the imported  S 1 4  ctopus  Style stirrup jar SM 5421 with parallels from Mouliana and  sopata  on  Crete  ( emakopoulou  19 ,  1 –1 , 

pl.  4. –  no   1 9, pl.   right no 59  Mountjoy 1999,  2 , 2 5 fig. 9 : 195  Hallager 200 , 192 fig.   f).  n the  west Maleatic coast, the raised concave base of a Deep Bowl from Pavlopetri illustrated in the 1969 survey report (cf. Harding et al.  19 9:  1 ,  fig.  15.1 )  may  belong  to  a  LH  C  Early  S  2 4  example,  while  further  ceramic  evidence from the 2009–2011 underwater survey signposts the harbour’s survival and occupation during this phase (Gallou et al. in press). By LH IIIC Middle the majority of settlements in central Laconia were abandoned (Mountjoy 1999, 251–252).  n the  central  territory,  ellana  (Mountjoy  1999   emakopoulou  200 ,  1 5   Spyropoulos  201 )  and  the  Amyklaion  ( emakopoulou 19 2, pl. 50.11  200 , 1 4–1 5  Mountjoy  1999, 290, figs 99.224, 99.225   emakopoulou 200 , 1 1)  continued  to  be  the  most  active  sites.  n  the  Menelaion,  patchy squatter reoccupation continued amid the fallen debris of the Great  errace wall on Aetos, without an obvious  explanation for the site’s final abandonment (Catling 2009,  24 , 4 1).  n the southern lands,  eristeri, Asteri:  araousi  ( aylour 19 2, 2  Mountjoy 1999, 290 no. 22  Mountjoy  1999, 290, fig. 99.22  Janko 200 ,  00),  avlopetri (Gallou  et al.  in  press)  and  Epidavros  Limera  (Gallou  2020,  251)  throve. Epidavros Limera, in particular, witnessed a climax  of economic prosperity, probably owed to the establishment of a distinctive local ceramic workshop, which specialised in the manufacture of darkground amphoriskoi with narrow reserved bands, and of stirrup jars and ring-based kraters with a star flanking ray pattern like stirrup jars (Mountjoy  1999, 252, 290 fig. 9 : 220–221   emakopoulou 200 , 1 2   Gallou 2020, 220, 251).  robable exports of the former type  reached Asine in the Argolid and  erati in Attica (Mountjoy  1999, 2 , fig. 9 .21   emakopoulou 200 , 1 4  Gallou  2020, 251  Gallou et al. in press). Exports of stirrup jars and  kraters with the star flanking ray pattern had local (Asteri:  araousi),  regional  ( alaia  Epidavros,  Asine,  erati)  and  trans-Aegean  ( axos)  clientelle  ( emakopoulou  19 2,  11  and 200 , 1 –1 4  Mountjoy 1999, 1 5 fig. 44:  41,  252, 290   lachopoulos 200 ,  4 – 4  2012, 14  Gallou  2020, 251–252  Gallou et al. in press). Cretan, Argive and  axian imports reached the port too ( emakopoulou 19 2,  118; 1968, 163 and 2007, 162; Mountjoy 1999, 251, 290 fig. 99.222   ’Agata 200 , 101  Hallager 200 , 192 n. 4).  A strainer jug with a twisted handle has Attic and  hodian  parallels  (Mountjoy  1999,  2   fig.  9 :  21 ,  290,  5 9,  1040–104 , 10  Gallou 2020, 214).  t is also likely that  ellana’s Attic and Argive contacts, as suggested by tomb  material, were established via the harbour town at Epidavros Limera (Mountjoy 1999, 252). Similarly, the links developed  between  alaiokastro Gortynias in Arkadia and Crete  might  have come via Laconia, where the Minoan influence has also  been prominent, and especially via the port of Epidauros Limera’, and the same may be argued for similarities shared

6. LH IIIC and Submycenaean Laconia with Epidavros Limeran and  axian artistic associations in  the pottery traditions of the site ( emakopoulou 200 , 1 ). By the closing years of LH IIIC Middle most sites in the Evrotas furrow and the Helos plain were deserted except  for  ellana  ( emakopoulou  19 2   2009,  11 – 119; Mountjoy 1999, 252, 291–293; Spyropoulos 2013), the  Amyklaion  ( emakopoulou  19 2   2009,  119–121),  rondamas  (Coulson  19 ,  21,  2 ,  fig.  1,  pls  2a,  b)  and  eristeri  ( emakopoulou  2009b,  121–122),  as  suggested  by  tomb  ( ellana,  rondamas,  eristeri)  and  sanctuary  (Amyklaion) material.  n the Malea peninsula, occupation  continued at Epidavros Limera, Phoiniki and Pavlopetri ( emakopoulou 200 , 1  Mountjoy 1999, 29 , fig. 100:  2 9  Gallou et al. in press). It is possible that a LH IIIC Late triple askoid vessel decorated with semicircles, stripes and a triangle with fringe fill of debatable provenance (allegedly  from  a  looted  chamber  tomb  on  the  hill  of  arneas  near  rokeai), may in fact have come from one of the rock-cut  tombs at  avlopetri (Gallou 2020, 5 –5 , 251 for the history  and theories of the discovery  Gallou et al. in press).  f all  coastal Laconian sites, Epidavros Limera continued to be one of the most active maritime centres in southern Greece  (Mountjoy 1999, 252). Judging from the external influences  and local innovations of the site’s material culture, and from  the  imports  and  exports  identified,  the  pottery  from  the chamber tombs sanctions the port’s unbroken connections with its mainland (Attica, Argolid), Cretan, Cycladic  and Dodecanesian partners, and clearly demonstrates that maritime trade and contact in this part of Greece continued  uninterruptedly during this phase, even if at a more modest level (Gallou 2020, 252  Gallou et al. in press). It was also probably from this port that a Minoan-looking stirrup jar reached  ellana  ( ickinson  1992,  114   Mountjoy  1999,  262). or  the  Submycenaean  period  only  five  Laconian  sites  have  produced  evidence  for  occupation:  ellana  (settlement and tombs), Amyklai (cult site – see below),  eristeri  (tomb),  Epidavros  Limera  (tombs)  and  avlopetri  (survey  material). At  ellana, new Submycenaean and  G structures  were erected and pithos burials were practised in the area previously occupied by the ‘palatial storerooms’ on the alaiokastro hill (Spyropoulos 2002, 24  201 ).  he chamber  tombs  at  the  locality  of  elekete  (Spelies)  continued  to receive burials furnished with pottery (Mountjoy 1999,  294,  figs  101.24 –249   emakopoulou  2009b,  11 –119).  he  three  pins  from  the  Submycenaean E G  burial  in  Chamber  omb  5  at  eristeri:  Solakos  ( emakopoulou  2009b, 121–122, fig. 2 ) that  lay at the shoulders and on  the breast of the skeleton, it is suggested to hold the shroud ( emakopoulou  2009b,  122),  but  two  might  have  served  as dress pins, to judge from the photograph they make a matching pair. Found in both male and female graves in Greece, such pins form part of a wider pattern of changes in  styles of dress and ornament which, by the Protogeometric

55

period at the latest … becomes formalised in the wearing of the peplos    erhaps we can read this as an example of  “ naturalisation” , whereby a foreign type of artefact is taken over and adapted, over time, to create a new cultural icon’ (personal communication with  rofessor  .G. Cavanagh).  he LH  C Early fibula from Agios Stephanos mentioned  above and the Submycenaean E G pins from  eristeri hint  at links with Italy and the Balkans, though both types could also serve to confirm links with Crete, the  eloponnese and  central  Greece.  t  is  not  impossible  that  routes  westward  passed through our area on to Messenia, Elis, the Ionian slands  and  the Adriatic,  but  stronger  evidence  is  needed  before we can assert this with confidence (  owe this suggestion to  rofessor Cavanagh  see also Gallou et al. in press). At  avlopetri,  open  shapes  of  possible  Submycenaean G date with local ( ellana, the Amyklaion) and regional  ( lympia,  ichoria, Athens and  astri on  ythera) parallels  include fragments of a krater, deep bowl/skyphos fragments, conical bases from open shapes and a large fragment of an  amphoriskos  with  horizontal  handles  (Gallou  et al. in press). The chamber tombs at Epidavros Limera have produced much of the known Submycenaean and transitional Submycenaean E G  pottery  from  Laconia,  with  parallels  coming  from  ancient  Elis,  the  Athenian  erameikos  and  possibly  Cyprus  (Gallou  2020   Gallou  et al. in press). The chance discovery of a ‘fragmentary pot with incised decoration’ outside one of the chamber tombs ( anderpool  1955,  22 )  has  been  identified  as  a  G  jug  which  bears  witness to a visit made centuries after the construction and primary use of the tomb’ (Antonaccio 199 , 5 ). Leaving  aside its discovery circumstances, this pot may bridge the all-important  transition  from  the  Mycenaean  to  the  E A  period in the southeast Peloponnese.

T h e s ac r e d Cult  practice  did  not  cease  after  the  collapse. A  sanctuary  that  was  established  on  the  Agia  yriaki  hill  at  Amykles  in LH IIIB2, continued to prosper during the LH IIIC period and until the second half of the eleventh century BC ( emakopoulou  19 2   200 ,  1 4–1 5   2009a,  119–121   2009b  2011–2012).  o architectural remains of any sort have  been preserved, and their absence may be either explained  as the result of the structure’s possible demolition in the course of the construction of the later Archaic sanctuary of  Apollo  at  the  site,  or  attributed  to  the  fact  that  the  shrine  was of the open-air type featuring just a simple enclosure like  those  at  Epidavros  and Aigina  ( emakopoulou  2015,  110).  he unstratified Mycenaean terracottas and shattered  pottery  covered  an  extensive  area,  and  were  found  mixed  with  rotogeometric  and  Geometric  pottery.  he  zoomorphic  figurines  and  kylikes  with  a  ribbed  stem,  similar  to  those  from  Messenia,  hessaly,  thaca  and  lympia,  may  be Submycenaean or Bronze Age survivals ( emakopoulou 

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Chrysanthi Gallou

1982, 71–72, pl. 52, nos 120:20–23, 25; 2009b, 121). The character of the cult and the deity worshipped remain an enigma. Evidence for cult practice from elsewhere in Laconia is otherwise patchy and restricted just to a few occurrences of terracotta  figurines. A  fragmentary,  unpainted  si-figurine  with applied pellets for breasts, long neck and pinched face was collected by Blegen at  apheio:  alaiopyrgi (Coulson  1992, 94, fig. 94.29). Although it was originally dated to LH  IIIB times, the similarity shared with a late Psi unpainted figurine from the Amyklaion (cf. French 1971, 140 no. 26, pl. 22a.26; Demakopoulou 1982, 50–51, pl. 24.65) and two other examples from Marmaria at  elphi (cf. French 1971, 142) may place it within the LH IIIC Early horizon. The head  of  a  terracotta  figurine  found  with  three  fragments  of  LH  B–C  deep  bowls  came  from  outiphari  (ancient  halamai): Svina ( latanos) on the Mani peninsula (Hope  Simpson 195 , 2 2–2 , pl. 50a   aux 195 ,  41, fig. 2   Macdonald and Hope Simpson 1961, 251; Demakopoulou 1982, 113). The peculiar head shares traits with the so-called LH  C Middle  Lord of Asine’ (Hope Simpson 195 , 2   and n. 11; Macdonald and Hope Simpson 1961, 251) and with LM  C and Subminoan figurines from  arphi, Gazi,  Agia  riada  (Hope  Simpson  195 ,  2   and  footnote  11),  alo Chorio and Moires (cf.  ethemiotakis 2001, figs 11 ,  117).

T h e d e ad In LH IIIC inhumation was the preferred mode of burial (as in preceding times) in Laconia, and although cremation  also became more common than before on the mainland (Cavanagh  and  Mee  199 ,  9 ),  no  cremations  of  this  period have yet been reported from the region. Inhumation in chamber tombs that were reused from the earlier LH phases,  continued  at  Epidavros  Limera  (LH  C  Early  to  Submycenaean E G)   Sykea  (LH  C  Early)   Amyklai:  Spelakia  (LH  C  Early)   ellana:  Spelies  ( elekete)  (LH  C  Early  to  Submycenaean)   eristeri:  Solakos  (LH  C  Early to Submycenaean E G) and  hoiniki (LH  C Late).  Most burials were found disturbed, but the intact LH IIIC Late  Submycenaean E G  primary  burial  in  chamber  tomb  5 at Peristeri was placed in a supine position on the upper level  of  the  fill.  n  Chamber  omb  2  at  Sykea  a  warrior  burial’ was probably laid supine directly on the floor of the  burial chamber, whereas in chamber tomb 4 an infant and an adult female were interred in pits within the burial chamber (Steinhauer 19 –19 4  Efstathiou 199 ). At LH  C Early Agios Stephanos infants continued to  be buried intracommunally ( aylour and Janko 200 b, 122,  125, 127, 134). Their occurrence reverses the theory that simple graves disappeared completely in Laconia in LH IIIC and Submycenaean times (cf. Lewartowski 2000, 14). The careful arrangement and furnishing of infant burials Eta 3

and Lambda 20 clearly suggest that the children had died before the final hasty abandonment of the settlement.  he  LH  A2  lentoid  seal  of  black  steatite  that  accompanied  the disarticulated remains of LH IIIC Early infant Eta 13 was probably a heirloom, and its (re)deposition recalls the  practice in LH  C tombs 90 and 104 at  erati, Attica, where  two infants were buried with an Egyptian faience scarab and a cartouche respectively (cf. Iakovides 1969, 193, 197, 381, 382; 1970, 313–315, 407–408; Polychronakou-Sgouritsa 19 ,  25   Gallou  2004,  ,  1).  inally,  the  reported  remains of pithos burials at the locality of ‘Iannakas’ near Giakoumeika in the southern foothills of the Chelmos hill  ( aterhouse and Hope Simpson 19 1, 125   ikoulas 19 ,  119) discovered together ‘with some fragments of poor quality LH kylikes and  eep Bowls’ ( aterhouse and Hope  Simpson  19 1,  125),  could  be  the  only  examples  of  their  kind in postpalatial Laconia. ylikes are not attested in LH  C burials in the region.  However, the postpalatial continuation of toasting/libation ceremonies (possibly different in the mode of performance  as suggested by Cavanagh and Mee 2014, 53) and the emphasis attached to them are reflected by the occurrence  of  cups  (LH  C  Early  and  Middle  Epidavros  Limera,  Submycenaean  ellana),  a  dipper  (Epidavros  Limera),  a  spouted mug (LH  C Early Epidavros Limera), a strainer  jug (LH  C, Epidavros Limera) and a triple askoid vessel  (LH  C  Late,  of  debatable  provenance)  (Gallou  2020,  121–122). It is also clearly mirrored in the desire of LH IIIC mourners to recreate sets of serving and drinking vessels through the gathering and redeposition of vases of different periods and different burial contexts in chamber  tomb A  at Epidavros Limera (Gallou 2020, 251). Stone  tools were rarely deposited, except at Agios Stephanos (LH  IIIC Early Beta 12–15) and possibly Epidavros Limera (unattributable),  while  a  quantity  of  water-worn  pebbles  that may have been used as tools came from burial Beta 12–15  at Agios  Stephanos  (Gallou  2020,  124  for  further  references). The importance attached to the deposition of objects from the ‘heroic’ past with the LH IIIC dead in Laconia, possibly to serve as mnemonic devices in an attempt to re-establish ancestral ties in the dawn of the new postpalatial era, may also  be  mirrored  on  the  re-deposition  of  a  LH  A  ype  sword and of a LH IIB narrow-necked jug FS 119 with the LH IIIC Early dead in chamber tomb 1 at Sykea, and in the purposeful re-arrangement of burial offerings in Chamber omb  AL  at Epidavros Limera (Gallou 2020, 14 ).

C on

c l u d i n g r e m ar k s

The rise and fall of palatial power had consequences for the demographic structure of Laconia, as was the case elsewhere in the Aegean and most of the Mediterranean, in the later  thirteenth–eleventh centuries BC (cf. Cavanagh 2012, 639);

6. LH IIIC and Submycenaean Laconia it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that mass migration  was one of such consequences, and one in which inland sites and harbour towns played their part. The continuing prosperity at Epidavros Limera and Pavlopetri suggests that site locations with good harbours maintained their maritime connections throughout the LBA and as a result  were more resilient, continuing as refuges, likely under the direction of strong local sea-orientated groups. Both occupy strategic positions on either side of the Malea peninsula offering havens to passing ships in a time of increasing population movement and social dislocation (Gallou et al. in press). In a similar way, Pellana to the north developed from  a  chieftain  centre  in  the  fifteenth  century  BC  to  a  major second order centre (probably similar to Leuktron and  ichoria in Messenia, if it was not entirely independent) in  the fourteenth and thirteenth centuries, and subsequently to a prosperous postpalatial refuge site, with regional and trans-Aegean  connections  and  partnerships  maintained  throughout the Late Bronze Age.  he evidence that emerges  both  from  the  re-study  of  the  old  excavations  and  from  recent discoveries, suggests that the picture showing postpalatial Laconia and the transition to the Early  ron Age as  a  black  hole’  of Aegean  archaeology  is  misleading.  he  study of settlement patterns and burial sites suggests that, as a response to the collapse of the central palatial power, local communities shrank and nucleated in selected sites in the borders of fertile plains, e.g. Pellana and Peristeri, and in thriving harbour sites such as Agios Stephanos, Epidavros  Limera and Pavlopetri. The fertile plains of Sparti, Elos and  atika  were  not  left  uninhabited  nor  the  agricultural  and metalliferous resources unexploited (although concrete  evidence for this is admittedly still limited). Despite the loss of central administration, though, the postpalatial ceramic data testify to the uninterrupted continuation and intensification of trade and exchange links at local, regional  and  trans-Aegean  levels.  he  ports  at  Epidavros  Limera  and Pavlopetri, which would have attracted the interest of  the  palace  at Agios  asileios  during  the  main  palatial  period, had successfully maintained their trade partnerships throughout the Mycenaean period, and it may be for this reason  that  they  continued  to  receive  refugees  and  experience prosperity in the turbulent postpalatial years. It is not surprising then that these sites continued to develop into important regional centres from the beginning of the ensuing  Early  ron  Age  and  came  to  become  important  perioikic cities in later times. There is undoubtedly much more postpalatial material and further sites awaiting discovery and proper publication, and this may be addressed through systematic surveys of the territories  extending  from  Elos  to  Molaoi  and Apidia  and  from  arax to Epidavros Limera and  atika, the continuation  of the excavations at  ellana supplemented by an intensive  survey of the surrounding area, and the publication of the data from the extensive survey in the area around  eapolis 

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oion (ancient Boaie) and (part of) Elaphonisos undertaken  by the University of Athens in 2009–201 .

R e fe r e n c e s lin,  . (19 2) Das Ende der mykenischen Fundstätten auf dem griechischen Festland. Lund, Carl Bloms. Antonaccio,  C.  (199 )  he  archaeology  of  ancestors.  n  C.  ougherty  and  urke,  L.  (eds)  Cultural Poetics in Archaic Greece: Cult, Performance, Politics, 46–70. Cambridge, Cambridge University  ress. Banou, E. (199 ) Beitrag zum Studium Lakoniens in der mykenischen Zeit. Munich, tuduv– erlagsgesellschaft mbH.  Banou, E. (199 –199 )        .  n  . Gritsopoulos  and  otsonis,  C.A.  (eds)  Acts of the Fifth International Congress of Peloponnesian Studies, Argos–Nauplia, 6–10 September 1995, 1 1–1 5. Athens, Society of  eloponnesian  Studies. Banou,  E.  (2009)  he  Mycenaean  presence  in  the  southeastern  Eurotas  alley:  ouno  anagias and Ayios Georgios.  n  .G.  Cavanagh,  C.  Gallou  and  M.  Georgiadis (eds)  Sparta and Laconia: Prehistory to Pre-Modern, 77–84. London, British School at Athens.  Cartledge,  .  (2002)  Sparta and Lakonia: A Regional History 1300–362 BC. London and  ew  ork,  outledge. Catling,  H. .  (2009)  Sparta: Menelaion I. The Bronze Age. London,  he British School at Athens. Catling, H. . and E. A. Catling (19 1)  Barbarian’ pottery from  the Mycenaean settlement at the Menelaion, Sparta. Annual of the British School at Athens 76, 71–82. Cavanagh,  .G. (1995)  evelopment of the Mycenaean state in  Laconia: evidence from the Laconia Survey.  n  . Laffineur and  .- .  iemeier (eds) Politeia: Society and State in the Aegean Bronze Age. Aegaeum 12,  1– . Li ge, Universit  de Li ge. Cavanagh,  .G. (2010) Central and southern  eloponnese.  n E.H.  Cline (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean (ca. 3000-1000 BC),  1– 42.  xford,  xford University  ress.  Cavanagh,  .G. (201 ) An archaeology of ancient Sparta with reference to Laconia and Messenia.  n A.  owell (ed.) A Companion to Sparta,  ol.  ,  1–92. Chichester,  iley-Blackwell.  Cavanagh,  .G.  and  Crouwel,  J.  (2002)  he  survey  area  in  the  prehistoric  periods.  n  .G.  Cavanagh,  J.  Crouwel,  . . .  Catling and G. Shipley (eds) Continuity and Change in a Greek Rural Landscape: The Laconia Survey.  olume  ,  121–150.  London,  he British School at Athens.  Cavanagh,  .G. and Mee, C.B. (2014)  n vino veritas’: raising a  toast at Mycenaean funerals.  n  . Galanakis,  .  ilkinson and  J. Bennet (eds)  : Critical ssays on the rchaeology of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honour of E. Susan Sherratt, 51–5 .  xford, Archaeopress.  Cavanagh,  .G.  and  Mee,  C.B.  (201 )  he  MH  cemetery  at  ouphovouno,  Sparta,  Lakonia.  n  E.  apadopoulouChrysikopoulou,  .  Chrysikopoulos  and  G.  Christakopoulou  (eds)  Achaios: Studies Presented to Professor Thanasis I. Papadopoulos, 45–51.  xford, Archaeopress.  Coulson,  . .E.  (19 )  he  ark  Age  pottery  of  Sparta,  :  rondama. Annual of the British School at Athens 83, 20–24. Coulson,  . .E.  (1992)  Mycenaean  pottery  from  Laconia  in  the collection of the American School of Classical Studies at 

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Athens.  n J.M. Sanders (ed.)  a onian tudies in honour of Hector Catling, 87–94. London, The British School at Athens.  Crouwel,  J.  (199 )  he  Mycenaean  (Late  Helladic  )  pottery.  n  .  Cavanagh,  J.  Crouwel,  . . .  Catling  and  G.  Shipley  (eds) The Laconia Survey. Continuity and Change in a Greek Rural Landscape, 2 – 2. London,  he British School at Athens.  ’Agata,  A.L.  (200 )  aradigms  and  Late  Minoan  .  n  a  definition  of  LM    C  Middle.  n  S.  eger-Jalkotzy  and  M.  avadil (eds) LH III C Chronology and Synchronisms II: LH III C Middle. Proceedings of the International Workshop Held at the Austrian Academy of Sciences at Vienna, October 29th and 30th, 2004,  9–11 .  ienna,  erlag der  sterreichischen  Akademie der  issenschaften.  aux, G. (195 ) Chroniques des fouilles en 195 : Monemvasie,  n cropole de St. Jean. Bulletin de correspondance hellénique 81, 552–553. emakopoulou,  .  (19 )                  . Archaeologikon Deltion 2  (Meletai), 145–194. emakopoulou,  .  (19 2)                        . Athens, University of  Athens. emakopoulou,  .  (200 )  Laconia  and  Arcadia  in  LH    C  Middle: pottery and other finds.  n S.  eger-Jalkotzy and M.  avadil (eds) LH III C Chronology and Synchronisms II: LH III C Middle,  1 1–1 4.  ienna,  erlag  der  sterreichischen  Akademie der  issenschaften.  emakopoulou,  .  (2009a)  : .  n  .G.  Cavanagh,  C.  Gallou  and  M.  Georgiadis (eds) Sparta and Laconia: Prehistory to Premodern, 95–104. London,  he British School at Athens.  emakopoulou,  .  (2009b)  Laconia  in  LH    C  Late  and  Submycenaean: evidence from Epidauros Limera, Pellana, the  Amyklaion  and  other  sites.  n  S.  eger–Jalkotzy  and  A.E.  B chle  (eds)  LH III C Chronology and Synchronisms III: LH III C Late and the Transition to the Early Iron Age, 11 –1 2.  ienna,  erlag  der  sterreichischen Akademie  der  Wissenschaften. emakopoulou,  . (2011–2012)  he early cult at the Amyklaion:  the Mycenean sanctuary. Mouseio Benaki 11–12, 105–112. esborough,  . .d’A.  (19 4)  The Last Mycenaeans and their Successors: An Archaeological Survey c. 1200 – c. 1000 BC. London, Clarendon Press. ickinson,  . . . . (1992)  eflections on Bronze Age Laconia.  n  J.M. Sanders (ed.)  109–114. London, The British School at Athens. ickinson,  . . . . (200 ) The Aegean from Bronze Age to Iron Age: Continuity and Change Between the Twelfth and Eighth Centuries BC. London,  outledge. Efstathiou,  . (199 )    . Archaeologikon Deltion 53 Chronika (2004), 1 4–1 . Efstathiou-Manolakou,  .  (2009)  Archaeological  investigations  in  the  caves  of  Laconia.  n  .G.  Cavanagh,  C.  Gallou  and  M.  Georgiadis (eds)  Sparta and Laconia: From Prehistory to Pre-Modern, 5–20. London,  he British School at Athens.  rench,  E.  (19 1)  he  development  of  Mycenaean  terracotta  figurines. Annual of the British School at Athens 66, 101–187.

rench,  E.  and  Janko,  .  (200 )  Chapter  10.  he  Late  Helladic  small  finds.  n  . .  aylour  and  Janko,  .  (eds)  Ayios Stephanos, 445–4 0. London,  he British School at Athens. Gallou,  C.  (2004)  More  than  little  perishers:  the  case  of  child  burials in Mycenaean Greece. Ethnographisch-Archäologische Zeitschrift 45, 365–375. Gallou, C. (200 )  Between Scylla and Charybdis’: the archaeology  of Mycenaean  atika on the Malea  eninsula.  n C. Gallou, M.  Georgiadis and G. Muskett (eds) Dioskouroi. Studies Presented to W.G. Cavanagh and C.B. Mee on the Anniversary of their 30-year Joint Contribution to Aegean Archaeology, 292–321. xford, Archaeopress. Gallou,  C. (2009)  Epidaurus  Limera:  the  tale of  a  Laconian  site  in  Mycenaean  times.  n  .G.  Cavanagh,  C.  Gallou  and  M.  Georgiadis (eds)  Sparta and Laconia: From Prehistory to Pre-Modern,  5–9 . London,  he British School at Athens. Gallou, C. (2020) Death in Mycenaean Laconia. A Silent Place. xford,  xbow Books.  Gallou,  C.,  Henderson,  J.,  Spondylis,  E.  and  Cavanagh  .G.  (in  press)  Localism  and  interconnectivity  in  a  post–palatial  Laconian  maritime  landscape  (Late  Helladic  C  to  Submycenaean Early  rotogeometric).  n  . Smith, J. Bennet,  .G. Cavanagh and A.  apadopoulos (eds) The Wider Island of Pelops: A Workshop on Prehistoric Pottery in Memory of Professor Christopher Mee.  xford, Archaeopress. Hallager, B. (200 )  roblems with LM LH   B C Synchronisms.  n S.  eger–Jalkotzy and M.  avadil (eds) LH III C Chronology and Synchronisms II: LH III C Middle, 1 9–202.  ienna,  erlag  der  sterreichischen Akademie der  issenschaften. Harding, A. ., Cadogan, G. and Howell,  . (19 9)  avlopetri. An  underwater Bronze Age town in Laconia. Annual of the British School at Athens 64, 113–142. Henderson,  J.C.,  Gallou,  C.,  lemming,  .C.  and  Spondylis,  E.  (2011)  he  avlopetri  Underwater  Archaeology  roject:  investigating  an  ancient  submerged  town.  n  J.  Benjamin,  C.  Bonsall, C.  ickard and A.  ischer (eds) Submerged Prehistory, 20 –21 .  xford,  xbow Books. Hope Simpson,  . (195 )  dentifying a Mycenaean state. Annual of the British School at Athens 52, 230–259. Hope Simpson,  . and  ickinson,  . . . . (19 9) A Gazetteer of Aegean Civilisation in the Bronze Age, Vol. I: The Mainland and Islands. G teborg,  aul  str ms  orlag.  akovides, Sp. (19 9–19 0)  .     ( olumes  – ). Athens, Archaeological Society at Athens. Janko,  . (200 ) Chapter 14. Summary and historical conclusions.  n  . .  aylour and Janko,  . (eds) Ayios Stephanos, 551–610. London,  he British School at Athens. ardamaki,  E.  (201 )  he  Late  Helladic  B  to  A2  pottery  sequence  from  the  Mycenaean  palace  at  Ayios  asileios,  Laconia. Archaeologia Austriaca 101, 73-142. ourinou, E. (2000)  : , Athens: Horos. Lewartowski,  . (2000) Late Helladic Simple Graves. A Study of Mycenaean Burial Customs.  xford, Archaeopress. Maltezou, A. (2011)    . Archaiologikon Deltion 66 Chronika (201 ), 19 –199. Mc onald,  .A. and Hope Simpson,  . (19 1)  rehistoric habitation in southwestern Peloponnese. American Journal of Archaeology 65, 221–260.

6. LH IIIC and Submycenaean Laconia Mountjoy,  .A.  (1999)  Regional Mycenaean Decorated Pottery  ( olumes  1  and  2).  ahden,  estfalia,  eutsches  Arch ologisches  nstitut,  erlag Marie Leidorf GmbH. Mountjoy,  .A.  (200 )  Chapter  .  he  Late  Helladic  pottery.  n  . .  aylour and Janko,  . (eds) Ayios Stephanos, 299–387. London,  he British School at Athens.  icholls,  . .  (1950)  Laconia.  Annual of the British School at Athens 45, 282–298. ur, A. and Cline, E.H. (2000)  oseidon’s horses: plate tectonics and  earthquake storms in the Late Bronze Age Aegean and eastern  Mediterranean. Journal of Archaeological Science 2 (1), 4 – 4. ikoulas,  .  (19 )        .    . Lakonikai Spoudai 8, 277–285. olychronakou-Sgouritsa,  . (19 )          . Archaeologikon Deltion 42 (Meletai),  –29.  ethemiotakis,  G.  (2001)  Minoan Clay Figures and Figurines from the Neopalatial to the Subminoan Period. Athens,  he  Archaeological Society at Athens. Snodgrass, A.M. (19 1) The Dark Age of Greece. An Archaeological Survey of the Eleventh to the Eighth Centuries BC. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University  ress. Spyropoulos,  h. (19 2)  ( ),  – ,  . Archaeologikon Deltion 37 Chronika (19 9), 111–11 . Spyropoulos,  h. (2002)                       ( ). Corpus 40, 20–31. Spyropoulos,  h. (201 )  Athens, A.  ardamitsa. Steinhauer, G. (19 – 4)   (     ).  Archaeologikon Deltion 29 Chronika (19 9), 294–295.  aylour,  . . (19 2) Excavations at Ayios Stephanos. Annual of the British School at Athens 67, 205–270. aylour,  . . and Janko,  . (200 ) Ayios Stephanos. Excavations at a Bronze Age and Medieval settlement in southern Laconia. London,  he British School at Athens. 

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aylour,  . . and Janko,  . (200 a)  he Bronze Age architecture and stratigraphy.  n  .  .  aylour and Janko,  . (eds)  Ayios Stephanos, 121–144. London, The British School at Athens. aylour,  . . and Janko,  . (200 b)  he Bronze Age burials.  n  . .  aylour  and  Janko,  .  (eds)  Ayios Stephanos, 13–119. London,  he British School at Athens. anderpool, E. (1955)  ewsletter from Greece. American Journal of Archaeology 59, 223–229. asilogamvrou,  A.  (2010)              . Archaeologikon Deltion 5 Chronika (201 ), 5 –590. asilogamvrou, A. (2012).    .  n A.  lachopoulos  (ed.)  :  544–54 . Athens, Melissa.  asilogamvrou,  A.  (2014)          , Praktika tes en Athenais Archaeologikes Etaireias, 59–68. asilogamvrou,  A.  (2015a)          , Praktika tes en Athenais Archaeologikes Etaireias, 63–76. asilogamvrou,  A.  (2015b)          , Praktika tes en Athenais Archaeologikes Etaireias, 97–116. lachopoulos,  A.  (200 )  Athens, Archaeognosia.  lachopoulos, A. (2012)  . Athens, Archaeognosia.  aterhouse, H. and Hope Simpson,  . (19 0)  rehistoric Laconia:  Part I. Annual of the British School at Athens 55, 67–107. aterhouse, H. and Hope Simpson,  . (19 1)  rehistoric Laconia:  Part II. Annual of the British School at Athens 56, 114–175.

7 Collapse at the end of the Late Bronze Age in the Aegean Mercourios Georgiadis

I n t r od

u c t i on

n  the  Aegean,  Mycenaean  cultural  influence  spread  progressively from the LH I period onwards. The nature of the relationship between the Greek mainland palatial centres and the Aegean islands have been variously discussed. The conditions during the LH IIIB period, the fall of the mainland palaces, and the character of the culture in the LH IIIC phase will provide a picture of the form this interaction had. The collapse witnessed at the mainland centres (Middleton 2017) will allow an assessment of the cultural influence they had  on the Aegean islands. The analysis of this area will focus on the development of local culture and the participation of the islands in the long and short distance maritime exchange networks. The Mycenaean centres in mainland Greece established regular contacts with the eastern Mediterranean from the LH I period onwards. The exchanges were gradually increased during the course of the LBA and permanent long-distance sea routes were set. The interaction between the mainland and Cretan Mycenaean palaces with those of the eastern Mediterranean was frequent. This entailed both political and diplomatic contacts as well as participation in the gift-exchanges between palaces. The reference to the Aegean in texts and international decrees, such as the Amuru treaty, and the Uluburun shipwreck are considered to support this hypothesis. During the thirteenth century BC the Mycenaean palaces and the broader exchange network that had been established across the Mediterranean reached its zenith. More materials, exotic objects, people, techniques and ideas were circulated across the seas. However, apart from the increased wealth in the LH  B period, the erection of sophisticated fortifications in the mainland suggests that already some security

concerns existed. At the end of the thirteenth century BC a series of destructions occurred across the mainland Greek palaces in a short period. The collapse of the politico-administrative system came almost simultaneously with the fall of the Hittite empire, and some important centres in Cyprus and Syro-Palestine, while Egypt also witnessed upheavals. These events affected the exchange networks that had been formed during the previous period. The circulation networks changed with a few older ones remaining and more new production, exportation and consumption nexuses appearing in the Aegean and the eastern Mediterranean. This reshuffling benefitted ports that were of secondary significance before, which became centres of primary order during the LH IIIC phase. Thus, the collapse for many sites and states witnessed at the end of the thirteenth century BC in the Mediterranean was an opportunity for others to supersede them in the exchanges that continued to be practiced over short and long distances.

T h e L H

I I I B p e r i o d i n t h e A e ge an

The LH IIIB period covers chronologically the entire thirteenth century BC. The subdivision of this period into two subphases LH IIIB1–2 of roughly 50 years each has been established since the 1960s, based on the ceramic sequence identified at Mycenae ( rench 19  19 9).  his typology has  been validated in other Mycenaean sites of the Greek mainland, especially in palatial centres. However, this sequence does not apply in the local ceramic production of the Aegean islands, which did not follow this trend. Thus, when the LH IIIB1 or 2 phase distinction is locally available it is due to imported wares from the Greek mainland like the Group B deep bowls (Mountjoy 1999, 983). It is unfortunate that

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Fig. 7.1. Main sites discussed in the text. 1: Ayia Irini; 2: Xombourgo; 3: Phylakopi; 4: Ayios Andreas; 5: Koukounaries; 6: Grotta; 7: Monolithos; 8: Katapola-Xylokeratidi; 9: Trianda-Ialysos; 10: Serrayia-Eleona and Langada; 11: Müs kebi; 12: Miletos; 13: Emporio; 14: Archontiki; 15: Skyros; 16: Makara; 17: Koukonisi; 18: Hephaistia; 19: Y enibademli Hoyuk.

7. Collapse at the end of the Late Bronze Age in the Aegean the imported wares to most Aegean islands were reduced in quantities during the LH IIIB period in comparison to the previous phases (Barber 19 , 22  Cosmopoulos 2004, 9 ).  Hence, an assessment of the entire LH IIIB will be provided for the Aegean islands and more precise dating will be presented only when it is available. In the LH IIIB period there is limited evidence of occupation at Ayia Irini on Keos which appears to have decreased in size (Caskey 1981, 323). It appears that the site was abandoned as a habitation area and acted mainly as a cultic centre  for  this  part  of  the  island  (Gorogianni  201 ,  14 ).  The settlement pattern of this period on Keos consisted of a few small and dispersed settlements as systematic survey has demonstrated (Cherry et al. 1991, 1 5, 1 2  Sutton et al.  1991,  1   Schallin  199 ,  15–1 ).  he  same  settlement  pattern has been identified in northern Andros ( outsoukou  1993, 103), but two intact LH IIIB vases come possibly come from tombs in the western and southern parts of the island (Mountjoy 1999, 928–929). Ayios Andreas on Siphnos was fortified in the LH  B period (Barber 1999,  1 4   elevantou  2001,  194–195   Cosmopoulos  2004,  9).  This site was located on an inland hill as was the case of To roudi tou  alamitsou on the same island and  oukounaries  on  aros, which was occupied for the first time during the  LH  B1  phase  (Barber  19 ,  22   1999,  1 4   Schilardi  1992  Cosmopoulos 2004,  9). A tholos tomb recovered at  Ayia Thekla on Tinos has been dated in the LH IIIB period as well (Mountjoy 1999, 929–930), while similar examples from the Cyclades had been constructed in the LH IIIA2 period and used until the end of the LH IIIB phase (Barber 1999, 136). Monolithos on Thera was established most probably in the LH IIIB2 period rather than earlier (Vlachopoulos and  Georgiadis  2015,  4 ).  At  ythera,  astri  had  been  re-occupied during the LH IIIA2–B1 phase, but after this it was abandoned and no further evidence exists from this island (Coldstream and Huxley 19 2,  04). At Phylakopi on Melos the sanctuary was enlarged during this period and a new fortification was raised to protect the  settlement  ( enfrew  19 2,  42   19 5,  441   Barber  1999,  1 4   Earle  201 ,  10 –10 ).  he  local  administration  in  the form of a central megaron building was established in the LH IIIA phase and continued to function in this period ( enfrew 19 5, 441).  here is scarce evidence of settlements  belonging to this phase on Melos, as at Andros, only that a substantial site must have existed at Ayios Spyridon in the western part of the island ( enfrew 19 2, 42).  wo chamber  tombs on Melos dated to the LH IIIB period are found in inland locations (Schallin 199 , 1190–1120  Mountjoy 1999,  9  Earle 201 , 10 ).  here is a strong tradition of the local  production of Mycenaean pottery, while imported vessels have been noted from the Greek mainland and Crete as well (Mountjoy 1999,  91  2009,  4– 9).  he figurines from the  local sanctuary appear to have mainly a local provenance, but imported ones from the Greek mainland are common

63

(Earle 2016, 108–109, fig. 6.11). A close relationship between Phylakopi and the Argolid is proposed for the LH IIIB–C period based on imported wares (Barber 1999, 138). Grotta on Naxos appears to have been the main centre of the island during the LH III period. However, there appeared to be a decline in its occupation during the LH IIIB1 phase and it was almost abandoned in the LH IIIB2 period perhaps due to natural causes (Vlachopoulos 2003, 494   Cosmopoulos  2004,  9 –94).  ther  contemporary  sites across Naxos belonging to this phase are limited in number and situated in inland locations (Cosmopoulos 2004,  92–93). The same applies for the tholos tomb at Chousti, which may have continued to be in use during this period (Vlachopoulos 2016, 127). At Amorgos, Astypalaia and Karpathos the Mycenaean burial tradition of chamber tombs continued from the LH A2 without change into the LH  B period (Melas 19 5   Mountjoy  1999,  9 1–9 2   Georgiadis  200 ).  A  similar  picture comes during the LH IIIB phase from the chamber tomb cemeteries following Mycenaean burial practices in western coastal Anatolia, such as Mü skebi and Miletos ( zg nel 199  Georgiadis 200 ).  onetheless, in the case  of  alymnos Mycenaean tombs appeared for the first time  during the LH IIIB period (Georgiadis 2003), and habitation evidence appeared at Poli of Kasos from the later part of the thirteenth century BC (Melas 19 5, 49). Ialysos continued to act as the central settlement on R hodes, but it witnessed a dramatic change. There was a significant decrease of chamber tombs and offerings deposited in the ones used during the LH  B period (Mee 19 2   Benzi 1992  Georgiadis 200 ).  n the rest of the cemeteries  across R hodes a similar decrease of tombs and offerings is observed, suggesting a parallel trend across the entire island (Georgiadis 2003). The pottery used as funerary goods was mainly imported wares from different areas of the Greek mainland, principally from the Argolid, both at Ialysos and in the rest of the  hodian cemeteries (Jones and Mee 19   Ponting and Karantzali 2001). Still, limited pottery assignable to the LH  B2 phase has been identified (Mountjoy  1999). Nevertheless, the pottery consumed at Trianda, the settlement to which Ialysos cemetery belonged, were locally produced in the LH IIIB phase, following a LH IIIA trend (Mee  19   arantzali  2005   2009).  his  ceramic  assemblage had a localised typology and a taste for simple forms of decoration, which belong to the broader Mycenaean pottery tradition ( arantzali 2005  2009). The LH IIIB on Kos appears to differ from other Aegean islands. The cemeteries and tombs of this period were greater in quantity than in the previous phase (Georgiadis 2003). Serrayia, the main settlement of the island, was destroyed and rebuilt in this period with a slight difference in the orientation of the buildings (Morricone 1972–1973, 227–229). he erection of a fortification wall at Serrayia is dated in the  LH  B period as well (Skerlou 2001–2004a). A dispersed 

4

Mercourios Georgiadis

settlement pattern inland and less commonly at the coastal parts of the island can be seen from the chamber tombs and the settlement evidence from the Halasarna area (Georgiadis 2008). A hierarchy of settlements and the presence of small, short-lived sites in the form of farmsteads appears to have continued since the beginning of the LBA (Georgiadis in press). The pottery consumed in the settlements and tombs was primarily produced by Koan workshops (Jones 1986). he  local  ceramic  tradition  was  influenced  by  mainland  prototypes as well as some Cretan elements (Mountjoy 1999, 1087). Cultic activity could have been performed in this period at the Aspri Petra cave in the western part of the island (Levi 1925–1926). At Tigani on Samos a habitation area of this period continuing  from  the  previous  period  has  been  identified  (Mountjoy 1999, 114 ). n Skyros the Mycenaean occupation was concentrated  around the modern town of the island (Davis et al. 2001, 83). More burial areas and chamber tombs belonged to this period, while from the funerary offerings there seems to be an increase, especially in shapes dated in the latter part of the LH  B phase ( arlama 19 4). n  sara  the  local  preference  for  cist  graves,  a  few  built chamber tombs and a tholos tomb at the coastal cemetery of Archontiki continued with no hiatus from the previous period. However, the burial offerings were still mainly Mycenaean in character either of local production or imported from the Greek mainland during the LH IIIB period (Georgiadis 200  Girella and  avuk 201 ,  1). At  Emporio on Chios the earliest local cist graves belong to this period and contained LH IIIB pots (Hood 1981–1982, 583). A few small sites of the same period appear to have been concentrated in the southern part of the island (Beaumont et al. 1999). There are a few sites across Lesbos that belong to the thirteenth century BC. The limited evidence from Makara argues for a local burial tradition of large cist graves (Charitonidis 1961/2, 265). These practices were compatible with the tradition in the north-eastern Aegean and north-western coastal Anatolia. Nevertheless, it remains unclear whether the pottery consumed during the LH IIIB was Mycenaean or Anatolian in character. The reports so far mention primarily unstratified Mycenaean, which appear  to be more numerous in the LH IIIB phase (Guzowska and  Landau  200 ,  4 4   Girella  and  avuk  201 ,  29).  At  Yenibademli Hoyuk on Imvros a few sherds appear to belong to the LH IIIB phase (Guzowska and Yasur-Landau 200 , 4 4–4 5). n Limnos the picture from the available finds is more  complicated. At Koukonisi in the southern part of the island LH IIIB sherds and fragments of Mycenaean type figurines have been found unstratified on the surface of the  site (Boulotis 199 , 2 5, fig. 2 ). However, at Hephaistia,  on the northern part of Limnos, LH  B stratified pottery 

from habitation contexts have been recovered on top of a LH IIIA2 stratum (Girella and Pavuk 2016, 29). At Limnos the  Mycenaean  cultural  influence  seems  to  predominate  during this period. In the southern Aegean islands there is a general picture of continuity of habitation and burial traditions, which were already under mainland Greek cultural influence. However,  there is a general decrease of sites and quantities of materials across the islands, which became more evident as the thirteenth century BC progressed. Despite the decline of Knossos as a palatial centre in the Aegean, the rest of the islands did not benefit from this in long-distance exchanges  or with more direct contacts with mainland Greece. The interaction with the Mycenaean palatial centres became more limited as discussed earlier. Important island sites such as Phylakopi on Melos and Trianda on R hodes became less conspicuous during the LH IIIB, while others like Ayia Irini on Keos and Grotta on Naxos were almost abandoned. onetheless,  security  concerns  and  the  erection  of  fortifications were trends that affected, after the Greek mainland centres, the contemporary island ones such as Phylakopi on Melos, Ayios Andreas on Siphnos and Serrayia on Kos. In the case of the first, an administrative centre had been known  at this site and other similar ones are suspected in the latter two, arguing in favour of complex politico-administrative conditions in these two islands during the LH IIIB phase. Siphnos and Kos, possibly with the addition of Kasos and Kalymnos were the only exceptions among the southern Aegean islands, where an increase of cultural elements, sites, tombs and material culture, can be detected. In contrast to the situation described for the southern Aegean islands, in the northern ones there was an increase of contacts. More cultural and material exchanges with the mainland Greek centres appeared to have existed than ever before. Thus, islands like Skyros and Psara were under Mycenaean cultural influence and the same seems to have  been the case with Limnos. The increased contacts with Chios and Lesbos may reveal the same trend or one that would follow in the LH IIIC period. Perhaps new more frequent exchange routes were established in the Aegean, extending more actively towards the northern part of the basin, including the islands, the coastal Anatolian sites and possibly ranging as far as the Black Sea. The eastern Aegean islands and western Anatolia could be seen as a cultural and, to some extent, political buffer zone between the Hittites and the Mycenaeans. The role of the  first  becomes  more  evident  through  texts  rather  than  material remains. Miletos/Millawanda came under Hittite control in the beginning of the thirteenth century BC, a few decades later it broke away and then, in the later part of the century, it returned to the hands of the Hittites (Georgiadis 2009).  he final records from the palace of  ylos mention  women from Karpathos, Knidos, Miletos and probably Halicarnassos, working possibly as slaves in the palatial

7. Collapse at the end of the Late Bronze Age in the Aegean context. Unrest and military activities appear to have taken place in this part of the Aegean with various economic, social, political and cultural consequences.

T h e L H

IIIC

p e r i od

i n t h e A e ge an

In a timespan of one or two decades around 1200 BC there was a general collapse of the politico-administrative system that existed in the palatial centres of mainland Greece and Chania on Crete. After these events only Tiryns appears so far to have managed to retain some of the LH IIIB politico-administrative functions in the course of the LH IIIC period. However, the collapse of Hittite rule appears to have been complete around the same date with no evidence of any revival so far. Destructions and continuity are also evident across the broader eastern Mediterranean, but interaction and exchange routes continued uninterrupted. The Cape Gelidonya shipwreck supports the degree of contacts between the Aegean and the eastern Mediterranean (Bass 1967). At the same time the shipwrecks at Iria and Modi around the Argolid reveals that inter-Aegean exchanges were also active. All three shipwrecks have been dated c. 1200 BC, demonstrating that despite the political upheavals exchanges continued unobscured. The shrine continued to be in use at Ayia Irini on Keos during the LH IIIC period, but not the rest of the settlement (Caskey  19 1,  2 – 24   19 4,  241,  24 –244).  wo  sites  continued to be occupied in the LH IIIC period, following the settlement pattern of the previous phase (Koutsoukou 1993, 103). Monolithos on Thera appears to continue in use during this period as well (Vlachopoulos and Georgiadis 2015,  4 ). A second outer wall was erected at Ayios Andreas on Siphnos, while the habitation area appears to have extended outside  the  fortifications  during  this  period  ( elevantou  2001, 202, 204–20 ). However, it remains unclear if there  was continuity in the occupation of the site from the LH IIIB until the end of the LH IIIC period (Mountjoy 1999, 887). is Baronas to  roudi is another site located on a naturally  fortified  hill  close  to  athy  Bay  in  the  south-western  part  of  the  island  ( lachopoulos  and  Georgiadis  2015,  45).  Here walls from buildings and a possible defensive wall have been observed. The hilly site of Koukounaries close to Naoussa bay on aros  was  fortified  in  a  cyclopean  manner  during  the  LH  IIIC Early phase (Schilardi 1992, 627–631, pl. 3). The site was destroyed violently by fire in the beginning of the LH  IIIC Middle period. A few dead people along with animals have been recovered in the debris as the result of this event, while another body was deposited in a natural cave on top of the hill. The presence of valuable objects suggests that the destruction did not occur due to hostile activities ( lachopoulos  and  Georgiadis  2015,  4 ).  ccupation  continued until the end of the LH IIIC and Submycenaean

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period in a limited way (Mountjoy 1999, 932). Three small built chamber tombs found close to Koukounaries were possibly contemporary. n  Melos  the  only  site  active  during  this  period  was  Phylakopi, where the sanctuary was still in use (R enfrew 19 2a, 41–4 ).  he pottery recovered at this settlement had  been locally produced with no similarities to contemporary stylistic developments at Mycenae. But similarities with Lefkandi, Koukounaries, R hodes and Kos have been noted ( enfrew  19 2b,  22   19 5,  40   Mountjoy  19 4   1999,  889, 891–893). At Kimolos chamber tombs and sherds belonging mainly to this period have been recovered from the southern part of the island close to north-eastern Melos ( olychronakou-Sgouritsa 1994–1995). n  inos  two  sites  were  possibly  established  during  this LH IIIC, located in the inland hilly part of the island, ombourgo and perhaps  ryokastro (Barber 1999, 1 4).  n  both cases a wall was erected protecting these sites from potential threats, following the example of LH IIIB Siphnos ( ourou 2001, 1 –1 , figs 5–10). n  axos LH  C remains have been identified at  ria,  Eggares, Zas cave Ligaridia and Karvounolakkoi (Mountjoy 1999,  9   lachopoulos  and  Georgiadis  2015,  44– 45   lachopoulos 201 , 12 , fig.  .4). Grotta was re-occupied  in the beginning of this phase with a different orientation of the buildings in comparison to the LH IIIA–B settlement. A fortification wall was also erected with a stone foundation and a mudbrick superstructure, unlike the cyclopean technique of mainland Greece and the rest of the Aegean islands, and closer to the earlier examples from a few sites from mainland Greece, Miletos and Troy. The site appears to have been large in size and central for the island, while a nucleation process has been proposed to have taken place on the island during the LH IIIC Early period (Vlachopoulos 200 , 494, 499  201 , 12 ).  wo contemporary burial clusters with chamber tombs have been located close to Grotta, Kamini and Aplomata, which contained numerous funerary offerings among which there were many gold and silver objects  as  well  as  exotica  ( ardara  19   lachopoulos  1999  200  2012).  he pottery consumed in the tombs is  primarily local, but imported pots have been recognised from the west Peloponnese, Attica, Crete, Kos and R hodes ( lachopoulos  and  Georgiadis  2015,  44   lachopoulos  2016, 128). At Amorgos the Xyloktaridi chamber tomb cemetery continued to be in use, while LH IIIC habitation remains have been noted at Katapola (Vlachopoulos and Georgiadis 2015,  4 ).  he  erakastro cemetery on  alymnos provided  more finds during this period in comparison to the LH  B  phase.  he pottery from  alymnos has close stylistic affinities  with the workshops that were active at contemporary Kos. At Astypalaia one of the two cemeteries of the island, located in an inland part, continued to be active during the LH IIIC phase.  n  asos  occupation  in  inland  locations  continued 

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as in the previous period (Melas 19 5, 49). At M skebi and  Miletos the cemeteries remained in use  in the former there  were limited interments and burial offerings, while in the latter the picture remains unclear ( zg nel 199  Georgiadis 200 ). n  hodes there is a varied picture across the island during  the LH IIIC period (Georgiadis 2003). At Ialysos there is a significant  increase  of  tombs  used  at  the  cemetery  with  an  almost fivefold increase of ceramic vessels deposited in the  chamber tombs (Georgiadis 2003). The wealth is emphasised by the large number of silver and gold objects placed as funerary offerings. In this respect the Ialysos cemetery is closer to the picture from the contemporary burial clusters of Aplomata and Kamini on Naxos. Unfortunately, no remains of the LH IIIC settlement at Trianda are available. The pottery placed as funerary gifts were predominately of local manufacture unlike the previous phases (Jones and Mee 1978). The style owes much to the Cretan tradition as well as to local developments, with the octopus-style stirrup jar being one of them, while some imports from the Argolid and Attica have been observed (Mountjoy 1999, 9 5–9 9, fig. 400).  utside  alysos there is  a decrease of active cemeteries in the north-western part of the island and an increase of tombs at Ialysos, suggesting a nucleation process like the one observed at Naxos (Georgiadis 200  2009).  n this context the re-use of abandoned LH  A2  tombs can be explained (Cavanagh and Mee 1978). The rest of the cemeteries on R hodes reveal stability and continuity with the same number of tombs and offerings as in the LH IIIB period. The pottery consumed in these cemeteries were local as  at  alysos  ( onting  and  arantzali  2001   arantzali  and  Ponting 2000), but the wealthy objects observed at the large cemetery were not recovered in the rest. It seems that they were restricted to the main centre of the island with a rather limited circulation beyond it. The interments of children at the Aspropilia chamber tombs appear to be a new phenomenon in the LH IIIC period, arguing for social uncertainties in this phase (McKay 2001). n  os there was also an important increase of tombs and  ceramic offerings at the burial clusters of Eleona and Langada (Georgiadis 2003). More wealth in the form of silver and gold objects offered as funerary offerings has also been observed. At the same time there was a decrease of cemeteries in the chora of the island suggesting that a nucleation in favour of Serrayia was taking place (Georgiadis 200  2009).  he  re-use of LH IIIA2 tombs has also been observed on Kos, as on  hodes (Cavanagh and Mee 19  Georgiadis 200 ).  he  establishment of three new sanctuaries at Iraklis, at NorthWest Serrayia and at the town of Kos under the later Athena sanctuary, all close to Serrayia, belongs to the LH IIIC period ( antzia 19  Skerlou 1999  2001–2004b  Georgiadis and  Christopoulou in press). The cyclopean wall at the inland mountain site of Kastro Palaiopyli has not been studied and it could be tentatively dated within the broader LH IIIB–C phase (Hope-Simpson and Lazenby 1970). It is situated in a  naturally  fortified  position  with  a  strategic  view  over  the 

lowland part of Kos and the sea. It must have served the dispersed settlements that existed at the central part of the island from exogenous threats. The systematic survey at the Halasarna region has shown that small sites around the size of possible farmsteads still existed across the landscape in the LH IIIC period (Georgiadis in press). In this part of the island the coastal site of ancient Halasarna must have acted as a regional centre. The local pottery production continues to be the main one used on Kos, sharing many elements with R hodes, while a pictorial tradition was developed during the LH IIIC phase (Mountjoy 1999, 1078–1080). Imported wares from this period come from Perati, Asine and Crete. At Ikaria two intact vessels belonging to tombs have been dated to the LH  C period (Mountjoy 1999, 114 ).  At Skyros the majority of the tombs around Chora and the offerings deposited in them belong to the LH IIIC phase as well ( arlama 19 4). At Archontiki cemetery of  sara only  a few funerary gifts can be dated to this late period. At Chios both Kato Phana and Emporio in the southern fertile part of the island were used. At the latter, the pottery remains come from a habitation area with affinities to the pottery tradition of the eastern Aegean, encompassing Kalymnos, os,  hodes and Miletos (Hood 19 1–19 2  Mountjoy 1999,  114 ).  he LH  C remains from Lesbos come from Chalatses  and Methymna and are of limited character (Guzowska and asur-Landau 200 , 4 4). At  enibademli Hoyuk on  mvros  some sherds are also dated to the LH IIIC period (Guzowska and  asur-Landau 200 , 4 4–4 5). At Hephaistia on Limnos  the LH IIIC pottery sherds are associated with contemporary architectural remains (Girella and Pavuk 2016, 27), while the ones from  oukonisi are unstratified (Guzowska and  asurLandau 200 , 4 5). During the LH IIIC phase the southern Aegean islands witnessed an important change. The general picture is of an increase of sites in relation to the LH IIIB phase (Vlachopoulos and Georgiadis 2015). In the case of the western islands like Andros, Keos and Melos there was a decline in comparison to the previous period. Nevertheless, Siphnos and Kimolos are exceptions in this area, where there was continuity and new sites that appeared in this period. Perhaps this was associated with the fall of the mainland palatial centres and their role in the sea routes of this phase. At the same time there was an increase of sites and material cultural remains across the central and the eastern Aegean. This is more evident in medium- and large-sized islands such as Paros, Naxos, Kos and R hodes. In the last three islands important coastal settlements were either developed or re-established. The pottery production had in general less relation to the mainland Greek changes. An increased regionalism across the Aegean can be proposed for this period, but at the same time similar trends in shapes and decorations can be seen. Local ceramic characteristics and Cretan elements are attested in many workshops.

7. Collapse at the end of the Late Bronze Age in the Aegean In the northern islands there is a more mixed picture mainly  due  to  the  lack  of  thorough  research.  rom  the  contexts available and better studied it seems that the LH IIIB trend continued and the Mycenaean culture was locally adopted. This appears to be the case at Hephaistia Limnos and Emporio at Chios, while at Archontiki on Psara the LH IIIC remains were less than in the previous phase. The pottery from this region has not been studied systematically with the exception of Emporio. In this case the habitation material finds bear close affinities to other eastern Aegean  contemporary sites, suggesting close contacts with the area south of Chios rather than the Greek mainland.

D i s c u s s i on The collapse of the palatial economic, social, administrative and political systems affected primarily mainland Greece and Chania on Crete.  his series of events had a defining effect  in the Aegean for the next century, but not as dramatic as on the Greek mainland. Some elements of settlement patterns in the islands were identified in the LH  B period, which either continued in  the next phase or new ones appeared in the LH IIIC phase. Security remained a very important concern for the island communities which was expressed in a variety of forms. here were inland sites located in naturally fortified places  like  is  Baronas  to  roudi  on  Siphnos.  ther  inland  hilly  sites were fortified with a wall which either continued from  the LH IIIB period like Ayios Andreas on Siphnos, or new ones were erected in the LH IIIC phase like Koukounaries on Paros and Xombourgo on Tinos, and possibly Kastro Palaiopyli on Kos and Vryokastro on Tinos. Coastal settlements were also protected with a wall in LH  C  Serrayia  continued  to  be  protected  with  a  fortification  from  the  previous period, whilst at Grotta the wall was newly constructed. Another interesting settlement phenomenon is the nucleation of sites and cemeteries between the LH IIIB and LH IIIC period, which can be seen at Naxos, north-west R hodes and Kos. In the latter two examples the re-use of earlier LH IIIA2 tombs during the LH IIIC phase appears to be part of the nucleation process. At the same time, at the southern part of R hodes and at central-south Kos (the Halasarna area) the earlier settlement patterns remain intact, suggesting that diverse processes could coexist on the same island.  ne of the factors related to this trend may also be  the size of these islands. The collapse of the mainland palatial centres as much as those that declined in the eastern Mediterranean dramatically decreased the palatially-controlled exchanges and the gift giving between rulers. Nevertheless, all the other forms of exchanges, connections and circulation networks between the Aegean with the central and eastern Mediterranean remained active during the LH  C phase.  he re-shuffling of the routes  that took place soon after 1200 BC allowed secondary coastal

67

sites to become central for this period. In that context, the wealth identified in some sites, especially expressed within  the local tombs, can be explained.  lder sites like Serrayia on  Kos and Trianda on R hodes as well as new ones like Grotta on Naxos participated as nexus in long- and short-distance circulations. This allowed them to import materials of all kinds,  including  valuable  ones,  finished  goods  and  exotic  objects. The use of these items as offerings in the tombs emphasised the economic, social and/or political status of the deceased and his/her family or kin group in their local or regional context, following earlier practices and expressions. Another interesting development during the LH IIIC period  was  the  significance  attributed  to  symbolism.  irst  of all there was a clear continuity from the previous period as far as burial practices and beliefs were concerned as the tombs from the south-eastern Aegean highlight (Georgiadis 200  2009).  erhaps the social uncertainties of the twelfth  century BC can be seen more clearly in the child burials recovered at the cemetery of Aspropilia. At the same time, there was continuation in the use of older sanctuaries such as Ayia Irini on Keos, where the rest of the settlement was abandoned, Phylakopi on Melos, and possibly Aspri etra  cave  on  os  and  as  cave  on  axos.  urthermore,  new ones were established during LH IIIC at Kos town, North-West Serrayia, and Iraklis, demonstrating an increase of  sanctuaries  and  their  symbolic  significance  across  the  Aegean islands. The political systems became more fragmented and the economic conditions were further degraded with reduced exchanges between islands and especially with the eastern Mediterranean. The clearest indication of this collapse was  the  change  of  the  social  fabric  reflected  with  the  abandonment of settlements and the communal burials. No more chamber and tholos tombs were constructed, instead single graves were built. The latter needed less labour to make and their emphasis was on the individuals rather than on the family or the kin group. At the Submycenaean cemetery of Ayia Agathi on R hodes pit caves were constructed and contained single interments signifying the period of change (Zervaki 2011, 771), when new economic, social and political conditions prevailed. In the eleventh century BC the fragmented Mycenaean culture was giving way to the beginning of the Early Iron Age across the Aegean basin.

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Beaumont, L., Archontidou-Argyri, A. and Whtibread, I.K. (1999) ew work at  ato  hana, Chios: the  ato  hana Archaeological  Project Preliminary R eport for 1997 and 1998. Annual of the British School at Athens 94, 2 5–2 . Benzi, M. (1992) Rodi e la Civiltà Micenea, vols 1–2. R ome, Gruppo Editoriale Internazionale. Benzi, M. (1993) The Late Bronze Age pottery from Vathy cave, Kalymnos. In C. Zerner, P. Zerner and J. Winder (eds) Wace and Blegen: Pottery as Evidence for Trade in the Aegean Bronze Age, 275–288. Amsterdam, Brill. Boulotis,  C.  (199 )    ,        :      .  n C.G.  oumas  and V. La R osa (eds) , 230–272. Athens, Suola Archeologica Italiana di Atene Caskey, J.L. (1981) Notes on Keos and Tzia. Hesperia 50, 320–326. Caskey, M.E. (19 4)  he temple at Ayia  rini,  ea: evidence for  the Late Helladic IIIC phases. In J.A. MacGillivray and R .L.N. Barber (eds) The Prehistoric Cyclades,  241–254.  Edinburgh,  Department of Classical Archaeology. Cavanagh, W.G. and Mee, C. (1978) The re-use of earlier tombs in the LH IIIC period. Annual of the British School at Athens ,  1–44. Charitonidis  S. .  (19 1 2)  .  17, , 265. Cherry, J. .,  avis, J.L., Mantzourani, E. and  ilson  .E. (1991)  ew  prehistoric  finds  from  northwest  eos.  n  J. .  Cherry,  J.L. Davis and E. Mantzourani (eds) Landscape Archaeology as Long-Term History: Northern Keos in the Cycladic Islands from the Earliest Settlement until Modern Times, 165–172. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology. Coldstream, J.N. and Huxley, G.L. (1972) Kythera: Excavations and Studies Conducted by the University of Pennsylvania and the British School at Athens. London,  aber and  aber. Cosmopoulos,  M. .  (2004)  . Athens, University of Athens. avis, J.L.,  zonou-Herbst,  . and  olpert, A.   (2001) Addendum:  1992–1999. In T. Cullen (ed.) Aegean Prehistory: A Review, –94. Boston, Archaeological  nstitute of America. Earle,  J. .  (201 )  Melos  in  the  middle:  Minoanisation  and  Mycenaeanisation at Late Bronze Age Phylakopi. In E. Gorogianni, P. Pavuk and L. Girella (eds) Beyond Thalassocracies: Understanding Processes of Minoanisation and Mycenaeanisation in the Aegean, 94–115.  xford,  xbow  Books. rench  E.  (19 )  ottery  from  Late  Helladic  B  1  destruction  contexts at Mycenae. Annual of the British School at Athens 2, 149–19 . rench  E.  (19 9) A  group  of  Late  Helladic  B  2  pottery  from  Mycenae. Annual of the British School at Athens  4,  1–9 . Georgiadis, M. (2003) The South-eastern Aegean in the Mycenaean Period: Islands andsca e Death and ncestors.  xford,  Archaeopress. Georgiadis, M. (2008) Kos in the Bronze Age. In C. Gallou, M. Georgiadis and G. Muskett (eds) Dios ouroi 22 –2 ,  xford,  Archaeopress.

Georgiadis, M. (2009) The south-eastern Aegean at the end of the Bronze Age: A crossroads of interaction.  n C. Bachhuber and  R .G. R oberts (eds) Forces of Transformation: The End of the Bronze Age in the Mediterranean, 92–9 .  xford,  xbow Books. Georgiadis, M. (2012) Kos in the Neolithic and Early Bronze Age: The Halasarna Material and the Settlement Pattern in the Aegean Islands. Philadelphia, INSTAP Academic Press. Georgiadis, M. (in press) Va: The Prehistoric Period. Athens, National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. Georgiadis, M. and Christopoulou, V. (in press) The MBA-LBA Serrayia on Kos. Athens, National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. Girella, L. and Pavuk, P. (2016) The nature of Minoan and Mycenaean involvement in the northeastern Aegean. In E. Gorogianni, P. Pavuk and L. Girella (eds) Beyond Thalassocracies: Understanding Processes of Minoanisation and Mycenaeanisation in the Aegean, 15–42.  xford,  xbow  Books. Gorogianni,  E.  (201 )  eian,  eio-noanised,  ei-cenaeanised:  interegional contact and identity in Ayia Irini, Kea. In E. Gorogianni, P. Pavuk and L. Girella (eds) Beyond Thalassocracies: Understanding Processes of Minoanisation and Mycenaeanisation in the Aegean,  1 –154.  xford,  xbow Books. Guzowska, A. and  asur-Landau, A. (200 ) Before the Aeolians:  prolegomena to the study of the interactions with the northeast Aegean islands in the 13th and 12th centuries BC. In N. Kyparissi-Apostolika and M. Papakonstantinou (eds) , 4 1–4 . Athens, Ministry of Culture – Ephorate of  Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities. Hood, S. (1981–1982) Prehistoric Emporio and Ayio Gala, London, British School at Athens. Hope  Simpson,  .  and  Lazenby,  J. .  (19 0)  otes  from  the  Dodecanese ii. Annual of the British School at Athens 65, 4 – . Jones, R .E. (1986) Greek and Cypriot Pottery: A Review of cientific tudies. Athens, British School at Athens. Jones R .E. and Mee C. (1978) Spectrographic analyses of Mycenaean pottery from  alysos on  hodes: results and implications. Journal of Field Archaeology 5, 4 1–4 0. antzia,  C.  (19 )  ecent  archaeological  finds  from  os:  new  indications for the site of Kos-Meropis In S. Dietz and I. Papachristodoulou (eds) rchaeology in the Dodecanese 175–183. Copenhagen, Copenhagen University Press. Karantzali, E. (2001) The Mycenaean Cemetery at Pylona on Rhodes.  xford, Archaeopress. arantzali, E. (2005)  he Mycenaeans at  alysos: trading station or  colony   n  . Laffineur and E. Greco (eds) Emporia: Aegeans in the Central and Eastern Mediterranean. Aegaeum 25, 141–151.  Liè ge, University of Liè ge. Karantzali, E. (2009) Local and imported Late Bronze Age III pottery  from  alysos,  hodes:  tradition  and  innovations.  n  D. Danielidou (ed.) : 355–382. Athens, Academy of Athens. Karantzali, E. and Ponting, M.J. (2000) ICP-AES analysis of some Mycenaean vases from the cemetery at Pylona, R hodes. Annual of the British School at Athens 95, 219–238.

7. Collapse at the end of the Late Bronze Age in the Aegean Kardara C. (1977) : , Athens, The Archaeological Society of Athens. ourou,  . (2001)  enos- obourgo: a new defensive site in the  Cyclades. In V. Karageorghis and C.E. Morris (eds) De ensi e Settlements of the Aegean and the Eastern Mediterranean after c. 1200 BC, 171–189. Nicosia, Anastasios G. Leventis oundation. outsoukou, A.  (199 )            ’.  21, 99–110. Levi, D. (1925–1926) La grotta di Aspripetra a Coo. Annuario 8–9, 235–312. Marketou,  .,  arantzali,  E.,  Mommsen,  H.,  acharias,  .,  Kilikoglou, V. and Schwedt, A. (2006) Pottery wares from the prehistoric settlement at Ialysos (Trianda) in R hodes. Annual of the British School at Athens 101, 1–55. Mee, C. (1982) Rhodes in the Bronze Age: An Archaeological Survey. Warminster, Aris and Phillips. Mee, C. (1988) The LH IIIB period in the Dodecanese. In S. Dietz and I. Papachristodoulou (eds) rchaeology in the Dodecanese, 56–58. Copenhagen, National Museum of Denmark. Melas E.M. (1985) he Islands o ar athos aros and asos in the Neolithic and Bronze Age. G teborg,  .  str ms  rlag. Morricone, L. (19 2–19 ) Coo, scavi e scoperte nel  Serraglio’  e  in  localit   minori  (19 5–194 ).  Annuario della Scuola Archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni Italiane in Oriente 50–51, 139–396. Mountjoy,  .A.  (19 4)  he  Mycenaean  C  pottery  from  Phylakopi. In J.A. MacGillivray and R .L.N. Barber (eds) The Prehistoric Cyclades,  225–240.  Edinburgh,  epartment  of  Classical Archaeology, University of Edinburgh. Mountjoy, P.A. (1999) egional Mycenaean Decorated Pottery Vols 1–2. R ahden, Leidorf. Özgü nel, C. (1996) Mykenische Keramik in Anatolien. Bonn, Habelt. arlama, L. (19 4)  PhD thesis, University of Ioannina. olychronakou-Sgouritsa,  .  (1994–1995)          .    49–50  ,  1–12. onting,  M.J.  and  arantzali,  E.  (2001)  Appendix  :  C -AES  analysis of some Mycenaean vases from the Pylona cemetery. In E. Karantzali (ed.) The Mycenaean Cemetery on Rhodes, 105–11 .  xford, Archaeopress. R enfrew, C. (1982a) Bronze Age Melos. In C. R enfrew and M. Wagstaff (eds) An Island Polity: The Archaeology of Exploitation in Melos,  5–44.  Cambridge,  Cambridge  University Press. R enfrew, C. (1982b) Prehistoric exchange. In C. R enfrew and M. Wagstaff (eds) An Island Polity: The Archaeology of Exploitation in Melos, 222–227. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. R enfrew, C. (1985) The Archaeology of Cult: The Sanctuary at Phylakopi. London, British School at Athens. R enfrew, C. Brodie, N., Morris C. and Scarre, C. (eds) (2007) Excavations at Phylakopi in Melos 1974–1977. London, British School at Athens.

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Schallin, A-L. (1993) Islands nder In uence he Cyclades in the Late Bronze Age and the Nature of Mycenaean Presence. Jonsered, Åström. Schilardi, D.U. (1992) Paros and the Cyclades after the fall of the Mycenaean palaces.  n J.- .  livier (ed.) My enai a 621–639. aris, Ecole  ran aise d’Ath nes Skerlou,  E.  (1999)  .   54,  95 –954. Skerlou, E. (2001–2004a)    .    56–59, 298–299. Skerlou, E. (2001–2004b)  ,  .   5 –59,  12– 14. Sutton  . ., Cherry, J. .,  avis, J.L. and Mantzourani, E. (1991)  Gazetteer  of  archaeological  sites.  n  J. .  Cherry,  J.L.  avis  and E. Mantzourani (eds) Landscape Archaeology as LongTerm History: Northern Keos in the Cycladic Islands from the Earliest Settlement until Modern Times, 69–156. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology. elevantou, C. (2001) Ayios Andreas on Sifnos: a Late Cycladic    fortified  acropolis.  n  .  arageorghis  and  C.E.  Morris  (eds) De ensi e ettle ents o the egean and the astern Mediterranean after c. 1200 BC, 191–213. Nicosia, Anastasios G. Leventis  oundation. lachopoulos, A.G. (200 )                              .  n  .  yparissi-Apostolika and M.  apakonstantinou  (eds) , 49 –511. Athens, Ministry of Culture –  Ephorate of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities. Vlachopoulos, A. (2006) :     . 4, Athens,  ardamitsa. Vlachopoulos, A. (2012) :     . 10, Athens,  ardamitsa. Vlachopoulos, A. (2016) Neither far from Knossos nor close to Mycenae:  axos in the Middle and Late Bronze Age Aegean.  In E. Gorogianni, P. Pavuk and L. Girella (eds) Beyond Thalassocracies: Understanding Processes of Minoanisation and Mycenaeanisation in the Aegean, 11 –1 5.  xford,  xbow  Books. Vlachopoulos, A. and Georgiadis, M. (2015) The Cyclades and the  odecanese during the post-palatial period: heterogeneous  developments of a homogeneous culture. In N. Stampolidis, C. Maner and K. Kopanias (eds) ostoi: Indigenous Culture Migration and Integration in the Greek Islands and Western Anatolia LBA-EIA,  1 – 4 .  stanbul,  o  Universty  ress. ervaki,  .  (2011)                      .  n A. Mazarakis-Ainian  (ed.) he Dar ges e isited International Con erence in Me ory o D Coulson,  9– 4.  olos,  University  of  Thessaly.

8 Messenia Julie A. Hruby

I n t r od

u c t i on

During the Bronze Age, Messenia is one of the best understood regions of Greece. First, there is a long history of field survey in the region, including an extensive survey by  the University of Minnesota Messenia Expedition (UMME,  Mc onald and  app 19 2) and intensive ones by the  ylos  egional Archaeology  roject  ( A ,  first  published  as  a  series of articles in Hesperia, now collected also in book form) and the  klaina Survey (Cosmopoulos 201 ). Second,  the  region  has  seen  numerous  excavations,  including  the  alace of  estor’ at  ylos and parts of its lower town, the  towns of  klaina, Mouriatada,  ichoria, and  eristeria, and  countless burials, both elite and less so. Third, when the palace  was  destroyed,  over  1,000  Linear  B  tablets  were  accidentally fired and preserved, providing several months’  accounts  of  the  topics  of  interest  to  palatial  elites.  ourth,  Messenia has a long history of collaboration between archaeologists  and  members  of  the  scientific  community,  allowing for the reconstruction of everything from paleodiet  to the ancient environment. Combining these different lines  of  evidence  permits  a  more  accurate  picture  of  prehistoric  practice.  t is worth remembering, though, that the reason so  much material exists is that the palace and other structures  in the region were physically destroyed. By contrast, we know much less about the ensuing LH  C period and the Early  ron Age (E A), formerly called  the  ark  Ages’.  Substantially  fewer  post-collapse  sites  are found by field surveys, only a few E A sites have been  excavated, and the textual record disappears.  his situation  has largely been attributed to depopulation, but it is difficult  to  differentiate  depopulation  from  poverty,  and  the  latter  must also have contributed.

M yc e n ae an

M e s s e n ia

Messenia  appears  to  have  had  some  of  the  elements  considered to be most characteristic of Mycenaean elite culture very early.  he first mainland tholos tombs are found here,  including  one  at  oryphasio  and  almost  certainly  another,  known  as  a  grave  circle’,  to  the  southwest  of  the  later  palace  ( avis  et al.  199 ,  404,  420).  Built  during  the  late  MH  to  early  LH  period,  they  correspond  chronologically  with the rise of a political system that is often identified as a  chiefdom’ – one in which chiefs gain power through family  relationships  and  maintain  it  through  ritual,  leadership  in  warfare, and display of economic power ( right 1995), and  increasingly appear to have incorporated elements adapted  from Minoan precursors. Among  the  other  apparently  Minoan  features  that  appeared  relatively  early  in  the  region  of  Messenia  were  a wide range of masonry styles, in addition to so-called masons’  marks’,  of  which  one  was  found  on  an  orthostate  block  beneath  the  palace,  dating  perhaps  to  LH    or  A,  and  on  a  LH    tholos  at  eristeria  ( elson  201 ,  50). Minoan artistic styles and implements also appear in  Messenia, attested in both the LH  B C Linear B tablets  (e.g. heirloom vessels of Cretan manufacture in  a  41 and  a  09) and archaeologically, most dramatically from the LH    Griffin  arrior grave’ (e.g.  avis and Stocker 201 ). A  few divinities known from Mycenaean-era Crete also appear  at  ylos ( entris and Chadwick 19 , 125–129, 410–412),  and some may have been Minoan in origin. he rise of the palaces as political entities appears to have  followed in LH  A, marking the transition from a chiefdom to a state ( right 1995). Statehood is associated with  factors like the existence of formally defined political offices 

Julie A. Hruby

2

that  exist  independently  from  the  people  who  hold  them,  high levels of socio-political complexity, heavy reliance on  economic mechanisms to maintain power, the presence of  administrative centres, the development of writing, taxation,  and the establishment of state religion (Shelmerdine 2001,  49 and sources cited therein). he  expansion  and  consolidation  of  the  ylian  state  appears  to  have  occurred,  probably  intermittently,  over  the course of the LH   period, eventually including territory  approximately  congruent  with  the  modern  district  of  Messenia. Because the Linear B evidence from the palatial  destruction  divides  the  territory  into  the  hither  province’  and  the  further  province’,  with  Mount  Aigaleon  as  the  boundary  between  them,  it  is  probable  that  the  territory  within  the  hither  province’  was  consolidated  before  the  further province’ was incorporated (Bennet 200 , though  Cosmopoulos  201 ,  109  hints  that  he  might  problematise  this chronology). he  alace of  estor’ had titles for numerous political  offices, suggesting that its political organisation was fairly  complex.  he wanax and lawagetas appear to have held the  most  and  second-most  prominent  positions,  though  their  precise  responsibilities  and  the  identities  of  those  holding  the  offices  at  the  time  of  the  palace’s  destruction  have  been widely debated (for which see  etrakis 201  and the  sources cited therein), though the wanax does seem to have  ritual, symbolic, and political responsibilities, including the  appointment of lower-ranking officials and the sponsorship  of large feasts (Hruby 200 ). hile many Mycenaean palaces had fortification systems  utilising  cyclopean  masonry,  the  capital  at  ylos  did  not.  he bastions of the  ortheast Gateway did, however, have  some  limestone  slab  construction,  a  type  of  masonry  that  has  been  identified  as  a  possible  predecessor,  as  did  the  second-order towns of Malthi and  eristeria ( right 19 ,  1 2–1 ).  he site of  klaina, by contrast, had a structure  called a  cyclopean terrace’, actually a cyclopean platform  on which a building stood (Cosmopoulos 201 ), suggesting  that cyclopean masonry was not unknown in the region.

T h e c ol l ap

se

Scholars who have addressed  the end of the Bronze Age’  have often, though not inevitably, conflated three different  questions.  he first is why the palatial system was sufficiently  weak  as  to  collapse,  the  second  is  why  there  are  so  many  structures  that  were  destroyed  either  contemporaneously  or  nearly  so,  and  the  third  is  why  the  palaces  were  never  rebuilt.  Explanations  for  systemic  weakness  tend  to  argue  for internal unrest (e.g. Andronikos 1954) or for economic  overspecialisation  and  disruptions  in  trade  (e.g.  ermeule  19 0).  he third question can now be answered at least in  part  by  clear  evidence  for  climate  change  that  post-dated  the architectural destructions ( inn  et al. 201 ), though it 

remains plausible that other factors, such as disruptions in  trade routes, may also have contributed ( ermeule 19 0). he second question, however, remains contested.  here  is evidence of a major architectural collapse at the LH  B C  transition throughout the region.  he  alace of  estor’ was  burned (Blegen and  awson 19 , 421  Mountjoy 199 ) and  was  largely  abandoned,  though  there  is  minimal  evidence  for reuse (Hruby 200 ,  1,  –44  Griebel and  elson 200   Lafayette-Hogue 201 ).  ichoria too seems to have a brief  hiatus  at  the  end  of  the  LH  period  that  should  be  at  least  approximately contemporaneous with the destruction of the  palace (Shelmerdine 1992, 509).  klaina also has destruction  around the LH  B C transition (Cosmopoulos 201 , 10 ). easons for the physical collapse of the palace remain  contested   among  the  proposed  causes  for  the  destruction  of the palaces in general are natural disasters such as earthquakes,  internal  social  upheaval,  piracy,  and  invasion  by  any of several different actors (see, e.g. Cline 2014).  t is  of course probable that more than one factor is responsible,  but the widespread nature of the destruction suggests that a  natural disaster is likely to be among them.

T h e e vi d e n c e f or

E ar l y I r on

A ge

M e s s e n ia

Scholars have traditionally thought Messenia and Laconia to  have been completely depopulated after the palatial destructions, or very nearly so (e.g. Snodgrass 19 1, 29– 0  Hope  Simpson and  ickinson 19 9, map 5). Both extensive and  intensive  surveys  have  suggested  that  the  number  of  sites  declined  substantially  immediately  after  the  LH  B C  destructions.  he  UMME  principals  suggest  that  after  the  palatial destructions,  this   area was occupied by scarcely  more than 10 per cent of the people who had lived there in  the thirteenth century B.C.’ (Mc onald and Hope Simpson  19 2, 14 ).  he  A  investigators found virtually no LH  C or E A material ( avis et al. 199 , 424) and the  klaina  Survey too reports exceedingly minimal material from the  period after the palatial destruction (Shelmerdine and Gulizio  201 , 1 2). Most of what evidence we do have comes from tombs  and  from  the  site  of  ichoria.  ombs  that  date  to  the  LH  C period and E A are relatively numerous, including some  that look fairly elite.  or example, the  okkevis chamber  tomb  -2,  despite  having  been  looted,  contained  a  large  LH  C  bronze  bowl  that,  while  probably  Mycenaean  in  its  workmanship,  bears  some  resemblance  to  Cypriot  sifters and incorporates  rotovillanovan  talic iconography  (Eder  200 ,  552–55 ),  suggesting  that  Messenians  at  the  time had some contact, though perhaps indirect, with both  Cyprus and  taly.  he same tomb contains an iron pin and  both LH  B C transitional and LH  C pottery, including  a  LH  C  Middle  pictorial  krater  with  a  hunting  scene,  a  clear descendant of palatial period iconography and practice  (55 )  the tomb appears to have been in use throughout the 

8. Messenia LH  C period ( aylour 19 , 22 ). Similarly,  holos 1 at  ragana contained an LH  C Late alabastron depicting a  substantial oared galley of a variety that would have required  approximately 50 oars  insofar as the image might reflect a  local reality, Eder suggests that manning such a boat requires  a sufficiently large resource-base and sufficient social stratification  to  compensate  that  number  of  men  for  their  labour (200 , 550–552).  espite the fact that the  ichoria  excavation permit excluded work in a nearby cemetery, the  team there did find a Late Geometric pithos burial containing  ceramics, an iron sword and spearhead, a bronze ring, and  two bronze phialai, in addition to the skeleton of a young  man (Coulson 19 b, 2 0–2 2), suggesting that an identity  as a warrior remained valuable. umerous tomb sites were in continuous use from the LH  B period into the LH  C and E A, often using closely  comparable burial practices, implying that however dramatic  the collapse may have been, families or communities probably maintained some continuity of burial practice and locale.  hile  chronologies  at  individual  locations  are  sometimes  contested,  among  these  sites  are  oukounara,  ichoria,  olimidia, several near the palace at Englianos, and perhaps  one  at Antheia  (Antonaccio  1995,  2,  ,  ,  –90,  9 ,  94–9 , 100–101).  here are also sites used during LH  C  or the Early  ron Age, either for new burials or for making  offerings, that had been used before but that had had a break in their utilisation.  n many cases, these should reflect the  presence of a tomb cult  among the potentially relevant sites  are  oukounara,  alaiochoria,  ragana,  ichoria,  olimidia,  the vicinity of the palace at Englianos, and perhaps Antheia  and  asiliko (Antonaccio 1995,  2,  – 0,  – 4,  –90,  95–101).  hese  sites  indicate  that  later  Messenians  intentionally created ties to the earlier inhabitants of the places  where  they  lived,  clearly  asserting  their  local  identities  through their choices of ritual spaces. ichoria’s  E A  settlement  remains  support  hitley’s  claim that the Greek social order at the time represented a  big-man’ society (19 1,  4 – 52).  hether the ridge was  settled at all during LH  C was not clear to the excavators  (Mc onald 19 , xxvii), and it includes very little of what  Coulson identifies as  ark Ages  ’ architecture or pottery  (Coulson  19 a,  1   19 c,  1– 2),  tentatively  identified  as  having  absolute  dates  of  approximately  10 5–9 5  BC  (Mc onald  19 ,  xxvii).  However,  the  site  has  extensive  evidence  of  ark  Ages  ’  architecture  and  ceramics  (Coulson  19 a,1 –4   19 c,  2–90),  with  absolute  dates  of  approximately  9 5– 50  BC,  some  ark  Ages    (transition)’  (Coulson  19 a,  1 –4   19 c,  90–9 )  or  approximately  50– 00  BC  (Mc onald  19 ,  xxvii),  and some  ark Ages  ’ (Coulson 19 a, 4 –5  19 c,  9 –110) dating to approximately  00– 50 BC (Mc onald  19 , xxvii). uring both the  A   and  A   periods, most structures appear to represent apsidal residences with limestone 

blocks outlining their locations, apparently with  walls    of some lighter, more perishable material’ (Coulson 19 a,  15) and often containing pits, perhaps once used for storage,  although  by  the  time  they  were  excavated  they  contained  undifferentiated trash. Buildings might be rectangular, for example if they reused Mycenaean foundations (1 –1 ).  n  the  A    period,  one  building,  known  as  Unit  -1,  was  more prominent than the others (1 –42)  Coulson suggests  that it was  probably the chieftain’s dwelling but also serving  important  communal  functions’  (1 ),  made  of  mud-brick,  with  a  wattle-and-daub  balustrade  (24).  he  building  had  two  main  phases,  both  within  A  ,  the  first  dating  to  around  the  tenth  century  BC  and  the  second  to  the  ninth  century.  hile Coulson argued that the building was rectangular during the first phase and apsidal during the second,  Mazarakis  Ainian  (1992)  prefers  to  see  the  building  as  having been apsidal throughout its existence.  he building’s  shape is significant because it may reflect the materials with  which the builders were primarily familiar and the availability of space  he has suggested that curvilinear buildings  were close relatives of those fully built in timber and were  used  in  places  with  minimal  crowding,  since  they  make  uneconomical use of space’ (19 9, 2 ). Building Unit  -1  was probably succeeded in the  A   period by the apsidal  building  Unit  -5,  another  unusually  large  building  with  evidence  for  both  private  and  public  functions  (Coulson  19 b, 4 –5 ).  he tradition of building apsidal houses at  ichoria was a relatively old one, with one apsidal house  dating back to the Mycenaean period (Coulson 19 b, 1 ).

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p op

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l e ve l s

t is probable that the absence of people from the Messenian  landscape is illusory, for a variety of reasons.  he continuity  in  burial  traditions  and,  at  ichoria,  in  building  traditions  suggest  that  some  number  of  people  continued  using  the  same customs with which they were familiar. Continuity of  ritual activities looks likely as well, with LH  B C animal  sacrifices  closely  comparable  to  those  from  later  periods  ( saakidou et al. 2002). he  strongest  argument  for  a  continuing  local  population,  however,  is  that  it  is  clear  from  contemporaneous  and  close-successor  textual  sources  like  yrtaeus  that  the  Laconians defeated the Messenians in the eighth century and  in the seventh, making helots of those whom they defeated.  he total helot population must have been above  5,000 and  perhaps as high as 100,000 by the beginning of the Classical  period ( igueira 200 , 1 9, 220  Scheidel 200 ), despite a  Messenian  diaspora  (Alcock  2002),  consistent  downward  pressure on helot population levels from Spartan aggression  towards  them,  and  the  levels  of  malnutrition  and  disease  that  threatened  any  ancient  population,  especially  a  badly  impoverished one.  hile some of those helots would have  been Laconians and a few perhaps were  orian migrants, 

4

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the part of the Messenian population attributable to  orian  migrants  must  have  been  very  small  (Hall  200 ,  15 ).  Ancient  fertility  rates  must  have  been  quite  high  just  to  maintain  population  levels,  perhaps  in  the  order  of  4.5  to  .5 children per woman, or even higher, in the order of    to 9 children per woman who reached menopause given the  constraints of  divorce, widowhood, and sterility’ (Scheidel  200 ,  41).  ertility  rates  must  have  been  even  higher  to  grow a population. Scheidel suggests that  in the long term   local, regional, and temporal variations largely cancelled  each  other  out,  converging  into  a  trend  of  very  slow  net  growth  over  time’,  in  the  order  of  0.05–0.1   annually  (42)   historically,  long-term  population  growth  rates  only  rarely  reach  0.1   per  annum  (4 ).  he  kinds  of  numbers  we  see  for  helot  populations  in  the  Classical  period  seem  unlikely  if  we  assume  that  the  Messenian  population  had  plummeted to about 5,000 individuals at the beginning of  the Early  ron Age.  urthermore, we know that there were  some perioikoi in Messenia (Shipley 199 ), and while their  origins are unclear, they too may have been descendants in  whole or in part of the Early  ron Age indigenous Messenian  populations. f, however, we have minimal survey evidence from the  Early  ron Age  from  the  region,  it  becomes  necessary  to  understand why people might be invisible in survey results.  here are several factors that may restrict the visibility of  E A Messenians. Morris has proposed that Aegean Greece  suffered an economic collapse between 1200 and 1000 BC  (200 , 212), and Messenia certainly did not escape that fate.  He notes that both the number and sizes of E A settlements  fell (21 –21 ) and that the populations of western Greece  may have been particularly mobile and so invisible (21 ).  He offers several possible explanations, including that some  areas were genuinely abandoned, that E A sherds had low  visibility relative to those of other time periods (he specifies  that this is particularly likely to be true in western Greece),  that typical E A houses contained less pottery than typical  Classical houses, and that E A sherds are more susceptible  to degradation than ceramics from other periods (21 ). All  of  these  are  plausible  reasons  to  doubt  the  scale  of  E A  depopulation.  onetheless, he follows  angger and his colleagues, the authors of a study of the pollen core evidence  from Messenia, which identifies a shift from large quantities  of olive pollen to large quantities of oak pollen at approximately the time of the palatial destruction, in believing that  the  shift  reflects  less  human  intervention  in  the  landscape  (199 )  from that, he jumps to the assumption that there had  been a  catastrophic population collapse’ (Morris 200 , 21 ). he problem with that leap is that olives are not a subsistence crop  they fruit only every second year. Acorns, by  contrast, are known to have been used for subsistence  they  are frequently associated by Classical authors with poverty  or ruralness (e.g. Hesiod Opera et Dies 2 2–2  Herodotus  1.   ausanias  .1,  .42),  but  they  were  also  consumed 

roasted  even  in  fifth  century Athens  (Aristophanes  Peace 1 ).  hile there are numerous challenges to the recovery of  acorns from archaeological contexts, and while the absolute  number  of  acorns  is  low,  it  is  perhaps  not  surprising  that  ichoria  has  more  E A  acorns  than  traces  of  olives  and  legumes combined (Shay and Shay 19 , 52, 54). n fact, there are several reasons that Morris’s summary of  the reasons for the invisibility of a population in field survey  only  just  begins  to  scratch  the  surface  for  E A  Messenia.  he relatively small number of excavated E A sites in the  region contributes to the (in)visibility problem (Alcock et al. 2005, 151), as does the poor surface preservation of the  E A  sherds  that  have  been  excavated. Also,  as  iffendale  has noted,  the majority of the very recognisable decorated  Early  ron Age pottery has been found in cultic or, especially,  funerary contexts’ (2012), perhaps explaining why we see  so much of it in Messenian burials and so little elsewhere. n addition, scholars who are accustomed to seeing modern  potters  throwing  prepared  clay  on  either  a  kick-wheel  (unknown from prehistoric Greece) or an electric wheel and  firing in a gas or electric kiln have a tendency to underestimate the labour required in antiquity to produce ceramic  vessels, and a corresponding tendency to underestimate the  relative utility of vessels made of perishable materials like  basketry, wood, and animal skin. Given the labour-intensive nature of pottery production,  the most logical type of pottery to produce would be cooking  pots, which creates further problems  cooking pots are typically gritty and low-fired, making them fragile, and because  we have no local cooking pot typologies, even if sherds did  survive,  we  would  have  no  chance  of  recognising  them.  Additionally, when one is truly impoverished, the easiest way  to get pottery is not to make it, but to scavenge it from sites  with earlier intact vessels  given that the  alace of  estor’  still had hundreds of intact vessels at the time it was excavated  in  the  twentieth  century,  it  would  be  unsurprising  if  some  had been scavenged in antiquity.  his has the disconcerting  implication  that  some  of  the  survey  sites  identified  on  the  basis of the ceramics as being LH  B in date may actually  be later sites that reuse earlier ceramics.

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hile the levels of socio-political complexity and economic  wealth in Messenia clearly plummeted at the point when the  palace collapsed, the area probably did not suffer the very  high levels of depopulation that so many scholars have envisioned. Some basic level of material wealth, and some level  of engagement with long-distance trade networks, must have  been maintained, even if the area as a whole became relatively  impoverished.  t is difficult to determine from survey data  when a shortage of ceramics reflects depopulation and when  it  reflects  poverty,  and  for  Early  ron Age  Messenia,  there  may have been some combination of these factors at play.

8. Messenia

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Hruby, J. (200 ) Feasting and Ceramics: A View from the Palace of Nestor at Pylos.  Unpublished  h   thesis,  University  of  Cincinnati. saakidou,  .,  Halstead,  .,  avis,  J.L.  and  Stocker,  S. .  (2002)  Burnt  animal  sacrifice  in  Late  Bronze  Age  Greece:  new  evidence  from  the  Mycenaean  alace  of  estor’  at  ylos.  Antiquity  ,  –92. La ayette-Hogue,  S.  (201 )  ew  evidence  of  post-destruction  reuse  in  the  Main  Building  of  the  alace  of  estor  at  ylos.  American Journal of Archaeology 120, 151–15 . Mazarakis Ainian, A.  (19 9)  Late  Bronze Age  apsidal  and  oval  buildings in Greece and adjacent areas. Annual of the British School at Athens  4, 2 9–2 . Mazarakis  Ainian,  A.  (1992)  ichoria  in  the  south-western  eloponnese:  Units  -1  and  -5  reconsidered.  Opuscula Atheniensia 19,  5– 4. Mc onald,  .A.  (19 )  reface.  n  .A.  Mc onald,  . .E.  Coulson  and  J.  osser  (eds)  Excavations at Nichoria in Southwest Greece,  xxv–xxxii.  Minneapolis,  University  of  Minnesota  ress. Mc onald,  .A.  and  Hope  Simpson,  .  (19 2) Archaeological  exploration.  n  .A.  Mc onald  and  G.  app,  Jr.  (eds)  The Minnesota Messenia Expedition. Reconstructing a Bronze Age Regional Environment,  11 –14 .  Minneapolis,  University  of  Minnesota  ress. Mc onald,  .A.  and  app,  Jr.,  G.  (eds)  (19 2)  The Minnesota Messenia Expedition. Reconstructing a Bronze Age Regional Environment. Minneapolis, University of Minnesota  ress. Morris,  . (200 ) Early  ron Age Greece.  n  . Morris,  . . Saller  and  .  Scheidel  (eds)  The Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-Roman World,  211–241.  Cambridge,  Cambridge  University  ress. Mountjoy,  .A. (199 )  he destruction of the palace at  ylos reconsidered. Annual of the British School at Athens 92, 109–1 . elson,  M.C.  (201 )  art  :  the  architecture  of  the  alace  of  estor.  n  .A.  Cooper  and  .  ortenberry  (eds)  The Minnesota Pylos Proj ect, 1990–98, 2 1–41 .  xford, British  Archaeological  eports  ublishing. etrakis,  . . (201 )  riting the wanax: spelling peculiarities of  Linear B wa-na-ka and their possible implications. Minos 201 ,  1–15 , 40 –410. Scheidel,  .  (200 )  Helot  numbers:  a  simplified  model.  n  .  Luraghi  and  S.  Alcock  (eds)  Helots and Their Masters in Laconia and Messenia: Histories, Ideologies, Structures, 240–24 .  ashington,  C, Harvard University  ress. Scheidel,  . (200 )  emography.  n  . Morris,  . . Saller and  .  Scheidel (eds) The Cambridge Economic History of the GrecoRoman World,  – . Cambridge, Cambridge University  ress. Shelmerdine,  C. .  (1992)  Mycenaean  pottery  from  the  settlement.  n  .A. Mc onald and  .C.  ilkie (eds) Excavations at Nichoria in Southwest Greece,  495–51 .  Minneapolis,  University of Minnesota  ress. Shelmerdine,  C. .  (2001)  eview  of Aegean  prehistory  :  the  palatial Bronze Age of the southern and central Greek mainland.  n  . Cullen (ed.) Aegean Prehistory: A Review,  29– .  Boston, Archaeological  nstitute of America. Shelmerdine,  C. .  and  Gulizio,  J.  (201 )  Submycenaean  to  Archaic  pottery.  n  M.B.  Cosmopoulos  (ed.)  The Political Geography of a Mycenaean District: The Archaeological

Julie A. Hruby Survey at Iklaina,  1 2–1 .  Athens,  Archaeological  Society  at Athens. Shipley, G. (199 )  he  ther Lakedaimonians’: the dependent perioikic poleis of Laconia and Messenia.  n M.H. Hansen (ed.) The Polis as an Urban Centre and as a Political Community, 1 9–2 1.  Copenhagen,  he  oyal  anish Academy of Sciences and Letters. Snodgrass, A.M. (19 1) The Dark Age of Greece: An Archaeological Survey of the Eleventh to the Eighth Centuries BC. Edinburgh,  Edinburgh University  ress. aylour,  . .  (19 )  Chamber  omb  -2.  n  C. .  Blegen,  M.  awson,  . .  aylour  and  . .  onovan  (eds)  The Palace of Nestor at Pylos in Western Messenia,  224–22 .  rinceton  University  ress,  rinceton. entris,  M.  and  Chadwick,  J.  (19 )  Documents in Mycenaean Greek, second edition. Cambridge, Cambridge University  ress.

ermeule,  E. .  (19 0)  he  fall  of  the  Mycenaean  empire.  Archaeology Magazine 1 ,  – 5. hitley,  J.  (1991)  Social  diversity  in  ark Age  Greece.  Annual of the British School at Athens  ,  41– 5. right, J.C. (19 ) Mycenaean Masonry Practices and Elements of Construction. Unpublished thesis, Bryn Mawr College. right, J.C. (1995)  rom chief to king in Mycenaean society.  n  .  ehak (ed.) The Role of the Ruler in the Prehistoric Aegean. Proceedings of a Panel Discussion Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America,  – 0.  Li ge, Universit  de Li ge. angger,  E.,  impson,  M.E.,  azvenko,  S.B.,  uhnke,  .  and  nauss,  J.  (199 )  he  ylos  egional  Archaeology  roject:  art  ,  landscape  evolution  and  site  preservation.  Hesperia , 549– 41.

9 The Euboean Gulf Margaretha Kramer-Haj os

I n t r od

u c t i on

The Euboean Gulf coasts are a prime example of an area where the transition from Bronze to Iron Age is a transformation rather than a collapse.  n fact, the first stage of the  Aegean-wide collapse, the destruction of the Mycenaean palaces  around  1200  BC,  was  positively  beneficial  for  the  Euboean coastal communities: whereas similar palatial destructions in e.g. Messenia were followed by a general and region-wide cultural decline and and possibly depopulation (but see Hruby, this volume), along the Euboean Gulf coasts they led to a cultural revival. R eal decline seems to have set in only about a century later, but lasted relatively briefly: by  1000 BC there are clear signs of social and economic revival at Lefkandi, a site which would continue to thrive through the Early Iron Age. This chapter will attempt to explain why this area reacted to the collapse the way it did.

T h e l an

d s c ap

e

In order to understand the trajectory of the Euboean Gulf coast settlements, it is necessary to consider the restrictions and opportunities dictated by the natural landscape. The Euboean Gulf is enclosed by the coasts of Attica, Boeotia, and Phthiotis to the south-west, and Euboea to the north-east. Although traditionally these coastal areas have been considered separately, as the fringes of the provinces to which they belonged, it is more useful to consider them together and apply a ‘coastscape approach’ (Pullen and Tartaron 2007), since the Euboean Gulf connected, rather than separated these areas. It was faster and easier throughout most of history to sail through or across the Gulf to other coastal settlements than it was to cross the hills and mountains that separated the plains and valleys both from each other and from the interior.

Additionally, coastal settlements often had an unencumbered view on the opposite coast, whereas their view towards the interior was blocked by hills: phenomenologically, too, coastal settlements were oriented towards each other, turning their backs on the hinterland. This limited the agricultural potential of these sites: although the successful sites all exploited fertile coastal plains for agriculture, these plains were enclosed by steep hills and mountains and much smaller than the vast agricultural plains and low hills of the central Greek interior, which provided enough land to support the emergence of palaces. The small size of coastal plains posed limitations on settlement size and number. Coastal sites had however access to major maritime trade routes, and were in an excellent position to receive and transfer influences from the south as well as from the north.  A Bronze Age stone anchor found just off the shore, at the location of the Hellenistic harbour at Kynos (Kounouklas 2018), suggests the presence of a Bronze Age harbour for seagoing ships, and it is to be expected that other coastal sites, too, actively exploited the sea and benefited from their  location.1 Accordingly, during the Late Bronze Age, the coasts followed a different trajectory than the interior areas.

H i s t or i c ove

r vi e w

The key to understanding the trajectory of the Euboean Gulf area at the transition from the Late Bronze to Early Iron Age lies in its earlier history, before the rise of the palaces. Most information for this early Mycenaean period (in ceramic terms, LH I–IIB/IIIA1) comes from the partially excavated settlement of Mitrou, supplemented by data from Dramesi, Chalkis, and Lefkandi.2 Evidence from these sites suggests that during the early Mycenaean period, local elites emerged

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and thrived. The new elites used Minoan and Minoanising tableware, enjoying a new cuisine (Lis 2017); drove chariots (Maran and Van de Moortel 2014); displayed their hunting and warrior-prowess with boar’s tusk helmets; paved their 3 m wide, orthogonal streets; and were buried in monumental built tombs.   have elsewhere attributed the early flourishing  of sites like Mitrou, Dramesi, Chalkis, and Lefkandi to their coastal location on a major maritime route connecting the core of the Mycenaean world (the Argolid) with the Gulf of Volos and the northern Aegean, allowing elites to create and maintain long-distance ties with elites elsewhere (KramerHajos 2016, 33–69; forthcoming). The number of sites that flourished in this period suggests a fairly heterarchical system,  in which power was regionally distributed over numerous local centres, each on its own small coastal plain. Despite the obvious thriving of Early Mycenaean coastal settlements, the coastal areas declined in LH IIIA2–IIIB, when the palaces of Thebes and Orchomenos/Gla3 dominated central Greece. Pottery from chamber tombs at Chalkis shows how even before the palaces were fully established,  cultural  influences  from  the  southern Aegean  (such as Minoan and Minoanising wares) decreased at the same time that Boeotian influences increased ( ramer-Hajos  201  forthcoming).  he increase of Boeotian influence, as  visible most clearly in the appearance of giant alabastra, which arrived in Chalkis from Boeotia via an overland route, coincides with a decrease of overall quantities of pottery, suggesting a general decline at Chalkis from LH IIB onward. Evidence from Mitrou shows LH IIIA2 Early destructions by fire: the monumental Building  , which housed elite burials, as well as the settlement around it were destroyed and left in ruins. Habitation continued on a much-reduced scale, but architectural and ritual activity came to an end and roads were no longer resurfaced in LH IIIB1 and IIIB2 Early (Van de Moortel et al. 2019). The evidence from Kynos is less clear, since it is limited to a single small sounding. In this small area, similar fire-destruction took place in LH  A1,  followed by a gap in LH IIIA2–B. Something similar may have happened on Euboea as well, where extensive survey showed ‘a rather unexpected scarcity of normal IIIB among the sherds’ (Sackett et al. 1966, 104); subsequent excavations seem  to  have  confirmed  a  decline  in  LH  B  material  or  even a LH IIIB ‘gap’ (Evely et al. 2006, 111; 135; KramerHajos 2017). Despite the general picture of settlement contraction along the Euboean coasts, a few new sites appear in LH IIIA2–B. Most notable among these are the walled settlements of Larymna and Anthedon. Larymna has no signs of settlement before LH  A2–B, when its cyclopean fortifications were built.4 Since the style of these fortifications is  the same as that at Gla, and since Larymna is located at the far end of a long string of similar forts lining the Kopaic Basin, it is likely that it was part of a large-scale building project under the auspices of the palace at Orchomenos/Gla

(Kramer-Hajos 2008, 126–128; 2016, 120–121). The contemporary destructions at Mitrou may, therefore, reasonably be ascribed to Orchomenos/Gla; the subsequent diminished habitation in LH IIIB1–IIIB2 Early was possibly caused by forced transfer of the population to provide the labour needed to build the Kopaic drainage works and to work the polders (Van de Moortel et al. 2019, 280). Anthedon may represent the Theban equivalent of Larymna; at 25 km from Thebes, on the north Euboean Gulf coast, Anthedon served as the harbour of Thebes in historic times and its LH B fortifications suggest that it fulfilled the same function  during the Mycenaean palatial period (Hope Simpson and Dickinson 1979, 253). Gla and probably Orchomenos were destroyed in LH IIIB2 Early; Thebes in LH IIIB2 Late. During the brief window of time between these two palatial destructions, a deposit of LH IIIB2 Late pottery from Mitrou is remarkable because of its close Theban parallels and palatial associations (Vitale 2012, 1151): the deposit includes a R osette deep bowl, a shape extremely unusual outside the Argolid and associated with ritualised elite drinking activities and libation. Because of the Theban parallels of the pottery, Vitale has tentatively suggested that after the LH IIIA2–B1 decline, caused by Orchomenos/Gla, Mitrou became a satellite site of Thebes in LH IIIB2 when Orchomenos/Gla was destroyed (Vitale 2018, 155). Fragments of roof tiles associated with this palatial-style pottery suggest the presence of a palatial style building in LH IIIB2 Mitrou, but the location of this building has yet to be discovered; it was not located in the same place as the prepalatial power centre, which may strengthen Vitale’s suggestion of a non-local government. After the palatial destruction of Thebes, looting of Mitrou’s elite tomb suggests a brief period of lawlessness (Van de Moortel et al. 2019, 281–282). Soon, however, the settlements of Mitrou, Kynos, and Lefkandi all experienced a revival.5 At Kynos, habitation resumed with LH IIIC Early levels that suggest a thriving settlement with evidence for pottery and textile production as well as bronze-working.6 This LH IIIC Early settlement had better built structures that were oriented differently from the LH IIIB settlement, suggesting a break with the past (Dakoronia 2002a, 42–43; 2003, 38). Hints of a social/political change and upheaval are visible at Mitrou as well, where the most important building of the LH IIIC period re-used the walls of the central elite prepalatial building complex (Building D): postpalatial elites wished to be associated with prepalatial elites and to legitimise their rule by co-opting the prepalatial power structures, ignoring the various disturbances of the palatial era. At Lefkandi, too, the LH IIIC settlement rarely reused the LH IIIB walls (Popham et al. 2006, 8; Sherratt 2006b, 304–305). Extensive cutting into LH IIIB strata in the LH IIIC Early phase was attributed by Popham and Sackett to an  influx  of  population,  possibly  from  destroyed  centres  elsewhere (Popham and Sackett 1968, 34), but it is equally

9. The Euboean Gulf possible that, as at Mitrou and possibly Kynos, this represents the ‘local’ population reclaiming its power and doing away – literally, in this case – with any palatial-era remains.7 Although the LH IIIC Early settlement at Kynos was destroyed by earthquakes – a frequent occurrence at Kynos, which is located on a geological fault line – subsequent settlement continued through the EIA (Dakoronia 1996a). Monumental pithoi, decorated with bands of impressed motifs, circulated in a network including Kynos, Kalapodi, and Mitrou (Lis and R ü ckl 2011). They suggest large-scale central and possibly ceremonial storage of agricultural products, and may represent the emergence of new elites at Kynos. Lis and R ü ckl have speculated that they were used by the religious authorities at Kalapodi to cement ties with Kynos as well as Mitrou (2011). Another type of pottery that shows close ties between Kynos and Mitrou are patterned LH IIIC Middle kraters, which are similar enough to suggest they are products of a single workshop (R utter 2007, 295). LH IIIC Middle pictorial pottery had a somewhat different distribution network: it has been found at Kynos, Kalapodi, and Lefkandi, but not, so far, at Mitrou; Mitrou on the other hand is the only site with evidence for Handmade Burnished Ware in LH IIIC Early (R utter 2007, 295). Perhaps not coincidentally, whereas LH IIIC Early and Middle are periods of revival at Mitrou, LH IIIC Late Mitrou sees decline. Although occupation is continuous, the character of the site changes and Mitrou appears to lose its importance. The elite Building B is abandoned; new buildings  appear  at  different  locations,  are  flimsily  built,  no longer rectilinear, and have exterior instead of interior courtyards. The paved streets disappear and instead of an urban centre, Mitrou becomes rural in character (Van de Moortel and Zahou 2011). Interestingly, during this period of decline Handmade Burnished Ware kylix stems in a dark, coarse fabric (found in a mixed deposit dated to LH IIIC Late–EPG; R utter 2007, 296; see also Van de Moortel 2007, 250), suggest, in a reversal to the situation in LH IIIC Early, a hearkening back to palatial-era material culture. Mitrou’s rural character persisted into the Protogeometric, although by the Late Protogeometric, graves were furnished more richly than before. By the end of the tenth century BC, the settlement was abandoned; rich graves at nearby Tragana suggest settlement may have shifted location. ynos, on the other hand, continued to flourish through  the Protogeometric period (Dakoronia and Kounouklas 2009), and so did Lefkandi. During LH IIIC Late and Submycenaean, the settlement at Lefkandi contracted, but rich burials with much pottery as well as metal finds (fibulae, pins, and rings) in  well-constructed tombs suggest continued importance (Lemos 2006, 518–519). When around 1000–950 BC the Heroon was built, with its warrior burial in an antique Cypriot bronze urn, accompanied by a bejewelled female burial and four horses (Popham et al. 1993), it was the visible culmination of Lefkandi’s prominence in the Early Iron Age.

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Since the trajectory of sites along the Euboean Gulf coasts is directly opposite to that of the palatial interior, it is highly likely that the rise of the palaces is not merely coincidental with the LH IIIA2–LH IIIB decline of the Euboean Gulf coasts, but responsible for it, and that, conversely, the revival of the coasts is a direct consequence of the collapse of the Mycenaean palaces.8 At some sites, the palatial-era decline consisted of actual physical destruction: at Mitrou and possibly at Kynos, destructions took place when the first palaces were established, suggesting ‘violent suppression of local leaders’ by palatial powers (Van de Moortel et al. 2018, 190), in this case Orchomenos/Gla. In this instance it is likely that the destruction is linked to the Kopaic drainage works and both a consequence of the palace’s need for labour, and an attempt to protect the valuable engineering works by pre-emptively destroying possible threats. In the case of the seemingly more gradual decline of coastal sites further south, the explanation is more complex. It can be attributed, as I have argued (Kramer-Hajos 2016), to a change in network type and orientation when the  heban rulers expanded their influence to the Euboean  Gulf coast. The Euboean Gulf coastal settlements functioned in a fairly heterarchical coastal and maritime network before and after the zenith of the palaces: this was both the ‘natural’ orientation given the character of the landscape, and is suggested by imports and local imitations of Minoan ware in the prepalatial period, and Cypriot and other south-eastern Mediterranean imports in the postpalatial period. These were periods when the coasts thrived, and they did so because they exploited maritime routes and traded with the Aegean and south-eastern Mediterranean world. Evidence from Chalkis suggests however a change in network orientation starting in LH IIB, with wares now coming in overland from Boeotia, instead of via the Euboean Gulf. As a result, Chalkis increasingly became the terminal node of an overland network, rather than a transfer hub in a maritime network, which led to cultural and general decline and culminated in a LH IIIB ‘gap’ when the palace of Thebes reached its peak. The reason for Theban expansion to the coast can be sought in the importance of exotica for the palatial rulers, who used hard-to-obtain exotic materials and artefacts as status symbols to legitimise their rule. Access to a maritime network of trade routes was a prerequisite for obtaining materials such as ivory and lapis lazuli, and this is the likely reason Thebes extended its reach to the Euboean Gulf. But the rulers at Thebes were not  satisfied  with  mere  access  to  exotica   they  attempted  to  monopolise import consumption and limit it to the palace. The monopolisation of exotica by the palatial elites in Thebes is almost absolute: whereas in the early Mycenaean period, imports in the area are scattered over four coastal sites (Mitrou and Chalkis, as well as Perati and Thorikos; Parkinson 2010,

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23), in the palatial period, there are scarcely any imports outside of the citadel of Thebes. This is true for mundane items like inscribed transport stirrup jars, imported from Crete (only two out of 43 are found outside of Thebes: one in Orchomenos, and one in Gla: Haskell et al. 2011, 94), as well as for extra-Aegean exotic prestige goods (35 Near Eastern lapis lazuli cylinder seals were stored or re-worked in Theban workshops [ Kopanias 2008; 2012] , whereas evidence for the circulation of extra-Aegean imports outside of Thebes is limited to four Near Eastern cylinder seals and a fragment of an ostrich-egg rhyton at Gla [ Cline 1994, no. 946)] ).9 A monopoly over exotic imports required control over the maritime traffic coming through the Euboean Gulf, which in  turn required shutting down any ‘independent’ trading from coastal settlements. Thus, merely connecting to the coastal network was not enough for the Theban rulers: they had to destroy and disrupt that network to ensure that elite exotic goods would inevitably end up at the palace, rather than be handed down the coastal network. This explains why Thebes expanded its control to include the Euboean coast, as is unequivocally shown by Linear B tablets. Tablets from Thebes mention a shipment of wool to a female weaver in Amarynthos (a-ma-ru-to) on Euboea, suggesting the presence of a textile workshop there involved in the palatial textile industry. This makes it likely that both coasts of the south Euboean Gulf were to some extent under Theban economic and political control. Whether Orchomenos/Gla exerted similar control over both northern Euboean Gulf coasts is doubtful, since we lack Linear B tablets. However, the string of forts extending from Orchomenos, via Gla, to Larymna does constitute evidence for political and military expansion to the mainland coast. Since these forts line the Kopaic polders, created in LH IIIB1 to increase the amount of fertile agricultural land for Orchomenos, the rulers of Orchomenos/Gla may have been less interested in acquiring exotica than Thebes, since their legitimisation came from protecting farmers and their lands from  floods  (and  possibly  from  human  threats  as  well)  by  maintaining the Kopaic drainage works. The string of fortifications would have served as a visible reminder of this, as  well as of the might and power of the palace. The disruption of the coastal maritime network was the death knell of coastal sites, which were dependent on trade networks, and ensured that Thebes and Orchomenos/Gla became the most important hubs in their highly centralised networks. The dominance of the central Greek palaces as hubs in an extremely centralised system is visible in their very size (Hope Simpson and Hagel 200 , fig. 2): the citadels of  hebes  and Gla are far larger than any of the citadels in the Argolid.10 Centralised networks are however extremely vulnerable to coordinated attacks: if the central hub is taken out, the entire network falls apart since all nodes (sites) are dependent on the central hub (Fig. 9.1). This happened around 1200 BC, when the palaces fell. The palatial network fell apart, resulting in a total collapse of state institutions and state-sponsored trade.

Since the palaces were directly responsible for the decline of the coastal settlements, it is unsurprising that the destruction  of  the  palaces,  in  turn,  was  beneficial  for  the  coastal  sites. Initially the palatial networks remained intact as shown by pottery: early LH IIIC Lefkandi pottery is similar to that from Orchomenos, Eutresis, and Anthedon, all associated with the Theban palace in LH IIIB (Sherratt 2006a, 219). But in LH IIIC Middle, Lefkandi became part of a regional koine, focused on the coasts, and encompassing Kynos, Kalapodi, and Volos to the north. This suggests that it took little time for the coastal sites to rebuild their old network, bypassing not merely the old palatial sites, but other interior sites as well. The re-establishment of the exchange network with Crete is suggested by a Minoan transport stirrup jar in the postpalatial levels at Kynos; in addition, ties with the south-eastern Mediterranean are visible in the occurrence of a Light-on-Dark style (which was common in the Dodecanese) at Kynos, Chalkis, and Lefkandi. A Light-on-Dark pyxis from lefkandi (Fig. 9.2) shows two griffins in heraldic position around their nest  this humorous 

Fig. 9.1. Examples of network architecture: distributed, mesh-like network (A), decentralized network (B), and centralized network (C). Adapted from Baran 1964.

ig



IIIC ight on Dar Gri fin y is ro e andi

9. The Euboean Gulf treatment of palatial symbols that used to frequent seals as well as palatial frescoes, seems subversive (R utter 2014) and may be another sign of the local population asserting its power, in this case by mocking palatial iconography. Both Kynos and Lefkandi are prominent mound sites, highly visible and easily accessible. This makes them very different from the coastal ‘refuge settlements’ on Crete, which were tucked away in sheltered locations behind fortification  walls,  probably  to  protect  themselves  against  sea  raids.  At  Lefkandi,  an  earlier  fortification  wall  was  abandoned in LH  C, suggesting a degree of confidence  which may seem surprising in these unsettled times. These were dominant centres which had apparently little fear of attack (Crielaard 2006; Kramer-Hajos 2012). The cause of their dominance, in turn, is suggested by the warrior and ship imagery prevalent on pictorial kraters at these sites. Although it is impossible to know whether these  images  reflect  contemporary  circumstances  or  epic  stories, some details of ships and shields are evidence for innovations in maritime technologies and military tactics; as such, they shed light on contemporary (i.e. 12th century BC) circumstances even if the ‘heroes’ of the depictions were understood to be legendary or mythological.

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Pictorial rater sherds ro

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Small shield types, some of a ‘proto-Dipylon’ type, occur on sherds at Kynos and Volos and suggest changes in warfare to more mobile skirmishes. The ships themselves are of a relatively new type as well, the so-called Mycenaean oared galley. These ships display a number of innovations compared to the older, traditional ships that sailed the Aegean: they have a reinforced stempost at the bow, improved rigging (a brailed instead of a boom-footed rig), improved steering, a raised deck, and are propelled by a full complement of rowers rather than exclusively sailed. Together, these changes result in an excellent war and pirate ship that is able to move at speed and manoeuvre independent of the direction of the wind, beach at speed, and withstand impact; once in position, the rowers could use the deck, unencumbered by the presence of a boom, as a fighting platform.  his is indeed how these ships  are shown in the pictorial record from Kynos (Fig. 9.3): at least five locally produced figurative kraters at  ynos, painted  by a minimum of three different hands, are decorated with depictions of ships carrying fully armed warriors brandishing javelins or swords and shields, engaging the enemy on another ship (Dakoronia 1987; 1996b; 1999; 2002b; 2006). Other fragments from Kalapodi and Lefkandi, as well as Volos, show warriors or ships, although not together; and

IIIC Middle ynos de icting arriors fighting ro shi s

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graffiti of at least eight ships with open rowers’ galleries on  a tomb from Dramesi (Wachsmann 1998, 143–145) may date to LH IIIC as well. Invented during the palatial period, the galleys and their rowers represent an infrastructure that stayed intact and really came into its own when the palaces collapsed. The fact that they barely show up in the pictorial material until LH IIIC suggests that they were not part of palatial ideology (Kramer-Hajos 2016, 128–141); Wedde has speculated how these rowers, officially in the employ of the palace, by  virtue of their removed location (coastal or maritime) and especially their team-spirit under command of a captain and/ or helmsman, would constitute a force to be reckoned with (Wedde 2005). The emphasis on ships and on ship-based warriors in the pictorial material suggests the mechanisms for the quick revival of the coasts after the fall of the palaces: having access to fast war ships, coastal elites took over the trade routes, defended themselves from other predators in these chaotic times, and possibly seized booty as well as opportunities. Shipbuilding knowledge, concentrated in coastal settlements, survived the palatial collapse, allowing coastal settlements to co-opt the previously palatial trade routes. Depictions of galleys from the Middle Geometric suggest uninterrupted development from the Mycenaean galley: Geometric ships acquired a ram but were otherwise identical to Mycenaean galleys (Wedde 2006). This continuity suggests, in turn, that ships were the very means by which these communities survived. LH IIIC pictorial pottery is, on present evidence, conspicuously absent from Mitrou, and if this is not a coincidence, I propose that the change of Mitrou into a rural settlement, followed by abandonment in the tenth century, may be connected with this: Kynos and Lefkandi (as well as Kalapodi) – the sites in the region with most evidence for pictorial kraters and a martial sailor-warrior ethos – continued to thrive into the E A, and at Lefkandi an increase in social stratification  is visible in the Heroon (Lemos 2012). Whether the lack of explicit sailor-warrior ideology at Mitrou was a cause, or an early result of Mitrou’s changing character, the correlation is hardly coincidental: ships allowed the coastal centres to keep lines of communication with the wider Aegean and eastern Mediterranean open. By LH IIIC Late–EPG, Handmade Burnished Ware kylix stems at Mitrou suggest a very different ideology, hearkening back to palatial times.

C on

c l u s i on

the palaces, a Euboean koine quickly reformed, based on an enterprising, mercantile spirit. The adoption of, and reliance on, galleys allowed the Euboean Gulf coast communities to usurp the pre-existing trade routes and benefit from the  chaotic social and political climate after the collapse of state institutions, to ensure a position of dominance during the  final  part  of  the  Bronze Age  and  the  opening  part  of  the early Iron Age.

Notes 1

2

3

4 5 6 7

8

s

The Late Bronze Age collapse was primarily the collapse of palatial and state institutions. Areas that were highly dependent on the palaces in LH  A–B, and benefited from  palatial institutions, were hit hardest. In contrast, for areas like the Euboean Gulf coasts, where the palatial dominance had, if anything, been a negative force, the collapse of palatial civilisation was positive. After the destruction of

9

Though predating the period covered in this chapter, we should mention here the MH boat (about 1900 BC) excavated at Mitrou. Although the boat was no more than 6 m long, it was seaworthy with a capacity of about 250 kg or four paddlers (Van de Moortel 2012). For Mitrou, see Van de Moortel 2007; 2009; 2016; Van de Moortel and Zachou 2005; 2011; 2012; Van de Moortel et al. 2018; 2019; and Kramer-Hajos and O’Neill 2008. For a summary of the evidence from Dramesi, Chalkis, and Lefkandi, see Kramer-Hajos 2016, 40–43, which has references to relevant publications. Knodell (2013) and Maggidis (2014 and this volume, pp. 115–116) have each made the elegant suggestion that the power associated with Orchomenos, an important centre in the early Mycenaean period, switched to the citadel of Gla in the palatial period, when Orchomenos became the burial ground for the palatial elite. The local soil is not conducive to agriculture, which may be the reason the site was not inhabited before LH IIIA2–B (Kramer-Hajos 2008, 103–106). In the tombs at Chalkis, on the other hand, LH IIIC is ‘sketchily represented’ (Hankey 1952, 60), suggesting that the local centre may have shifted to Lefkandi. Lefkandi, too, has evidence for bronze working and textile production, as well as for ritual in LH IIIC Early (Evely 2006, 265–90; 296–300; Lemos 2014, 173). R ecently Murray has tentatively suggested that the many imports  at  LH  C  erati  may  represent  an  influx  of  refugees, in this case of a culturally ‘foreign’ (Cypriot, Egyptian, and  Syro- alestinian)  population  that  might  have  fled  the  destroyed centre of Thebes where they had worked as craftsmen (Murray 2018). This is another possible scenario for Lefkandi. Although earthquakes were frequent, especially at LH IIIC Kynos, and possibly part of an ‘earthquake storm’, the very fact that  ynos flourished after and despite these earthquakes  suggests that, at least in our area, earthquakes by themselves were not a significant factor in the vicissitudes of the area.  This suggests in turn that elsewhere, too, earthquakes alone were not a sufficient cause of collapse  it is only in conjunction with human action that they could cause widespread collapse. The four seals were found at Tanagra (CMS VS1B 360), Chalkis (CMS V 230 and 231), and Pharos-Dexameni, close to Chalkis (CMS VS1B 359). Kassite and Mesopotamian seals were almost entirely limited to the palace at Thebes (Kopanias 2012, 399), suggesting that only relatively easy to obtain seals were distributed to non-palatial elites.

9. The Euboean Gulf 10 Not coincidentally, in the Argolid citadels are smaller and imports more dispersed (Burns 2010), evidence for a less centralized system.

R e fe r e n c e s Burns, B. (2010) Mycenaean Greece Mediterranean Co erce and the or ation o Identity. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Cline, E. (1994) Sailing the Wine Dark Sea. Oxford, Archaeopress. Crielaard, J.-P. (2006) Basileis at sea: elites and external contacts in the Euboean Gulf region from the end of the Bronze Age to the beginning of the Iron Age. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) ncient Greece: ro the Mycenaean Palaces to the ge of Homer, 271–297. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Dakoronia, F. (1987) War-ships on sherds of LH IIIC kraters from Kynos. In H. Tzalas (ed.) Tropis II. 2nd International y osiu on hi Construction in nti uity, 117–122. Delphi, Hellenic Institute for the Preservation of Nautical Tradition. Dakoronia, F. (1996a) Earthquakes of the LH III period (12th century BC) at Kynos (Livanates, Central Greece). In R .E. Jones and S. Stiros (eds) rchaeoseis ology, 41–44. Athens: The British School at Athens and the Institute of Geology and Mineral Exploration. akoronia,  .  (199 b)  ynos   fleet  sic.] . In H. Tzalas (ed.) ro is I th International y osiu on hi Construction in nti uity Center or the cro olis tudies thens 30, 31 August 1991. Proceedings, 159–171. Athens, Hellenic Institute for the Preservation of Nautical Tradition. Dakoronia, F. (1999) R epresentations of sea-battles on Mycenaean sherds from Kynos. In H. Tzalas (ed.) Tropis V: Proceedings o the th International y osiu on hi Construction in nti uity, 119–128. Athens, Hellenic Institute for the Preservation of Nautical Tradition. akoronia,  . (2002a)    :                      .  n  .  akoronia,  .  Kotoulas, E. Balta, V. Sythiakaki, and G. Tolias (eds)  19–112.  ,    . akoronia,  .  (2002b)  urther  finds  from  ynos.  n  H.  zalas  (ed.) ro is II e enth International y osiu on hi Construction in nti uity Pylos ugust , 283–290. Athens, Hellenic Institute for the Preservation of Nautical Tradition. Dakoronia, F. (2003) The Transition from Late Helladic IIIC to the Early Iron Age at Kynos. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) IIIC Chronology and ynchronis s 37–51. Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Dakoronia, F. (2006) Mycenaean pictorial style at Kynos, east Lokris. In E. R ystedt and B. Wells (eds) Pictorial Pursuits: igurati e Painting on Mycenaean and Geo etric Pottery. Papers from Two Seminars at the Swedish Institute at Athens in 1999 and 2001, 23–29. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen. Dakoronia, F. and Kounouklas, P. (2009) Kynos’ pace to the Early Iron Age. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and A.E. Bä chle (eds) IIIC Chronology and ynchronis s III: IIIC ate and the ransition to the arly Iron ge, 61–76. Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Evely, D. (ed.) (2006) Lefkandi IV: The Bronze Age. The Late Helladic IIIC Settlement at Xeropolis. London, British School at Athens.

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Hankey, V. (1952) Late Helladic tombs at Khalkis. Annual of the British School at Athens 47, 49–95. Haskell, H.W., Jones, R .E., Day, P.M., and Killen, J.T. (2011) Transport Stirrup Jars of the Bronze Age Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean. Philadelphia, INSTAP Academic Press. Hope Simpson, R . and Dickinson, O.T.P.K. (1979) A Gazetteer of Aegean Civilisation in the Bronze Age, vol. I: The Mainland and Islands. Göteborg, Paul Åströms Förlag. Hope Simpson, R . and Hagel, D.K. (2006) Mycenaean ortifications igh ays Da s and Canals. Sä vedalen, Paul Åströms Förlag. Knodell, A.R . (2013) Small-World Networks and Mediterranean Dyna ics in the u oean Gul : n rchaeology o Co le ity in ate ron e ge and arly Iron ge Greece Unpublished thesis, Brown University. Kopanias, K. (2008) The Late Bronze Age Near Eastern cylinder seals from Thebes (Greece) and their historical implications. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Athenische Abteilung 123, 39–96. Kopanias, K. (2012) R aw material, exotic jewellery or magic objects? The use of imported Near Eastern seals in the Aegean. n  M.-L.  osch  and  .  Laffineur  (eds)  M e ellery Adornment and Textiles in the Aegean Bronze Age. Aegaeum 33, 397–406. Liè ge, Peeters. Kopanias, K. (2018) Marine installations at the site of Kynos. In M.-P. Papakonstantinou, C. Kritzas, and I.P. Touratsoglou (eds) 2 –24 .  ,    . Kramer-Hajos, M. (2008) eyond the Palace: Mycenaean ast Lokris, Oxford, Archaeopress. Kramer-Hajos, M. (2012) Sailor-warriors and the end of the Bronze Age along the Euboean Gulf. In A. Mazarakis Ainian and A. Doulgeri-Intzesioglou (eds) Proceedings of the 3rd rchaeological Meeting o hessaly and Central Greece ro Prehistory to the Conte orary Period olos March , 811–821. Volos, University of Thessaly. Kramer-Hajos, M. (2016) Mycenaean Greece and the egean World: Palace and Province in the Late Bronze Age. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Kramer-Hajos, M. (2017) Gaps in the record. The missing LH I–II and IIIB phases on Euboea. In Z. Tankosic, M. Kosma, and F. Mavridis (eds) An Island Between Two Worlds: The rchaeology o u oea ro Prehistoric to y antine i es, 159–170. Athens: Norwegian Institute of Archaeology in Athens. Kramer-Hajos, M. (forthcoming) Social networks of the Late Bronze Age Euboean Gulf: the ceramic evidence. In J. Hilditch, A. Kotsonas, C. Beestman-Kruijshaar, M. R evello-Lami, S. R uckl, and S. Ximeri (eds) Connecti ity in the ncient Mediterranean: Ceramic Perspectives on Island, Mainland, Coastland and Hinterland. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press. Kramer-Hajos, M. and O’Neill, K.N. (2008) The Bronze Age site of  Mitrou  in  east  Lokris:  finds  from  the  19 –19 9  surface  survey. Hesperia 77, 163–250. Lemos, I.S. (2006) Athens and Lefkandi: a tale of two sites. In I.S. Lemos and S. Deger-Jalkotzy (eds) Ancient Greece. From the Mycenaean Palaces to the ge o o er, 505–530. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press.

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Lemos, I.S. (2012) Euboea and central Greece in the postpalatial and early Greek periods. Archaeological Reports 58, 19–27. Lemos, I.S. (2014) Communities in transformation: an archaeological survey from the 12th to the 9th century BC. Pharos 20, 161–191. Lis, B. (2017) Foodways in early Mycenaean Greece: innovative cooking sets and social hierarchy at Mitrou and other settlements on the Greek mainland. American Journal of rchaeology 121(2), 183–217. Lis, B. (2018) Hand-made pottery groups in mainland Greece during the 13th and 12th c. BC as a sign of economic crisis? In I. Caloi and C. Langohr (eds) echnology in Crisis echnological Changes in Ceramic Production During Periods of Trouble, 139–149. Brussels, Presses Universitaire de Louvain. Lis, B. and R ü ckl, Š . (2011) Our storerooms are full. Impressed pithoi from Late Bronze/Early Iron Age east Lokris and hokis  and  their  socio-economic  significance.  n  .  Gau ,  M. Lindblom, R . Angus K. Smith, and J.C. Wright (eds) Our Cu s re ull: Pottery and ociety in the egean ron e ge, 154–168. Oxford, Archaeopress. Maggidis, C. (2014) R ediscovering a giant. Po ular rchaeology 16. https://popular-archaeology.com/article/rediscovering-a-giant/ Maran, J. and Van de Moortel, A. (2014) A horse-bridle piece with Carpatho-Danubian connections from Late Helladic I Mitrou and the emergence of a warlike elite in Greece during the Shaft Grave period. erican ournal o rchaeology 118, 529–548. Murray, S.C. (2018) Imported exotica and mortuary ritual at Perati in Late Helladic IIIC east Attica. American Journal of rchaeology 122, 33–64. Parkinson, W.A. (2010) Beyond the peer: social interaction and political evolution in the Bronze Age Aegean. In D.J. Pullen (ed.) Political Economies of the Aegean Bronze Age, 11–34. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Popham, M.R . and Sackett, L.H. (eds) (1968) Excavations at e andi u oea Preli inary e ort. London, British School at Athens. Popham, M.R ., Calligas, P.G., and Sackett, L.H. (eds) (1993) Lefkandi II: The Protogeometric Building at Toumba, Part 2. The Excavation, Architecture and Finds. Oxford, British School at Athens. Popham, M.R ., Evely, D., and Sackett, H. (2006) The site and its excavation. In D. Evely (ed.) Lefkandi IV: The Bronze Age. The Late Helladic IIIC Settlement at Xeropolis, 1–136. London, British School at Athens. Pullen, D.J. and Tartaron, T.F. (2007) Where’s the palace? The absence of state formation in the Late Bronze Age. Corinthia. In M.L. Galaty and W.A. Parkinson (eds) ethin ing Mycenaean Palaces II. Revised and Expanded Second Edition, 146–158. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology. R utter, J.B. (2007) How different is LH III C Middle at Mitrou? An initial comparison with Kalapodi, Kynos, and Lefkandi. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) IIIC Chronology and ynchronis s II: IIIC Middle, 287–300. Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. R utter, J.B. (2014) R eading post-palatial Mycenaean iconography: some lessons from Lefkandi. In Y. Galanakis, T. Wilkinson, and J. Bennett (eds) Critical ssays on the rchaeology o the Eastern Mediterranean in Honour of E. Susan Sherratt, 197–205. Oxford, Archaeopress.

Sackett, L.H., Hankey, V., Howell, R .J., Jacobsen T.W., and Popham M.R . (1966) Prehistoric Euboea: contributions toward a survey. Annual of the British School at Athens 61, 33–112 Sherratt, S. (2006a) The pottery in a wider context. In D. Evely (ed.) Lefkandi IV: The Bronze Age. The Late Helladic IIIC Settlement at Xeropolis, 218–231. London, British School at Athens. Sherratt, S. (2006b) LH IIIC Lefkandi: an overview. In D. Evely (ed.) Lefkandi IV: The Bronze Age. The Late Helladic IIIC Settlement at Xeropolis, 303–309. London, British School at Athens. Van de Moortel, A. (2007) The Site of Mitrou and east Lokris in Homeric  imes’.  n S. . Morris and  . Laffineur (eds) Epos. econsidering Gree ic and egean ron e ge rchaeology egaeu , 243–254. Liè ge, Université de Liè ge. Van de Moortel, A. (2009) The Late Helladic IIIC – Protogeometric transition at Mitrou, Lokris. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and A.E. Bä chle (eds) IIIC Chronology and ynchronis s III IIIC ate and the ransition to the arly Iron ge 359–372. Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Van de Moortel, A. (2012) Middle Bronze Age boat of Mitrou, central Greece. In N. Gü nsenin (ed.) Between Continents: Proceedings o the el th y osiu on oat and hi rchaeology, 17–26. Istanbul, Ege Yayinlari. Van de Moortel, A. (2016) Politics of death at Mitrou: two prepalatial elite tombs in a landscape of power. In A. Dakouri-Hild and M.J. Boyd (eds) taging Death: unerary Per or ance Architecture and Landscape in the Aegean, 89–113. Berlin, De Gruyter. Van de Moortel, A. and Zahou, E. (2005) 2004 Excavations at Mitrou, east Lokris. egean rchaeology 7 (2003–2004), 39–48. Van de Moortel, A. and Zahou, E. (2011) The Bronze Age – Iron Age transition at Mitrou in east Lokris: evidence for continuity and discontinuity. In A. Mazarakis Ainian (ed.) he Dar ges e isited cts o an International y osiu in Me ory o William D.E. Coulson, 331–347. Volos, University of Thessaly. Van de Moortel, A. and Zahou, E. (2012) Five years of archaeological excavation at the Bronze Age and Early Iron Age site of Mitrou, east Lokris (2004–2008). Preliminary results. In A. Mazarakis Ainian and A. Doulgeri-Intzesioglou (eds) Proceedings of the rd rchaeological Meeting o hessaly and Central Greece ro Prehistory to the Conte orary Period, 1131–1146. Volos, University of Thessaly. Van de Moortel, A., Zahou, E., and R utter, J.B. (2018) Mitrou and Proskynas in prehistoric east Lokris. Chronology, interconnections and society. In 1 9–19 .  ,    . Van de Moortel, A., Vitale, S., Lis, B., and Bianco, G. (2019) Honoring the dead or hero cult? The long afterlife of a prepalatial elite tomb at Mitrou. In E. Borgna, I. Caloi, F.M. Carinci,  and  .  Laffineur  (eds)  MNHMH/ MNEME: Past and Me ory in the egean ron e ge. Aegaeum 43, 277–291. Leuven, Peeters. Vitale, S. (2012) Local traditions and Mycenaeanization in central Greece: a preliminary report on the Late Helladic IIA to Late

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Wachsmann, S. (1998) Seagoing Ships and Seamanship in the Bronze Age Levant, College Station, Texas A & M University Press. Wedde, M. (2005) The Mycenaean galley in context: from fact to id e fixe.  n  . Laffineur and E. Greco (eds) Emporia. Aegeans in the Central and Eastern Mediterranean. Aegaeum 25, 29–37. Liè ge, Université de Liè ge. Wedde, M. (2006) Pictorial evidence for partial system survival in the Greek Bronze to Iron Age transition. In E. R ystedt and B. Wells (eds) Pictorial Pursuits: Figurative Painting on Mycenaean and Geo etric Pottery Pa ers ro o e inars at the Swedish Institute at Athens in 1999 and 2001, 255–269. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen.

10 Growth and turmoil in the thirteenth century in Crete Charlotte Langohr

T h e b ac k gr ou

n d

Incubating the later collapse of the eastern Mediterranean societies, the thirteenth century BC has long been considered a period of decline on the island of Crete (Evans 1928, 551; Popham 1964, 8–9). The span between 1300 and 1200 BC broadly coincides with the Late Minoan IIIB (hereafter LM IIIB) phase of the Minoan civilisation. Due to a lack of stratigraphic evidence, the entire LM IIIB phase is primarily understood as a single historical period within the scale of the island, and based on current evidence, it likely covers about four generations of people. Seminal works (e.g. Kanta 1980; Hallager and Hallager 1997; Driessen and Farnoux 1997; D’Agata and Moody 2005) and a growing number of publications on a range of sites (for a recent update, see Karetsou and Girella 2015, 222) have gradually illustrated the complexity of this period, while defining its various internal developments. A reappraisal of existing archaeological data in the light of new discoveries suggests both a time of regional prosperity and one of trouble, inferred from abundant evidence for the abandonment of sites. In several instances, these disruptions put an end to a continuous, century-long site occupation. The period following the destruction of the last palace at Knossos in LM IIIA2 and the disappearance of its central authority and cultural hegemony witnessed two major phenomena. First, the resurgence of newly independent regional power centres throughout the island, and second, the  continuation  –  or  intensification  –  of  commercial  and  cultural exchanges within Crete and with the Aegean. Both these trends – regionalism and interconnectivity – are reflected in the LM  B material culture, in particular the  ceramic assemblages, within the different regions of the island (Hallager 2003, 261–265; 2011, 375–380). Moreover,

taking the broader Aegean context into account, the thirteenth century BC started with the full development of the Mycenaean palaces on the mainland and saw the flourishing of interregional contacts of an unprecedented intensity and diversity in the eastern Mediterranean (R utter 1999; Pulak 2010; Ben Shlomo et al. 2011; Day et al. 2011). A sequential and regional approach to the signs of collapse and transformation within Crete throughout this century does not allow any generalisation in the identification and  interpretation of these phenomena.

T h e s e q u e n c e an d e xt e n t of oc c u p ta i on fo C r e t e

t h e L at e M i n oan

IIIB

An  international  workshop  organised  in  201   specifically  focused on the re-examination of the gradual and multi-faceted transformation of Cretan society throughout the thirteenth century BC, by concentrating on one aspect of its material culture: the pottery (Langohr 2017a). The starting point assumed that a thorough region by region reassessment of the LM IIIB ceramic sequence would facilitate a diachronic fine-tuning  and  a  regional  understanding  of  the  ongoing  socio-political conditions and upheavals that punctuated this century of history. Such an approach would allow us to explain the causality chain that led to the numerous abandonments of sites towards the end of the phase and, on the whole, the disappearance of a system of autonomous and interacting regional centres (Fig. 10.1). The reappraisal of old and new archaeological data has shown that, with the exception of Khania (western Crete) and Knossos (north-central Crete), there are no additional cases consisting of two well-stratified  sub-phases (in a strict superimposed sense) in the occupation of a LM IIIB site, which would allow us to subdivide, and

Fig. 10.1. Map of Crete with the main LM IIIB sites (© IMS-FORTH/ S. Déderix, C. Langohr).

88 Charlotte Langohr

10. Growth and turmoil in the thirteenth century in Crete thus better comprehend this century-long phase. The virtual absence of any major wave of destruction on LM IIIB Crete can indeed be taken as the main explanation for the scanty and regionally inconsistent evidence for chronological distinctions within the ceramic assemblages. However, detailed analyses of local stratigraphic, architectural, ceramic and contextual data led to the distinction of successive stages within the LM IIIB occupation of several settlements, including Kato Gouves, Sissi, Phaistos, Kommos, Haghia Triada, and Palaikastro. At times these demarcations are also relevant at the regional scale (see the synthetic chronological table given at the end of Langohr 2017a). The local sequences of the main postpalatial settlements on Crete do reveal occupational sub-phases, often with a different length and nature. These distinct chains of events allow the consideration of a range of scenarios and responses regarding the troubled conditions of the thirteenth century BC in the Aegean (see below, point 3). Moreover, the abandonment of sites, particularly century-old settlements being pulled back from the coast and moved to mountainous settings, appears to belong to a gradual phenomenon, which extended over a longer period of time, throughout the LM IIIB phase, rather than crystallising at the transition of the thirteenth and twelfth centuries BC. Consequently, the gradual implementation of this profound transformation of settlement patterns on the island – which entirely redraws the Cretan landscape and characterises the twelfth century BC (see Wallace, this volume) – induced a differentiated end, and extent, for the LM IIIB occupation of the various sites and regions of Crete (see below, points 4 and 6).

C h an eg s i n s e t t l e m e n t p ta t e r n s an d i n t e r n al r e g i on la ro gan i s at i on i n t h i r t e e n t h - c e n t u r y B C C r e te Significant  changes  in  long-established  settlement  patterns  appear as soon as the first half of the thirteenth century BC,  gradually re-structuring the Cretan landscape. In eastern Crete, the major site of Palaikastro located on the east coast, which had been flourishing in LM  A2, was  largely abandoned at the very beginning of the thirteenth century BC. This situation is rarely taken into account in our reconstruction of this area of the island during this period, yet it has a significant impact on our dating of other  sites in eastern Crete and for our understanding of settlement patterns in the broader region (Cunningham 2017). A simultaneous abandonment of Kato Zakros has furthermore been put forward by recent research (Zoitopoulos 2017). The evidence for the Petras and Mochlos-Myrsini regions shows a slightly later change. The coastal settlement and cemetery of Mochlos were gradually deserted during the first  half  of  the  LM  B  period  and  possibly  went  out  of  use entirely in the middle of the phase (Smith 2005). In its direct hinterland, however, the Myrsini cemetery reached its

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peak of use during the LM IIIB period and continued into LM IIIC (Smith 2017). The area of Petras shows a similar development (Tsipopoulou 1997; 2005). Parallel to this, there are indicators to suggest relocations of the communities inhabiting eastern Crete towards inland hilly settings as early as the first part of LM  B, especially in the area  of Praisos. There, preliminary survey data suggest an early change in the settlement patterns, which differs from later occupations of the high summits of Praisos and Kipia at the turn of the century (Whitley et al. 1999, esp. 236–237; see also Kanta 1980, 179). The progressive abandonment of coastal zones in favour of inland hilly sites from as early as the LM IIIB phase is also observed in the Pediada region, in north-eastern Crete. The LM IIIB settlements are concentrated on the west edge of the Omphalion Pedion and on the most important route that runs along the Karteros stream (Paschalidis et al. 2017). This contrasts with the more widely distributed occupation pattern evidenced during earlier periods, especially in the area around Knossos and the coastal band (Panagiotakis 2003, 354, map 6). These areas appear largely abandoned in the LM IIIB (Paschalidis et al. 2017) with the exception of Kato Gouves where a major LM IIIA2–IIIB potters workshop was newly founded (Chatzi-Vallianou 2017) and of Poros where shipsheds were still active until the LM IIIB Middle (Vasilakis 2010). Settlement nucleation and displacement in favour of fertile regions dominating important routes within the interconnected landscape of LM IIIB Pediada may epitomise a broader, island-wide scenario. The production and distribution of agricultural goods on a large scale – probably focussing on olive oil and/or wine and embodied by the trade of transport stirrup jars from the region of Khania and Haghia Triada to LH IIIB Mainland palaces in particular (see below, point 5) – could partly explain this transformation of land occupation patterns in LM IIIB Crete. Some coastal sites appear, however, to have known a major LM IIIB occupation phase lasting around two generations in the middle of the century. This is the case for settlements in north-eastern Crete, such as Sissi (Langohr 2017c), Malia (Driessen and Farnoux 1994), and Kato Gouves  (Chatzi- allianou  201 ).  here,  flourishing  communities developed around large, multi-roomed buildings, engaged in artisanal and communal activities. Ceramic deposits from the main LM IIIB occupations of Building CD at Sissi, Q uartier Nu at Malia and the Building Complexes A, B and C at Kato Gouves, all seem to indicate an extended one-period site. The repeated, short to longer-term visits to the remote site of Kalamafka in the Aposelemis Valley may reveal the first signs of a movement towards mountainous,  more hidden settings in this region from the mid-LM IIIB onwards (Kanta and Kontopodi 2017). Moreover, Sissi and ato Gouves demonstrate similar developments: a first main  phase of occupation of two to three generations that ends at

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the beginning of the second half of the thirteenth century BC and a short-term and limited reoccupation of previous structures – perhaps after some hiatus – that took place towards the end of LM IIIB. During this later phase, both settlements show a distinct ceramic repertoire, witnessing new sources of inspiration, which emerges in the context of what may essentially be cultic activities – a shrine with snake tubes associated with a main hall. As such, this new occupation pattern may not be unrelated to the situation at Knossos, although Sissi and Kato Gouves are no longer occupied in the LM IIIC. At  nossos,  the  first  and  longer  LM  B  horizon  is  characterised as a period which ends with a series of abandonments in the town, but shows no evidence for various stages of occupation within this horizon in the form of different contexts of discarded material captured stratigraphically (Hatzaki 2005). Indeed, the nature of the related assemblages does not help to characterise its duration and development as they mainly derive from the end of this occupational phase (Hatzaki 2017). Therefore, this longer LM IIIB Early occupation (roughly 80 years) at Knossos could be explained by short-term, largely unplanned and discontinuous reoccupations of the earlier LM IIIA palace and houses in general. In contrast, the desertion of the town towards the end of the century gave way to a settlement of a very different nature, spanning a short period of occupation – perhaps not more than a decade – and including a fairly different material culture, especially visible in the pottery repertoire. This short phase, as suggested by the paucity of LM IIIB Late assemblages from the Little Palace North in comparison to the plethora of LM IIIC discards in the same area (Hatzaki 2005), opens a new era and an entirely new settlement at Knossos, which continues in the LM IIIC (Warren 2005; 2007). In the Mesara in south-central Crete, the organisation of the settlements appears to remain more stable throughout  the  LM  B  phase.  he  flourishing  centre  of Haghia Triada maintained all the characteristics of a Ville-Capitale for most of the thirteenth century BC, with its enormous quantity of storage spaces for agricultural products in the Stoà dell’Agorà and other large buildings in the north sector of the site, exploiting the most fertile surrounding plain (Privitera 2014). The town was also the theatre for ceremonial events. Several of the buildings organised around the long portico, but also several units associated with the Megaron ABCD in the south area of the site, were decorated with fine wall paintings, and some  of them were still refurbished during LM IIIB (Privitera 2015, esp. 80–81). It is worth noting that small structures were built during this phase to close off access from the north to the Agora and its surrounding structures. Cultic activities in the independent Sacello H complete the picture (Banti 1941–1943; Cucuzza 2003). This notable economic, ritual  and  ceremonial  centre  is  finally  abandoned  at  an 

advanced stage of LM IIIB without any signs of violence (D’Agata 2017). The harbour of Haghia Triada at Kommos was booming during the transition from the LM IIIA2 to LM IIIB. This is shown by the intense interregional exchanges that necessitated a considerable extension to the monumental shipsheds (Shaw and Shaw 2006; R utter 1999). Conditions appear to gradually deteriorate in the second half of LM IIIB, as the large Building N in the harbour area – which possibly accommodated administrative activities – was abandoned well before the end of the LM IIIB (R utter 2017). Nearby Phaistos is often seen as an empty town in LM IIIB, while new ruling groups and regained local supremacy characterise its revival at the beginning of the twelfth century BC. A reappraisal of old data has, however, demonstrated the important LM IIIB roots of the later LM IIIC settlement (Borgna 2017). Further research would eventually offer a more complete picture of the power relations and dynamics at work in this region during the entire thirteenth century BC, and especially during its second half. As a case in point, the construction and destruction of cult rooms sheltering several figures with upraised arms within the remains of the  neopalatial villa at Kannia at an advanced stage of the LM IIIB (Cucuzza 2017) reveal the important transformations that had occurred in the Mesara by this time. Finally, in the far west, the situation is unique. The coastal settlement of Khania, highly prosperous throughout the thirteenth century BC, was the dominant centre of that region (see below, point 4).  he fire destruction which struck  the settlement at Khania Agia Aikaterini at the end of the first half of the thirteenth century BC – properly identified  as the LM IIIB1 phase at that site – is followed by a rapid reconstruction and a clear continuity in site occupation, architecture and ceramic traditions (Hallager 2017). This LM  B2  substantial  settlement  ends  with  another  fire  destruction at the end of the phase but again, this did not introduce any important disruption, instead giving way to an immediate rebuilding. It is worth considering that this LM IIIB2 phase at Khania is longer and not synchronous with the short, LM IIIB Late reoccupation at major sites of north-central Crete (see above).

G r ow

t h an

d t u r m oi l

Shortly before the transition from LM IIIA2 to LM IIIB, the site of Knossos lost its century-long role as the power centre and cultural arbiter of Cretan society. ‘It may even be that the palace was not rebuilt because of popular dissatisfaction with its leadership in the fourteenth century BC’ (Macdonald 2005, 235). The major change provoked by the final destruction of the palace at  nossos – one of the most  lasting features throughout Minoan civilisation – did not, however, cause any direct breakdown or general decline within the different regions of the island. On the contrary,

10. Growth and turmoil in the thirteenth century in Crete each region progressively reinvented its independent organisation in an overall continuity with its own past (Langohr 2009). However, increasing yet dispersed signs of troubles and disruptions did appear throughout the thirteenth century BC, especially in the second half. Most of the LM IIIB Cretan centres present strong evidence for the existence of vibrant communities, some successfully exploiting the agricultural resources of the island. A comprehensive analysis of the architectural remains, funerary practices and material culture demonstrate very active settlements, which reflect a respectable quality  of daily life as well as frequent regional and interregional exchanges of goods and ideas (Kanta 1980; Langohr 2009). The noteworthy exceptions are Knossos, understood as ‘a city in a period of decline, a ghost of its former self’ (Hatzaki 2017) and Phaistos (Borgna 2017). Palaikastro and Mochlos in east Crete constitute a different case, as they were still blooming at the LM IIIA2/IIIB transition but were deserted at  the  beginning  and  in  the  course  of  the  first  half  of  LM  IIIB (Cunningham 2017; Smith 2005). Emblematic  of  significant  growth  during  the  thirteenth  century BC is the settlement of Khania. A ‘shift towards the west’ has been suggested to explain the wealthy material culture evidenced in the region by this point, in particular the administration in Linear B (Hallager and Vlasaki 1997), the floruit of the  haniot pottery  orkshop (Hallager 2011),  and the reactivation of large-scale funerary display with the two corbel-vaulted tombs at Maleme and Stylos (Preston 2004a). These indicate crucial economic and possibly political developments in this far western region. Yet, an ascendancy of the elites of the far west at the expense of other main regional centres only partially accords with the LM IIIB data. Architectural and mortuary ostentation was indeed most clearly embodied by LM IIIA2 practices in Crete (Haghia Triada, Phaistos-Kalyvia, Knossos, ArchanesPhourni) and decreased in the LM IIIB. However, a regional analysis of the rich archaeological records related to the funerary sphere and ceramic repertoire of thirteenth-century BC Crete demonstrates distinct cultural realities and social practices (Langohr 2009, esp. 220–227). Those do not agree with an extended political domination of Khania over the rest of the island, although its cultural influence is indisputable, seeing the wide distribution of its ceramic workshop’s products throughout the Cretan regions (Hallager 2011, 375–376). The comprehensive reassessment of LM IIIB data indicates that Crete was largely spared from major destructive events during this long period of time, including the last decades of the century (Langohr 2017a). In contrast, the end of the LH IIIB period on the mainland is marked by major destructions in several large settlements. Signs of disruption and turmoil in Crete rather jibe with evidence for sudden, but prolonged, abandonment of century-old settlements.

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The earliest evidence concerns east Crete, with the sites of Kato Zakros, Palaikastro, Petras or Mochlos (see above, point 3). The coastal region of Malia and Sissi, but also Kato Gouves, follows in the list. The evident prosperity of these communities of north-eastern Crete, before they suddenly fell off the map in the second half of the LM IIIB (Langohr 201 c), did not end in a definitive abandonment  however. A short and limited reoccupation in a later stage of the phase is observed (see above). This scenario of sudden desertions of sites – apparently following an east– west orientation – and short reoccupations may actually best reveal the moving groups we are often looking for in the Aegean towards the end of the century (for a last update on this issue, Jung 2018). In particular, the ceramic material  linked  to  this  final  phase  of  occupation  at  Sissi  shows signs of both continuity with the earlier LM IIIB horizon and innovation with new shapes, possibly brought along or produced by some of its last inhabitants at the end of the thirteenth century BC – e.g. bell-shaped kraters, deep  bowls  with  a  deep  profile  and  an  articulated  base,  a unique large shallow bowl (Langohr 2017c, 235) or a collection of clay spools (Gaignerot-Driessen 2012, 73) ( ig. 10.2). Eventually, the final desertion of the north-east  coast may be contemporary (and related) to the beginning of permanent settlements on inland hilltops, high up on the Anavlochos and Lasithi mountains (Gaignerot-Driessen 2017). In the Mesara, both Haghia Triada and Kommos were abandoned in the last decades of the thirteenth century BC. The administrative and economic functions of Haghia Triada came to an end, as the site was deserted without any sign of destruction (D’Agata 2017), while neighbouring Phaistos simultaneously entered a period of renaissance (Borgna 2017). In this region, the drastic change in settlement patterns with the desertion of two century-old sites and the nucleation around Phaistos does not show any evident need for protection within a defensible new shelter. This significant  rupture  may  rather  have  been  provoked  by  the  conjunction of environmental pressure and social disruption (Borgna 2017). Further west, the situation appears to be different, in the sense that Cretan communities could have endured less disruptive events, as some major Minoan lowland towns continued to be inhabited at the turn of the century. In the west-central region, south of R ethymnon, the dataset essentially emerges from wealthy funerary sites or surveys (Langohr 2009, 139–158). The settlement of Khamalevri, only 2 km from the north coast, appears as densely inhabited in LM IIIB (Kakavella hill), with building remains and large pits chocked-full of LM IIIB pottery (Andreadaki-Vlasaki and Papadopoulou 2000; Blackman 2001, 140). At the beginning of the LM IIIC, the inhabitants of Khamalevri moved to a nearby hill, in no way more sheltered, where a new settlement is founded (Andreakadi-Vlazaki and

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Fig. 10.2. Sissi, Building CD. LM IIIB Advanced contexts. New ceramic shapes. a. Bell bowl, b. bell-shaped krater, c. large shallow bowl, d. spools (© Sissi Proj ect/ C. Papanikolopoulos).

Papadopoulou 2005). This kind of large-scale relocation in a distinct neighbourhood of a site is reminiscent of the evidence at Knossos (Hatzaki 2017; Warren 2005). Other coastal or lowland settlements witnessed continuous occupation during the LM IIIB/C transition, in some cases coupled with destruction by fire ( hania (Hallager 201 ),  Tylissos (Kanta 1980, 9–13)). Particular to this LM IIIB2 occupation phase at Khania is the important evidence for dark grey handmade and burnished pottery with clear southern Italian origins (Hallager 1985). Locally produced, this class of pottery appeared together with local forms in the assemblages, suggesting that ‘resident foreigners were living in the houses of the local groups’ (Hallager 2017, 4 ).  hania and  nossos were finally deserted at an early 

stage of LM IIIC, while Phaistos was occupied until LM IIIC Middle (Borgna 2001; 2003a).

M i n ano s na d M yc e n ae an c e n tu r y B C

s in th e th ir te e n th

The export and import of transport stirrup jars offers the most visible evidence for interregional contacts within Crete and beyond during LM IIIB (Haskell et al. 2011; Day et al. 2011). A comprehensive analysis of their chronological and geographical distribution allows us to place the issue of the relationships between the main regional Cretan centres and the Mycenaean states within both a diachronic and synchronic framework. Only a small number of production

10. Growth and turmoil in the thirteenth century in Crete centres for these hundreds of transport stirrup jars recovered from major Cretan and Mycenaean sites – and to a lesser extent, from Western Anatolia and Cyprus – have been identified  to  date,  essentially  in  western  Crete  and  in  the  Mesara plain, while some more minor centres existed on the mainland. From these fertile Cretan lands, wine and/ or olive oil was shipped out of the harbours of Khania and Kommos (Day et al. 2011; Ben Shlomo et al. 2011; R utter 201 ).  he identification of additional production centres in  central Crete requires further investigation, and, potentially, distinct south- and north-central production centres (Day et al. 2011, 85), including the Malia-Sissi region (Liard 2015; Langohr 2017c). These Cretan vessels, some bearing Linear B inscriptions, reached the sites of Mycenae and Thebes by the dozens, where they have been found in LH IIIB1 contexts, and provide the proof for close interactions between the powerful agents of Khania or Haghia Triada and the Mycenaean palaces-based elites, in a post-Knossian collapse context. The massive presence of transport stirrup jars from both west- and south-central Crete in LH IIIB2 Tiryns has recently called into question the synchronicity and nature of the relationships between Crete and the mainland during the second half of the thirteenth century BC (Kardamaki et al. 2016). It presupposes that vibrant economic centres were still active at least in these two regions of Crete at an advanced stage of LM IIIB. This is probable in the case of hania but needs clarification concerning the Mesara, where  the main LM IIIB centre, Haghia Triada, is abandoned in the last decades of the thirteenth century BC (see above, point 3). One scenario worth considering is that the end of LH IIIB2 on the mainland is not exactly contemporaneous with the end of LM IIIB on Crete, but rather that the LH IIIB2 phase ended before the end of LM IIIB. This would imply that the LH IIIB2 phase correlates to a few generations after the mid-stage of LM IIIB when Haghia Triada would still have constituted the major economic and political actor in south-central Crete. The presence of probable LH IIIC Early imported stirrup jars in LM IIIB Late contexts in  Crete,  such  as  at  Sissi  (Langohr  201 c,  fig.  .19e)  and  ommos  ( utter  201 ,  fig.  .4:C2424),  and  of  a  stirrup  jar in a possible LH IIIC Early style at Kalamafka (Kanta and  ontopodi  201 ,  fig.  4.25a)  ( ig.  10. ),  may  belong  to a larger pattern which would support such a scenario, also mirroring the discovery of LM IIIB2/Late vessels in

Fig. 10.3. Possible LH IIIC Early imports in LM IIIB Advanced contexts from Sissi (a), Kommos (b) and Kalamafka (c) (a. © Sissi Proj ect/ H. Joris; b. courtesy of J. Rutter and Kommos Excavations; c. courtesy of A. Kanta/ D. Kontopodi).

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both LH IIIB2 and LH IIIC Early contexts on the mainland (Hallager 2007).1 The complex contextualisation of the circulation and use of the transport stirrup jars in and outside Crete highlights how more work in assessing our LH IIIB and LM IIIB datasets together could help us to isolate and synchronise relative chronological events which connected Crete and the mainland during the thirteenth century BC.

T h e e n d of

th e th ir te e n th c e n tu r y B C

in C r e te

The profound transformation of the settlement patterns in Crete, that culminated at the end of the LM IIIB phase, has generated several different interpretations. The occupation of hilltop or mountain settings is a distinct LM IIIC phenomenon, but it is now clearly established that this movement was initiated in the last decades of LM IIIB (Nowicki 2011; 2018; for the special case of Palaikastro Kastri, see Cunningham 2017). In the larger context of the eastern Mediterranean, this has been traditionally explained as the growing need for protection in remote, sometimes very defensible places, set back from the sea whence the threats came (Kanta 2001; Kanta and Kontopodi 2011; Nowicki 2000; 2001; 2011; Hitchcock and Maeir 2016) possibly in the form of repeated raids by marauders and/or migrants, the famous ‘Sea Peoples’. In Crete, as shown above, there is no sign of violent destructions of human origin at the end of the thirteenth century BC. Displacements and relocations of communities towards the hills and mountains do not, therefore, appear to be systematically linked to a wave of brutal events or even forced abandonments of coastal or lowland settlements. Moreover, it has been highlighted above how this process had already begun in an earlier stage of LM IIIB in certain regions. inally, specific studies have examined how the disruptions  in the structure of settlements could have been initiated, at least in part, by the  intensification of the mountain economy’  on the island (Borgna 2003b; 2017; see also Haggis 2001; Gaignerot-Driessen 2016, esp. 56–66). This last interpretive framework can better explain the situation that followed in the LM IIIC and later, which is characterised in the Cretan regions by increasing stability and growth. This reappraisal of the LM IIIB data related to centuryold settlements pulling back from the coast indicates that this phenomenon extended over a longer period of time than previously thought, throughout the thirteenth century BC, and appears to have broadly followed an east–west direction (see above, point 4). This gradual process was most possibly triggered by an increasing insecurity in the Aegean but maybe more deeply linked to crucial internal transformation that could be explained by environmental changes, a different exploitation of the landscape and exogenous dynamics of various nature. In sum, the drastic changes occurring at the end of the thirteenth century BC in Crete took place in a world already different (Cunningham 2017) but with little evidence, if any, for a violent episode,

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contrary to what had characterised earlier periods of Minoan history (e.g.  at  the  end  of  the  first  and  second  alaces,  Cadogan 2013; Driessen and Macdonald 1997).

Note 1

At the occasion of a recent workshop organised at the Institute for Oriental and European Archaeology at Vienna (‘Synchronizing the Destructions of the Mycenaean Palaces’ 8–9th November 2018) Jeremy R utter has also assessed such a scenario. Among other things, he pinpointed a number of unusual pottery shapes that appear in LM IIIB2 contexts at Khania that are especially well paralleled in LH IIIC Early as opposed to LH IIIB2 contexts on the Mainland (e.g. pattern-decorated side-handled kalathos [ FS 291] or a very shallow bowl that resembles what would be called a tray on the Mainland [ FS 322] ). I thank Jeremy R utter for discussing this issue with me.

R e fe r e n c e s Andreadaki-Vlasaki, M. and Papadopoulou, E. (2000) ’          .    .  .  50(B’2) [ 1995] , 742–743. Andreadaki-Vlasaki, M. and Papadopoulou, E. (2005) The habitation at Khamalevri, R ethymnon, during the 12th century BC. In A.L. D’Agata and J. Moody (eds) Ariadne’s Threads. Connections between Crete and the Greek Mainland in Late Minoan III (LM IIIA2 to LM IIIC) (Tripodes 3), 409–414. Athens, Scuola Archeologica Italiana di Atene. Andreadaki-Vlasaki, M. and Papadopoulou, E. (2007) R ecent evidence for the destruction of the LM III C habitation at Khamalevri, R ethymnon. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) LH III C Chronology and Synchronisms II: LH III C Middle, 27–53. Vienna, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Banti, L. (1941–1943) I culti minoici e greci di Haghia Triada (Creta). Annuario della Scuola archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni italiane in Oriente, 3–5, 9–74. Ben-Shlomo, D., Nodarou, E. and R utter, J.B. (2011) Transport stirrup jars from the southern Levant: new light on commodity exchange in the eastern Mediterranean. American Journal of Archaeology 115(3), 329–353. Blackman, D. (2001) Archaeology in Greece 2000–2001. Archaeological Reports 47, 1–144. Borgna, E. (2001) Il periodo Tardo Minoico IIIB–C: la casa a ovest del Piazzale I. In I cento anni dello scavo di Festò s, Roma, 13–14 dicembre 2000, 273–298. R oma, Accademia nazionale dei Lincei. Borgna, E. (2003a) Il complesso di ceramica Tardominoico III dell’Acropoli mediana di Festò s (Studi di Archeologia Cretese 3). Padua, Centre di Archeologia Cretese. Borgna, E. (2003b) R egional settlement patterns, exchange systems and sources of power in Crete at the end of the Late Bronze Age: establishing a connection. Studi micenei ed egeo-anatolici 45(2), 153–183. Borgna, E. (2017) LM IIIB pottery at Phaistos. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative

Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 313–329. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Cadogan, G. (2013) Where has Middle Minoan III gone? A lack at Myrtos-Pyrgos – and elsewhere? What does it mean? In C.F. Macdonald and C. Knappett (eds) Intermezzo: Intermediacy and Regeneration in Middle Minoan III Palatial Crete (BSA Studies 21), 179–181. London, The British School at Athens. Chatzi-Vallianou, D. (2017) The Late Minoan IIIB pottery of the Gouves potters’ quarter and workshops. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 103–152. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Cucuzza, N. (2003) Il volo del grifo: osservazioni sulla Haghia Triada ‘Micenea’. Creta Antica 4, 199–272. Cucuzza, N. (2017) Preliminary observations on LM IIIB pottery from Kannia. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 321–340. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Cunningham, T. (2017) Postpalatial Palaikastro. The settlement and its ceramics in LM IIIB. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 355–395. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. D’Agata, A.L. (2017) Haghia Triada in Late Minoan IIIB. Storage and banqueting in postpalatial Crete. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 283–311. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. D’Agata, A.L. and Moody, J. (eds) (2005) Ariadne’s Threads. Connections between Crete and the Greek Mainland in Late Minoan III (LM IIIA2 to LM IIIC) (Tripodes 3). Athens, Scuola Archeologica Italiana di Atene. Day, P.M., Kilikoglou, V., Q uinn, P. and R utter, J.B. (2011) A world of goods: transport jars and commodity exchange at the Late Bronze Age harbor of Kommos, Crete. Hesperia 80, 511–558. Driessen, J. and Farnoux, A. (1994) Mycenaeans at Malia? Aegean Archaeology 1, 54–64. Driessen, J. and Farnoux, A. (eds) (1997) La Crè te Mycénienne, Actes de la table ronde internationale organisée par l’École franç aise d’Athè nes, 26–28 mars 1991. Athè nes, É cole franç aise d’Athè nes; Paris, De Boccard É dition-Diffusion. Driessen, J. and Macdonald, C.F. (1997) The Troubled Island. Minoan Crete Before and After the Santorini Eruption (Aegaeum 17). Liè ge, Université de Liè ge. Evans, A. (1928) The Palace of Minos II.i. London, Macmillan. Gaignerot-Driessen, F. (2012) Excavation of Zone 3. In J. Driessen, I. Schoep, M. Anastasiadou, F. Carpentier, I. Crevecoeur, S. Déderix, M. Devolder, F. Gaignerot-Driessen, S. Jusseret, C. Langohr, Q . Letesson, F. Liard, A. Schmitt, C. Tsoraki and R . Veropoulidou, Excavations at Sissi III. Preliminary Report on the 2011 Campaign, (Aegis 6), 69–79. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Gaignerot-Driessen, F. (2016) De l’occupation postpalatiale à la cité grecque: le cas du Mirambello (Crè te) (Aegaeum 40). Leuven and Liè ge, Peeters. Gaignerot-Driessen, F. (2017), From survey to excavations: preliminary results of the Anavlochos Project (2015–2017). Paper

10. Growth and turmoil in the thirteenth century in Crete given at the International Mediterranean Survey Workshop, KULeuven, 3–4th November 2017. Haggis, D.C. (2001) A Dark Age settlement system in east Crete, and a reassessment of the definition of refuge settlements.  n  V. Karageorghis and C.E. Morris (eds) Defensive Settlements of the Aegean and the Eastern Mediterranean After c. 1200 BC, 41–57. Nicosia, Trinity College Dublin and the Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation. Hallager, B.P. (1985) Crete and Italy in the Late Bronze Age III period. American Journal of Archaeology 89, 293–305. Hallager, B.P. (2003) The Late Minoan IIIB:2 pottery. In E. Hallager and B.P. Hallager (eds) The Greek-Swedish Excavations at the Agia Aikaterini Square, Kastelli, Khania, 1970–1987 and 2001. III. The Late Minoan IIIB:2 Settlement, 197–265. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen. Hallager, B.P. (2007) Problems with LM/LH III B/C synchronisms. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) LH III C Chronology and Synchronisms II: LH III C Middle, 189–202. Vienna, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Hallager, B.P. (2011) The Late Minoan IIIB:1 and IIIA:2 pottery. In E. Hallager and B.P. Hallager (eds) The Greek-Swedish Excavations at the Agia Aikaterini Square, Kastelli, Khania, 1970–1987 and 2001. IV. The Late Minoan IIIB:1 and IIIA:2 Settlements (Skrifter utgivna av Svenska Insitutet i Athen 4° 47.4), 273–380. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen. Hallager, B.P. (2017) The LM IIIB settlements at Khania, west Crete. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 37–52. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Hallager, E. and Hallager, B.P. (eds) (1997) Late Minoan III Pottery Chronology and Terminology, Acts of a Meeting Held at the Danish Institute at Athens, August 12–14, 1994. Athens, Danish Insitute at Athens. Hallager, E. and Vlasaki, M. (1997) New Linear B tablets from Khania. In J. Driessen and A. Farnoux (eds) La Crè te Mycénienne, Actes de la table ronde internationale organisée par l’École franç aise d’Athè nes, 26–28 mars 1991, 169–174. Athè nes, É cole franç aise d’Athè nes; Paris, De Boccard É dition-Diffusion. Haskell, H.W., Jones, R .E., Day, P.M., and Killen, J.T. (2011) Transport Stirrup Jars of the Bronze Age Aegean and East Mediterranean. Philadelphia, INSTAP Academic Press. Hatzaki, E. (2005) Postpalatial Knossos: town and cemeteries from LM IIIA2 to LM IIIC. In A.L. D’Agata and J. Moody (eds) Ariadne’s Threads. Connections between Crete and the Greek Mainland in Late Minoan III (LM IIIA2 to LM IIIC) (Tripodes 3), 65–108. Athens, Scuola Archeologica Italiana di Atene. Hitchcock,  L.A.  and  Maeir,  A.M.  (201 )  ulp  fiction:  the  Sea  Peoples and the study of ‘Mycenaean’archaeology in Philistia. In J. Driessen (ed.) Ra-Pi-Ne-U. Studies on the Mycenaean orld ered to o ert a fineur or his th irthday (Aegis 10), 145–155. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Jung, R . (2018) Push and pull factors of the Sea Peoples between Italy and the Levant. In J. Driessen (ed.) An Archaeology of Forced Migration. Crisis-induced Mobility and the Collapse of the 13th c. BCE Eastern Mediterranean. (Aegis 15), 273–306. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain.

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Kanta, A. (1980) The Late Minoan III Period in Crete. A Survey of Sites, Pottery and their Distribution. Göteborg, Paul Aströms Förlag. Kanta, A. (2001) Cretan refuge settlements: problems and historical implications within the wider context of the eastern Mediterranean towards the end of the Bronze Age. In V. Karageorghis and C.E. Morris (eds) Defensive Settlements of the Aegean and the Eastern Mediterranean After c. 1200 BC, 13–21. Nicosia, Trinity College Dublin and the Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation. Kanta, A. and Kontopodi, D.Z. (2011) Kastrokephala (Crete): strangers or locals in a fortified acropolis of the 12th century  BC. In V. Karageorghis and O. Kouka (eds) On Cooking Pots, Drinking Cups, Loomweights and Ethnicity in Bronze Age Cyprus and Neighbouring Regions, 129–148. Nicosia, The Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation. Kanta A. and Kontopodi D.Z. (2017) Historical pointers from new evidence. The situation in central Crete during LM IIIB. The case of the Aposelemis Gorge. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 79–102. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Kardamaki, E., Day, P.M., Tenconi, M., Maran, J., and Papadimitriou, A. (2016) Transport stirrup jars in Late Mycenaean Tiryns: maritime transport containers and commodity movement in political context. In S. Demesticha and A.B. Knapp (eds) Maritime Transport Containers in the Bronze-Iron Age Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean, 145–167. Uppsala, Åströms förlag. Karetsou, A. and Girella, L. (2015) alochorafitis. Two Chamber Tombs from the LM IIIA 2-B Cemetery. A Contribution to Postpalatial Funerary Practice in the Mesara. Padua, Bottega d’Erasmo – Aldo Ausilio Editore. Langohr, C. (2009) Periferia. Etude régionale de la Crè te aux Minoen Récent II–IIIB (1450–1200 av. J.-C.). 1. La Crè te centrale et occidentale (Aegis 3). Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Langohr, C. (ed.) (2017a) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12). Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Langohr, C. (2017b) The Late Minoan IIIB phase on Crete. The state of play and future perspectives. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 11–35. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Langohr, C. (2017c) Late Minoan IIIB pottery at Sissi and Malia. Assessing local ceramic sequences, regional traditions and interregional interaction. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 193–242. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Liard, F. (2015) De la chaî ne opératoire à l’organisation sociétale en Cr te la fin du ron e Récent. Archéométrie des pratiques de production, de distribution et de consommation des céramiques en plaine de Malia, Unpublished PhD thesis, Université catholique de Louvain. Macdonald, C.F. (2005) Knossos. London, The Folio Society. Nowicki, K. (2000) Defensible Sites in Crete c. 1200–800 BC (LM IIIB/ IIIC through Early Geometric) (Aegaeum 21). Liè ge, Université de Liè ge.

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Nowicki, K. (2001) Sea-raiders and refugees: problems of defensible sites in Crete c. 1200 BC. In V. Karageorghis and C.E. Morris (eds) Defensive Settlements of the Aegean and the Eastern Mediterranean after c. 1200 BC, 23–40. Nicosia, Trinity College Dublin and the Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation. Nowicki, K. (2008) Monastiraki Katalimata. Excavation of a Cretan Refuge Site, 1993–2000. Philadelphia, INSTAP Academic Press. Nowicki, K. (2011) Settlement in crisis: the end of the LM/LH IIIB and early IIIC in Crete and other south Aegean islands. In A. Mazarakis Ainian (ed.) The ‘Dark Ages’ Revisited, Acts of an International Symposium in Memory of William D.E. Coulson, 435–450. Volos, University of Thessaly Press. Nowicki, K. (2018) The Late 13th c. BCE crisis in the east Mediterranean. Why the case of Crete matters? In J. Driessen (ed.) An Archaeology of Forced Migration. Crisis-induced Mobility and the Collapse of the 13th c. BCE Eastern Mediterranean (Aegis 15), 117–148. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Panagiotakis, N. (2003) L’évolution archéologique de la Pédiada (Crè te centrale): premier bilan. Bulletin de correspondance hellénique 127(2), 327–340. Paschalidis, K., Panagiotakis, N., and Panagiotaki, M. (2017) Sherds of a century: the LM IIIB pottery from the Pediada Survey Project. Elements for the distribution and the character of life in central Crete, during the 13th c. BC. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 153–192. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Popham, M.R . (1964) The Last Days of the Palace at Knossos. Complete Vases of the Late Minoan IIIB Period. Lund, Universitet, Klassiska Institutionen. Preston, L. (2004) A mortuary perspective on political changes in Late Minoan II–IIIB Crete. American Journal of Archaeology 108(3), 321–348. Privitera, S. (2014) Long-term grain storage and political economy in Bronze Age Crete: contextualizing Ayia Triada’s silo complexes. American Journal of Archaeology 118(3), 429–449. Privitera, S. (2015) A painted town: wall paintings and the built environment at Late Minoan III Ayia Triada. In H. Brecoulaki, J.L. Davis and S.R . Stocker (eds) Mycenaean Wall Painting in Context: New Discoveries, Old Finds Reconsidered, 66–90. Athens, Institute of Historical R esearch. Pulak, C. (2010) Uluburun shipwreck. In E.H. Cline (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean (ca. 3000–1000 BC), 862–876. Oxford, Oxford University Press. R utter, J.B. (1999) Cretan external relations during LM IIIA2–B (ca. 1370–1200 B.C.): a view from the Messara. In W. Phelps, Y. Lolos and Y. Vichos (eds) The Point Iria Wreck. Interconnections in the Mediterranean ca. 1200 BC, 139–186. Athens, Hellenic Institute of Marine Archaeology.

R utter, J.B. (2017). Late Minoan IIIB at Kommos. An abundance of deposits, a dearth of clear sub-phases, and probably a gradual desertion of the site. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 243–281. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Shaw, J.W. and Shaw, M.C. (2006) (eds) Kommos V. The Monumental Minoan Buildings at Kommos. Princeton, Princeton University Press. Smith, R .A.K. (2005) Minoans, Mycenaeans and Mokhlos: the formation of regional identity in Late Minoan III Crete. In A.L. D’Agata and J. Moody (eds) Ariadne’s Threads. Connections between Crete and the Greek Mainland in Late Minoan III (LM IIIA2 to LM IIIC), 185–204. Athens, Scuola Archeologica Italiana di Atene. Smith, R .A.K. (2017) Late Minoan IIIB pottery from the cemetery at Myrsini-Aspropilia. In C. Langohr (ed.) How Long is a Century? Late Minoan IIIB Pottery. Relative Chronology and Regional Differences (Aegis 12), 341–353. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Tsipopoulou, M. (1997) Late Minoan III reoccupation in the area of the palatial building at Petras, Siteia. In E. Hallager and B.P. Hallager (eds) Late Minoan III Pottery Chronology and Terminology, 209–257. Athens, Danish Insitute at Athens. Tsipopoulou, M. (2005) ‘Mycenoans’ at the Isthmus of Ierapetra: some (preliminary) thoughts on the foundation of the (Eteo) cretan cultural identity. In A.L. D’Agata and J. Moody (eds), Ariadne’s Threads. Connections between Crete and the Greek Mainland in Late Minoan III (LM IIIA2 to LM IIIC), 303–330. Athens, Scuola Archeologica Italiana di Atene. asilakis,  A.  (2010)        .  n M. Andrianakis and  .  zachili (eds)  1, , 2 5–29 .  ethymnon,          . Warren, P.M. (2005) R esponse to Eleni Hatzaki, ‘postpalatial Knossos: town and cemeteries from LM IIIA2 to LM IIIC’. In A.L. D’Agata and J. Moody (eds), Ariadne’s Threads. Connections between Crete and the Greek Mainland in Late Minoan III (LM IIIA2 to LM IIIC) (Tripodes 3), 97–103. Athens, Scuola Archeologica Italiana di Atene. Warren, P.M. (2007) Characteristics of Late Minoan III C from the Stratigraphical Museum site at Knossos. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) LH III C Chronology and Synchronisms II: LH III C Middle, 329–343. Vienna, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Whitley, J., Prent, M. and Thorne, S. (1999) Praisos IV: A preliminary report on the 1993 and 1994 survey seasons. Annual of the British School at Athens 94, 215–264. Zoitopoulos, M. (2017) : , Unpublished thesis, University of Athens.

11 East Lokris-Phokis Antonia Livieratou

East Lokris and Phokis are located in the heart of central Greece and could be together described as the periphery of palatial Boeotia. R ich Late Bronze Age (LBA) evidence shows that populations here shared the same material culture, burial and religious customs as the rest of the Mycenaean world, while local idiosyncrasies were also present. In the centre of the region falls the eastern part of Phokis. Here  stretches  the  valley  of  the  river  ephissos,  flanked  by the mountains of Kallidromo and Chlomo to the north/ north-east, and Mount Parnassos to the south/south-east (Fig. 11.1). The valley of Kephissos was a crossroads of routes leading across central Greece to all directions. Mycenaean evidence comes mainly from the excavation of chamber tombs and from surface surveys (cf. Livieratou 2009, 952, n. 1 for references). The most important site appears to be the chamber tomb cemetery of Elateia-Alonaki at the south foot of Mount Kallidromo. The main gateways of the valley of Kephissos to the Euboean Gulf were the plains of Atalante and Tragana in east Lokris (Fig. 11.2). Mycenaean evidence comes from surface survey, rescue excavations of tombs, and the systematic excavation of two coastal settlements, Kynos and Mitrou (cf. Livieratou 2009, 955, n. 23–25 for references). A natural pass between the mountains of Kallidromo and Chlomo constitutes the main route-way linking the valley of Kephissoss with the coast of the Euboean Gulf. R escue excavations in this area have revealed many Mycenaean chamber tombs (cf. Livieratou 2009, 959–960, n. 57–59 for references), while a Mycenaean sanctuary dating from LH IIIA onwards was systematically excavated at Kalapodi (Niemeier 2016). The valley of Kephissos has sea gateways to the Corinthian Gulf too, in west Phokis. The site of Medeon in the bay of Antikyra hosted a citadel and a cemetery

(Fig. 11.3). Two tholoi of small and medium size, four built chamber tombs and two cists have been excavated here (Vatin 1969, 13–30). Dispersed Mycenaean evidence has also been found at other coastal sites in the bay of Antikyra, as well as the site of Kastrouli on the upland plain of Desphina (Sideris et al. 2017). In the bay of Itea, LBA evidence has been found at the coastal sites of Kirrha (Petrakos 1973; Skorda 1992) and Sykia (Dassios 2005), and at two inland sites in the Krisaian plain that stretches out to the north of the coast, at Glas and Krisa (Fig. 11.4). Both sites have produced settlement evidence, while burials took place in neighbouring chamber tomb cemeteries. urthermore,  risa  was  fortified  (cf. Livieratou 2012a, 86–87 for references). In addition, a medium-sized tholos tomb has recently been excavated in the northern part of the Krisaian plain, near Amphissa (Psalti and Petrocheilos forthcoming). Mycenaean evidence has also been found at various sites on the passes leading from the Phokian coast of the Corinthian Gulf to the valley of Kephissos (Livieratou 2012a, 84, 87). The site of Delphi, lying high up on the southern foothills of Parnassos, has produced both settlement and burial evidence. Burials took place here in chamber tombs, either large ones with long dromoi or small ones with short or no dromoi (Mü ller 1992; Mountjoy 1999, 741–742). R eligious activities are also attested at  elphi by rhyta and figurines of LH  A2 LH  IIIB date (Mü ller 1992, 475–481, n. 148). The lack of palatial remains from the region of Phokis/ east Lokris has raised questions about its integration in the palatial system. A certain drawback reflected in the LH  B  evidence from the coastal areas of east Lokris has been interpreted as the result of political and economic centralisation caused by palatial total control over the region. This process

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Fig. 11.1. The upper Kephissos valley, with Mount Kallidromon in the background, viewed from south.

Fig. 11.2. The plain of Tragana and the islet of Mitrou, viewed from south, from the area of the Ag. Triadha chamber tomb cemetery.

11. East Lokris-Phokis

Fig. 11.3. The bay of Antikyra viewed from south-east.

Fig. 11.4. The Krissaian plain and the bay of Itea viewed from north-east.

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might have even entailed clashes between the palace and the local settlements, resulting in destructions, such as the one noted at Mitrou at the end of LH IIIA2 (Kramer-Hajos 2008, 125–128; Van de Moortel et al. 2018, 189–190). As it has been stated, ‘one wonders if east Lokris had run out of luck in this (i.e. palatial) period and had become part of the Mycenaean kingdom of Orchomenos or Thebes’ (Van de Moortel 2007b, 253). However, the picture of the LH IIIB drawback is in fact not that clear. A lot of the evidence from the region comes from rescue excavations of chamber tomb cemeteries and remains unpublished. In fact, most chamber tombs were reportedly used without interruption throughout palatial times and into the LH IIIC period (Livieratou 2012a, 81). Contradictory evidence also comes from the two systematically excavated sites of Kynos and Mitrou. At Kynos, the situation in palatial times is unfortunately unclear due to later structures. Most interesting, however, is a recently published pithos, possibly of local production, with  a  relief  band  depicting  griffins  that  were  impressed  with a seal of possibly hard, semi-precious stone. The pithos was apparently a precious item, as attested by repair holes, and its LH IIIB2 context was possibly related to religious practices (Kounouklas 2018). The use of the seal on the pithos  is  interesting  not  only  due  to  the  griffin’s  religious  symbolism, but also because it implies the active presence of a local elite member of possible religious authority, who might have functioned as a palatial dignitary, since hardstone seals are believed to be linked to palace-based elites (Krzyszkowska 2005, 275). Connection to the religious system of the Mycenaean palaces is also thought to be reflected  in  a  partly  preserved,  wheel-made  female  figure  found in the same LH IIIB2 destruction layer, not far from the pithos (Alram-Stern 2016). At Mitrou, the LH  A2 conflagration was followed by  continuous habitation throughout LH IIIB, as indicated by pottery and figurine fragments, but respective architectural  remains are very few. On the other hand, a deposit of high-quality LH IIIB2–Late pottery was found together with roof tiles ( itale 201 , 1150–1151), finds which  only occur  in palatial sites or settlements closely related to palaces’ (Van de Moortel et al. 2018, 190). Considering that only a small part of the islet of Mitrou has been excavated, the rarity of architectural remains dating to palatial times might relate to a change of spatial use in this particular area instead of a settlement decline. In fact, there is evidence for possible cult activities related to a LH I built chamber tomb in palatial times (Van de Moortel et al. 2018, 189–190). Thus, it seems possible that this part of the settlement was no longer used for habitation in LH IIIB but was instead devoted to cult ceremonies possibly in honour of ‘heroic’ ancestors. To recap, east Lokris seems to have been integrated into the palatial system, but did not necessarily experience severe decline as a result of centralisation. If that is what

being subordinate to the palace should mean, then it could be suggested that east Lokris was not under absolute palatial control, which would have absorbed all the area’s wealth and vitality (cf. also Livieratou 2012a, 81–82). The effects of political and economic centralisation resulting from palatial control are perhaps more evident in the area of east Phokis, i.e. in the valley of Kephissos and the passage of Kalapodi. The chamber tomb cemetery of Elateia (Fig. 11.5) follows in the tracks of palatial Boeotia. Large chamber tombs of careful architectural layout are built here in LH IIIA1. The number of tombs increases in LH IIIA2 and LH IIIB and burials are accompanied by very rich offerings of elite status, such as a golden seal ring with a religious scene, an heirloom of Late Minoan IA date (Bä chle 2005). The pottery of LH IIIA–B periods points to contacts especially with the north-west Peloponnese (Elis and Achaia), as well as Phokis, Euboea and Thessaly. his network is also reflected in the distribution of similar  and occasionally identical moulded glass seals as well as the soft-stone seals of the Mainland Popular Group (cf. Livieratou 2012b, 1058, n. 7–9 for a relevant discussion and references). The cemetery of Elateia was partially abandoned towards the end of LH IIIB (Deger-Jalkotzy 2004, 187; Deger-Jalkotzy 2007, 129). Three chamber tombs excavated at Kokkalia, near Kalapodi, were also extremely rich in burial offerings and most impressive in terms of architecture. They had started being used in LH IIB and predate Elateia’s cemetery, but were abandoned after LH IIIA1 (Dimaki and Papageorgiou 2015). It seems that settlements such as the one using the Kokkalia cemetery were gradually sidelined in palatial times. People buried in the Kokkalia tombs were most probably members of the local ruling elite, whose descendants were deprived from their predecessors’ high status in palatial times. Elateia, on the other hand, was favoured possibly thanks to a potentially special relationship with a palace,

Fig. 11.5. The area of Elateia-Alonaki cemetery viewed from east, from the citadel of ancient Elateia.

11. East Lokris-Phokis possibly that of neighbouring Orchomenos. It is possible to suggest that here we could trace ‘individuals of the rank of qa-si-re-u’ (Crielaard 2006, 281), i.e. local rulers who exercised their power over the region on behalf of the palace. The sanctuary of Kalapodi in east Phokis has also been claimed to be under Orchomenos’s control (Niemeier 2011). A series of three cult buildings apparently succeeded each other throughout all LH III periods, until into postpalatial times.  hether the sanctuary was first established by local  elites or by the palace itself is difficult to tell.  he richness of  burial offerings at the nearby Kokkalia tombs has led to the suggestion that  such material prosperity arguably reflects  some form of control over the sanctuary by the families that were buried in these graves’ (Niemeier 2016, 305). If that was the case, then it could be assumed that local elites were sidelined and the palace of Orchomenos took over the sanctuary’s control in LH IIIB (Niemeier 2016, 306 – cf. also Livieratou 2015, 95–97). The ongoing research at Kalapodi, aiming to explore the sanctuary’s extent and to trace a possible surrounding settlement, will hopefully shed more light on its establishment – or not – as an extra-urban sanctuary (Niemeier 2016, 304), its potentially close relationship to the local population and its further development (Sporn 2017). To sum up, east Phokis seems to have been under direct palatial control, affecting the local hierarchy of sites, favouring one site (Elateia) and sidelining others, restricting the power of former ruling elites and enhancing the power of favoured qa-si-re-we. In west Phokis, the large corpus of seals and the tholos tombs found at Medeon seem to point to a special relationship with the nearest palace, while the built chamber tombs were thought to be destined for local elite members (Papadimitriou 2001, 119–122, 172–173). Considering Orchomenos’s need to gain access to the Corinthian Gulf, it is quite possible that a special relationship would have developed between the two sites (cf. Livieratou 2012b, 1060 for possible routes connecting Medeon and Orchomenos). In the Gulf of Itea, Krisa seems to be a powerful centre controlling its own region (Shelmerdine 1999, 560; Livieratou 2012a, 86–89), and was hit by the same wave of destructions that struck all palatial centres at the end of LH IIIB2 – so was its satellite, Glas. On the other hand, elphi seems to be flourishing, and possibly even expanding in LH IIIB2 (Mü ller 1992, 461, 470–471). Lying high up on the slopes of Mount Parnassos, Delphi might have taken up the role of a ‘refuge’ site for people abandoning the settlements in the Krisaian plain, which probably were under threat towards the end of palatial times (Mü ller 1992, 455; Luce 2011, esp. 352). The tholos tomb in the Krisaian plain could support our understanding of Krisa as a powerful centre that endorsed all Mycenaean customs and symbols in order to control its region and establish its power – unless it proves to belong to some other, as yet unidentified centre in the future.  he 

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tholoi of Medeon and the tholos-shaped chamber tomb with a long dromos at Delphi, on the other hand, point to the attachment of these two settlements to a ruling Mycenaean centre such as Orchomenos or Krisa. Their individual burial customs, however, i.e. the built chamber tombs at Medeon, and the small dromos-less chamber tombs at Delphi, point to differentiation from prevalent Mycenaean customs and adherence to local traditions. The appearance of idiosyncratic built chamber tombs at the sites of Sykia on the east coast of the bay of Itea and Kastrouli in the upland plain of Desphina enhances the impression of strong local traditions and of a possibly indirect palatial control over the area. Having considered the status of east Lokris and Phokis in palatial times, it is now appropriate to explore the impact of palatial collapse on the region. Elateia seems to witness a decline towards the end of LH IIIB, possibly in relation to turbulence occurring in Boeotia (Deger-Jalkotzy 2007, 129), while destructions took place at Kalapodi, Kynos, Krisa and Glas at the end of LH IIIB, at the same time as the final destruction of the palace at  hebes (Andrikou 200 ,  56; Dakouri-Hild 2010, 698) and most probably of Glas (Iakovidis 2001, 156–157) and Orchomenos (Spyropoulos 1973, 260) in Boeotia. Furthermore, in postpalatial times, in LH IIIC Early, there are clear signs of recession in a few cases. On the other hand, strong signs of continuity are  present,  while  some  sites  might  have  even  benefited  from the collapse. In the valley of Kephissos, the overall evidence of LH IIIC is reduced as compared to the LH IIIA–LH IIIB periods. The number of tombs used at Elateia was also reduced in LH IIIC early (Deger-Jalkotzy 2004, 187). On the other hand, most chamber tomb cemeteries in the area continued to be used  in  postpalatial  times,  and  finds  mainly  date  towards  the end of LH IIIC and to the Submycenaean (SM) period according to preliminary reports (cf. Livieratou 2009, 953, n. 10 for references). At Elateia too, the number of tombs increased from LH IIIC Middle onwards. R ich burial offerings, including pottery, jewellery made of glass, faience, amber, semi-precious stones or gold, and bronzes, point to a flourishing phase in LH  C  Middle/Advanced, as well as to contacts with several areas of the Greek mainland, the Aegean (Deger-Jalkotzy 1990, 80–81; 1999, 195; 2004, 187–188; 2007, 130–134), and the west. Amber in particular, originally coming from the Baltic Sea, would have been transported through the Adriatic route (Eder 2003, 47, n. 83). The origin of a rare type of glass beads from Elateia is also to be sought in the north Adriatic on technological grounds (Nikita, Nightingale and Chenery 2017). Interregional contacts are also attested for the LH IIIC Late period on the basis of white-ware pottery (Bä chle 1996, 16; 2018, 31) and bronzes with parallels from the wider region of central Europe, the north-west Balkans and Italy ( eger-Jalkotzy 2002, 5 –5 ). Elateia continued to flourish  continously to the end of LH IIIC and even later into the SM

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period and the beginning of the Early Protogeometric (EPG) period too. The local pottery production of this transitional period betrays influences from other areas such as Attica, the  Thessalo-Euboean koine or even Macedonia (Deger-Jalkotzy 2009; Bä chle 2018, 39–43), while the numerous and exceptional bronzes point to the existence of a metallurgical centre in the region (Dakoronia 2004; Deger-Jalkotzy 1990, 82–83; 1999, 196, 197). Population increase is also attested, while significant  innovations  take  place,  such  as  the  practice  of  cremations (Dakoronia, Deger-Jalkotzy and Fabrizii-R euer 2000–2001, 137; Deger-Jalkotzy 2013), the placement of bodies one upon another in extremely contracted positions, the use of a small, degenerate type of chamber tomb, the use of handmade pottery and the appearance of iron, all possibly related to the arrival of newcomers in the area (Deger-Jalkotzy 2014, 43–46, 49). In the Atalante plain, the number of sites overall is reduced  in  LH  C,  but  significant  material  has  been  recovered at  ynos, while a drop in the finds from three of  the cemeteries is noted in LH IIIC Late (Dakoronia 1996, 1170 – cf. Livieratou 2009, esp. 955, n. 24 for references). Kynos appears to be thriving in the LH IIIC Middle period, as indicated by the discovery of a complex of two-storey buildings.  heir ground floor was occupied by  storerooms, while the upper floor was most probably used  for habitation and housed working activities, such as textile production. Metal and pottery production is also attested (Kounouklas 2015, 829–831), while local pottery production is also supported by chemical analysis (Dakoronia 2003, 38, 41, fn. 6, 45–47). Vases with pictorial decoration have been attributed to a local workshop, which apparently exported its products to neighbouring sites, such as Kalapodi (Niemeier and Niemeier 2018, esp. 207) or perhaps even Thebes (Aravantinos 2014, esp. 151, fig. 5).  ishing is attested by  lead net weights, bronze hooks, fish bones and shells, and  illustrated in a rare fishing scene ( akoronia 2002, 41–4   Dakoronia-Kounouklas 2015). As indicated by the pictorial decoration of kraters, Kynos was in contact with other important centres of this period, such as Lefkandi, Tiryns, Mycenae, Volos and even the eastern Aegean (Dakoronia 2007), and participated in a network of sites that developed in  the  LH  C  Middle Aegean  and  helped  them  flourish.  Besides, the metallurgical kiln that functioned in LH IIIC Middle at Kynos implies an interest in metal supplies, which would have probably been acquired through sea routes. aval,  often  fighting  scenes,  depicted  on  pictorial  vases  illustrate Kynos’ sea-faring activities, which apparently were not always peaceful.  he scene of a goat’s sacrifice on  board a ship in the presence of an armed warrior underlines the significance of seafaring for  ynos, and illustrates the  people’s need to ask for divine protection on their dangerous endeavours (Dakoronia 2016). The end of the LH IIIC Middle settlement came by conflagration,  possibly  caused  by  an  earthquake  ( akoronia 

1996, 41). After this destruction, the debris was levelled and the buildings were rebuilt according to the same plan, but they now only had one storey (Kounouklas 2015, 831). At  the  end  of  this  phase,  fire  broke  out  again,  possibly  caused by an earthquake, and destroyed the new buildings (Dakoronia 2003, 38, 43–45, 47). After that, the debris was levelled off again and the area was occupied by fragmentarily preserved ‘humble dwellings using in part the older material’, while poor cist or pit burials of infants were placed in the floors ( akoronia 200 ,    akoronia  and Kounouklas 2009, 64; Kounouklas, Dakoronia 2012, 1159–1160; Nikolaou 1999, 153–154). This appears to be a phase of transition from the Late Bronze to the Early Iron Age (EIA) at Kynos, while handmade pottery appears for  the  first  time.  estruction,  again  possibly  caused  by  an earthquake, marked the end of this phase (Kounouklas, Dakoronia 2012, 1161–1162). In the plain of Tragana, at Mitrou, the postpalatial remains are much more substantial than the restricted LH A-B  finds.  he  prepalatial  settlement  pattern  seems  to  be restored in LH IIIC, thus possibly pointing to a strong survival of collective memory. In LH IIIC Late, new isolated buildings,  with  flimsy  walls,  sunken  floors  and  external  courtyards, point to a shift from urban to rural occupation. A small building was potentially used in relation to burial rituals in this phase, while groups of cist tombs, mainly belonging to children, were dug in the ruins of abandoned earlier structures (Van de Moortel 2009; Van de Moortel, Zachou 2011). The SM period is barely represented by a possibly mixed deposit in a dump (Lis 2009, 210–211 – cf. discussion  in  Livieratou  2012a,  10 ),  and  a  surface  find,  a stirrup jar possibly coming from a grave (R utter 2007, 295,  fig.  10. ).  ne  of  the  Mycenaean  chamber  tombs  at  nearby Tragana/Agia Triadha was probably re-used in the SM period ( akoronia 2002, 4 –4 , fig. 24). In the area lying in between the plain of Atalante and the valley of Kephissos, most of the chamber tomb cemeteries seem to continue into LH IIIC or even into the SM period (cf. Livieratou 2009, 959–960, n. 57–58 for references). The sanctuary of Kalapodi also continues to be visited continously. A LH IIIC temple, built over the ruins of the LH IIIB temple, contained a clay-lined pit sited under the later adyton, as its predecessor (Niemeier 2011). A small shrine and a hearth have been found further to the east of the temple. Sacrifices and feasting took place here regularly  (Niemeier 2016). Pots, after being used in the ritual feasts, were deliberately smashed and deposited at the site (Kaiser 2013). Visitors brought several kinds of votive offerings, such as figurines and jewellery, while workshops produced  bronze objects and textiles on the site. Handmade pots also started being used and gradually increased in the LH IIIC period (Kaiser, R izzotto and Strack 2011, 34). The sanctuary apparently continued to be visited continously in the Submycenaean period as well (Felsch 2007).

11. East Lokris-Phokis To recap, east Phokis and east Lokris show strong signs of continuity in the dispersion of sites, in burial customs and also possibly in social organisation in postpalatial times and in the transition to the EIA. It is possible to suggest something of a drawback in the case of Elateia-Alonaki for the  LH  C  Early  period,  while  recovery,  flourishing  and  population increase follow from LH IIIC Middle/Advanced onwards in the valley of Kephissos, in the pass of Kalapodi and the coast of east Lokris. he flimsy structures of the rural settlement of LH  C  Late Mitrou and the reduced number of finds from chamber  tombs  in  the  plain  of Atalante  might  be  the  first  signs  of  decline falling upon east Lokris towards the end of postpalatial times. This seems to have reached Kynos too after the destruction that took place at the end of LH IIIC Late. On the other hand, continuity is surely attested at both Mitrou and Kynos in the transition from the LBA to the EIA. A few chamber tombs are also reportedly used or re-used in this phase. Many others, however, appear to be abandoned and a general picture of decline is sketched on the basis of the available evidence. East Phokis, on the other hand, and especially the valley of Kephissos, still shows signs of prosperity, while the sanctuary of Kalapodi is visited without interruption and the burials of Elateia point to a flourishing,  expanding settlement. In west Phokis, in the area of the Antikyra bay, LH IIIC evidence has been found at the site of Kastrouli in the upland plain of Desphina and the coastal site of Kastro Stenou (Dassios 1992, 78: n. 104; Sideris et al. 2017, 278–280), as well as Medeon (Livieratou 2012b, 1060–1061). Here, three of the built chamber tombs and the small tholos continued in use (Vatin 1969; Mü ller 1995, 53–57; 1999, 226–228; Papadimitriou 2001, 116–120). The LH IIIC Middle pottery testifies to contacts with Attica,  hessaly and Achaia as well  as to the appearance of a local style, while golden jewellery and seals point to prosperity (Mü ller 1997). In LH IIIC Late, single burials with rather poor offerings took place in elongated pits around the small tholos. Exceptional offerings were two steatite seals from two of the tombs and the gold jewellery from another burial. Most of the LH IIIC Late pottery from Medeon was imported from areas of western Greece: Achaia, Elis, Cephallonia (Mü ller 1995, 152–154). In one case only, the dead lay in a contracted position in a rather small pit, thus dated to the SM period. Handmade pottery also made its appearance at Medeon in this tomb (Vatin 1969, 54–59). In the bay of Itea, sparse postpalatial evidence comes from Sykia (Dassios 2005, 459; forthcoming), Kirrha, Glas and the respective chamber tomb cemetery at Keramos/ Moulki (Luce 2011, 308), as well as Krisa (Mü ller 1992, 453–454; Mountjoy 1999, 770–796) and the nearby chamber tombs of Chrisso, where all phases of LH IIIC and the SM period are said to be represented (Skorda 1992, 43–45; Kountouri 2017). The newly found tholos tomb near

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Amphissa was also reportedly used into LH IIIC (Psalti and Petrocheilos forthcoming). LH IIIC evidence also comes from sites lying on the route leading from the valley of Kephissos to the Corinthian Gulf, i.e. Distomo (Dassios 1992, 74), Makelarika Kastroulia/ astrouli Arachovas (M ller 1992, 4 5, 4 , fig. 10), and Delphi, where no dramatic event appears to mark the transition from LH IIIB to LH IIIC. At least two houses of the so-called ‘Mycenaean village’ are possible to date to LH C Early, which appears to have been quite a flourishing  phase at Delphi. The LH IIIC Middle pottery included Attic and Argive imports, while LH IIIC Late pottery points to contacts with Cephalonia, Achaia, as well as Arcadia and Thessaly (Mountjoy 1999, 739–747; Mü ller 1992, esp. 465–475, 486–489). R eligious activities continued until at least LH IIIC Middle as attested by the assemblage of figurines  from  the  area  of  the  Apollo  sanctuary  (M ller  1992, 475–481). During or at the end of LH IIIC Late, a rock avalanche must have caused destruction at Delphi in the area at least of the ‘Mycenaean village’ (Mü ller 1992, 472; Luce 2008, 24). Continuity throughout LH IIIC until into the SM period is attested by burial evidence (Mountjoy 1999, 741–742). Thus, dispersed LH IIIC evidence points to a continuity of occupation in west Phokis in postpalatial times. urthermore,  the  flourishing  settlement  at  elphi  participated in the LH IIIC Late network of western Greece, possibly thanks to its location on a vital route leading from the Corinthian Gulf further inland over Parnassos to the upper Kephissos valley, and from there to Thessaly and further north. Medeon also participated in the western koine of LH IIIC Late, while it diverged from the Mycenaean burial customs with the introduction of single inhumations in pits, and even more with the practice of cremations in the Protogeometric (PG) period (Vatin 1969, 59). The large chamber tomb at Delphi, on the other hand, continued to be in use until into the SM period, while the local version, i.e. the small, dromos-less chamber tomb carried on into the PG period (Lemos 2002, 11–12, 86, n. 269). Coastal Medeon seems to be much more exposed than highland Delphi to the radical changes of this period, while Delphi was probably slower in dismissing the Mycenaean past and adopting new customs. Nevertheless, Delphi too caught up with the developments of the EIA, and developed into an active settlement with a rising sanctuary in its midst. To conclude, the wider region of east Lokris and Phokis was surely affected by the palatial collapse but was clearly not devastated. It seems that in postpalatial times, especially in LH IIIC Middle, the region experienced a resurgence, and the local elites – possibly the former qa-si-re-we – rose in power, took control and even enjoyed new economic benefits  deriving from the sudden lack of centralisation and palatial control especially over trade. Most sites participated in the new networks of contacts in LH IIIC Middle. Pictorial vases

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depicting warriors, seafarers and hunters eloquently narrate the newly rising elites’ ideals, many of them recalling the palatial past. Local elites must have interacted and possibly competed with each other at places such as the sanctuary of Kalapodi. However, the profits from trade and seafaring in LH  C  Middle were followed by a general situation of turbulence and insecurity in the Aegean and the eastern Mediterranean, which apparently had serious effects on the coastal sites of the Euboean Gulf in the long run. Inland sites like Elateia and Delphi, on the other hand, prospered throughout LH IIIC, while the coastal site of Medeon on the Corinthian Gulf benefited  from  its  location  and  the  LH  C  Late  network  of the western koine. Significant cultural innovations such  as handmade pottery, cremations and intramural burials reflect the mobility of populations and possibly the arrival  of newcomers towards the end of LH IIIC and the transition to the EIA. All in all, continuing sites in the region of east Lokris and Phokis adjusted to the new conditions in postpalatial times, while also adhering to the Mycenaean tradition. They endorsed the new cultural trends that spread through the resumed or newly developed contact networks, and thus they were gradually transformed and adapted – some more successfully than others – to the new EIA world.

R e fe r e n c e s Alram-Stern,  A.  (201 )  A  new  Mycenaean  female  figure  from  Kynos, Lokris. In E. Alram-Stern, F. Blakolmer, S. DegerJalkotzy,  .  Laffineur  and  J.  eilhartner  (eds)  Metaphysis. Ritual, Myth and Symbolism in the Aegean Bronze Age. Aegaeum 39, 497–499. Leuven-Liè ge, Peeters. Andrikou, E. (2006) The Late Helladic pottery. In E. Andrikou, V.L. Aravantinos, L. Godart, A. Sacconi and J. Vroom (eds) Thè bes. Fouilles de la Cadmée II. 2, 11–179. Pisa-R oma, Istituti editoriali e poligrafici internazionali. Aravantinos,  . (2014)        . Praktika Archaiologikis Etaireias 169, 139–162. Bä chle, A.-E. (1996) Mykenische Keramikfragmente aus den Grä bern von Elateia. In T. Lorenz, G. Erath., M. Lehner and G. Schwarz (eds) Akten des 6. Ö sterreichischen Archäologentages 3.–5. Februar 1994, Universität Graz, 15–22. Vienna, Phoibos Verlag. Bä chle, A.-E. (2005) Eliten in Elateia? Ü berlegungen ausgehend von der frü hen mykenischen keramik. In E. Alram-Stern, G. Nightingale (eds) Keimilion. Elitenbildung und elitärer Konsum von der Mykenischen Palastzeit bis zur Homerischen Epoche, 15–30. Vienna, Austrian Academy of Sciences Press. Bä chle, A.-E. (2018) A new glance at old sherds. LH IIIC and Dark Age pottery from Elateia. In M.-Ph. Papakonstantinou, H. Kritzas and I.P. Touratsoglou (eds) , 21–4 . Athens,  . Crielaard, J.-P. (2006) Basileis at sea: elites and external contacts in the Euboean Gulf region from the end of the Bronze Age to the beginning of the  ron Age.  n S.  eger-Jalkotzy and  .S. Lemos 

(eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 271–297. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. akoronia,  .  (199 )  Mycenaean  east  Lokris.  n  E.  e  Miro,  L. Godart and A. Sacconi (eds) Atti e Memorie del Secondo Congresso Internazionale di Micenologia. Roma-Napoli, 14–20 ottobre 1991. Vol. terzo. Archaeologia, 1167–1173. R ome, Gruppo editoriale internazionale. akoronia,  . (2002)    :                      .  n  .  akoronia,  D. Kotoulas, E. Balta, V. Sythiakaki and G. Tolias (eds) , 19–112. Athens. Domaine Chatzimichalis. Dakoronia, F. (2003) The transition from Late Helladic IIIC to the Early Iron Age at Kynos. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) Late Helladic IIIC Chronology and Synchronisms, 37–51. Vienna, Austrian Academy of Sciences. Dakoronia, F. (2004) Elateia in central Greece: excavation and finds. Mycenaean seminar 2002–0 , 19th March 200 , special  elateia day. Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 47, 185–186. Dakoronia, F. (2007) LH III C Middle pottery repertoire of Kynos. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) LH III C Chronology and Synchronisms II. LH III C Middle, 119–127. Vienna, Austrian Academy of Sciences. akoronia,  .  (201 )  Sacrifice  on  board.  n  E.  Alram-Stern,  .  Blakolmer, S.  eger-Jalkotzy,  . Laffineur and J.  eilhartner  (eds) Metaphysis. Ritual, Myth and Symbolism in the Aegean Bronze Age. Aegaeum 39, 387–392. Leuven-Liè ge, Peeters. Dakoronia, F., Deger-Jalkotzy, S. and Fabrizii-R euer, S. (2000–2001) Beisetzungen mit Leichenbrand aus der Felskammernekropole von Elateia-Alonaki, Griechenland. Archaeologia Austriaca 84–85, 137–153. Dakoronia, F. and Kounouklas, P. (2009) Kynos’ pace to the Early Iron Age. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and A.E. Bä chle (eds) LH III C Chronology and Synchronisms III. LH III C Late and the Transition to the Early Iron Age, 61–76. Vienna, Austrian Academy of Sciences. Dakoronia, F. and Kounouklas, P. (2015) Fishing technology: the Kynos contribution. In D. Panagiotopoulos, I. Kaiser and O. Kouka (eds) Ein Minoer im Exil. Festschrift fü r Wolf-Dietrich Niemeier, 35–50. Bonn, Verlag Dr. R udolf Habelt GmbH. Dakouri-Hild, A. (2010) Thebes. In E.H. Cline (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean (ca 3000–1000 BC), 691–711. Oxford, Oxford University Press. assios,  .  (1992)            .  4, 18–97. assios,  .  (2005)    .    .    .     (   .  ).  Archaiologikon Deltion 60, 459. assios,  . (forthcoming)         –                  .  n  A. Mazarakis Ainian (ed.) 5th Archaeological Meeting of Thessaly and Central Greece 2012–2014. Volos 26.02–01.03.2015. Volos. Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (1990) Elateia (Phokis) und die frü he Geschichte der Griechen: ein österreichisch – griechisches Grabungsprojekt. Anzeiger der Ö sterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch – Historische Klasse 127, 77–86.

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12 Glas and Boeotia1 Christofilis Maggidis

I n t r od

u c t i on

he Mycenaean world ( ig. 12.1) flourished in the late fifteenth to the end of the thirteenth century BC (c. 1420/1410– 1200 11 5 BC), a period known as  alatial Mycenaean or LH  A B.  his period is marked by regional centralisation of  power, state formation, and advanced socio-economic organisation, geared towards efficient surplus local production and  overseas trade, both coordinated and regulated by the palace  administration and sustained by palatial bureaucracy.  n the  homeland, the Mycenaean palaces were fortified into citadels,  public works were carried out, agricultural production and  farming were systematised  abroad, the Mycenaeans assumed  control over the Minoan colonies and trade outposts in the  Aegean and eastern Mediterranean, and further expanded to  the  east  and  west,  thus  firmly  establishing  their  own  trade  network and successfully succeeding the Minoans in overseas  trade  (Shelmerdine  199   200 ,  2 9– 09   Maggidis  200  2009). he effective regulation of production and organisation  of the socio-economic life by the palatial administration and  a long period of prosperity and stability led to population  growth,  as  indicated  by  the  rapid  increase  in  the  number  and size of the Mycenaean settlements and cemeteries, and  their geographical distribution in the homeland and abroad  in the thirteenth century BC.  n Boeotia alone, more than  0  sites  have  been  documented  in  the  Late  Bronze  Age  (LBA), which marks a   increase in the number of settlements  since  the  preceding  Middle  Bronze Age  (MBA)  ( akouri-Hild 2010,  19).  emographic growth, given the  indigenous  environmental  circumscription  and  resource  limitations,  necessitated  expansion  and  intensification  of  specialised agricultural production to meet basic needs and  afford surplus for exportation. Land development, soil and  water management, roads and bridges facilitating circulation 

and  access  to  farmland,  spatial  organisation,  property  delineation,  and  protection  of  land  resources  are  essential  parameters  of  systematic  intensification  and  extensification  of  agriculture  necessitated  by  a  centralised  economy.  Consequently,  land  development  and  water  management  become vehicles of property claim that effectively transfer  ancestral family, clan, or community property rights to palatial  management,  control,  and  eventually  possession,  thus  transforming not only landscape but also the dynamics of  the socio-economic structure (from integrative to coercive).  ublic works of grand scale, therefore, such as the drainage  of  the  opais  lake,  the  inner  port  of  ylos  at  omanou  ( avis 199 ,  9– 4), the river dam at  iryns ( angger 1994,  211–212  Balcer 19 4), the advanced network of highways,  roads,  and  bridges,  palatial  workshops,  storerooms,  and  cyclopean fortifications could only have been designed and  realised by palatial authorities aiming to facilitate, intensify  and protect production and trade, appropriate ownership and  exert political power. Such ambitious public work programs may have strained  the socio-economic system considerably, as palatial administration  had  to  channel  production  forces  increasingly  into infrastructure activities and away from basic farming,  thus causing shortage of human labour and system failure.  epletion  of  human  resources  would  require  manpower  transfusion  and  trigger  more  slave  raids  and,  therefore,  more  military  overextension  overseas  in  a  self-feeding  vicious  cycle  (Maggidis  200 ).  n  the  other  hand,  systematic intensification of agricultural production may have  led  to  ecological  overexploitation  and  depletion  of  the  limited natural resources, especially when demand was at  its highest ( ecocidal collapse’).  he Mycenaean economy  was  too  centralised,  highly  specialised  and  narrow-based  for  the  inherently  limited  natural  resources  of  its  region 

Christofilis Maggidis

10

ig

he egean and the astern Mediterranean in the

(Betancourt 19 ): by focusing mainly on high-yield crops  (grain,  barley,  wheat)  and  livestock  (sheep,  goats,  cattle)  for surplus and less on other more durable, labour-efficient,  and  long-term  subsistence  crops  (olives,  nuts,  figs,  fruits)  or activities (fishing, hunting, lumber), it carried the seeds  of its own destruction. A typical example of a low-diversified surplus-geared economy without sufficient alternative  resources  to  fall  back  on,  the  Mycenaean  economy  could  hardly  recover  from  temporary  setbacks,  absorb  the  combined impact and survive the cumulative effect of various  factors, such as ecological overexploitation, severe climatic  conditions (drought), disease (crop failure, animal disease,  plague)  or  natural  catastrophes  (earthquakes,  extensive  fires).  Such  natural  disasters  may  have  acted  as  catalysts,  inflicting the final blow to the system: they would eliminate  short-term  food  supplies,  destroy  high-yield  specialised  agricultural  production  and  livestock,  and  consequently  upset dependent satellite industries (flax, textile, wine and  oil industries) and disrupt trade, damage the infrastructure  (earthquakes),  and  demoralise  the  population.  nevitably, 

internal wars, raids, or local uprisings by starving populations on less affected regions would follow, causing decentralisation  and  political  fragmentation,  dissolution  of  the  socio-economic nexus, severe depopulation of vital areas,  and emigration to the coasts, islands, and overseas ( napp  and Manning 201  Maggidis 2009   eger-Jalkotzy 199   Betancourt 19   ermeule 19 0). A comparative contextual study of the surviving sites and  monuments,  their  relative  environmental  impact,  and  the  formation deformation processes of their related landscape  ecosystem reveals significant developments in Boeotia in the  transitional period from the heyday of Mycenaean power to  the crisis years (thirteenth–twelfth centuries BC).

B oe to i a: t h e p la ac e s t at e s of an d O r c h mo e n so

T h e b e s

Boeotia is located at the crossroads between the regions of  central and southern Greece, connecting the  eloponnese and  Attica with  hessaly ( ig. 12.1).  ue to its key geopolitical 

Glas and oeotia

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oeotia in the

location, Boeotia could exert control on land routes and regulate local and interregional trade.  he region of Boeotia is  partially land-locked, surrounded and protected by mountain  ranges  that  delineate  clear  regional  boundaries,  allowing,  however,  access  to  sea  both  to  the  west  (Corinthian  Gulf)  and to the east (Euboean Gulf).  he Boeotian plain is divided  by mountains into the  heban plain (including the  anagra  and Asopos plains) to the south and the  opais basin to the  north, where the reclaimed land from the drained lake and  its  complex  hydrosystem  of  the  ephissos  and  the  Melas  rivers and several tributaries form a well-watered fertile plain  with rich alluvial soil and its own micro-climate, agronomically ideal for large-scale agriculture in terms of land size,  irrigation, and soil quality.  he geomorphological division  of  the  Boeotian  plain  echoes  the  geopolitical  partition  of  Boeotia  into  two  separate  and  neighbouring  palace  states,  rchomenos to the north and  hebes to the south ( akovidis  1995a  Aravantinos 200 ) ( ig. 12.2). hebes, the main palatial centre in southern Boeotia, is  located inland on a low hill in the middle of the Boeotian  plain ( ig. 12.2).  he archaeological excavations in  hebes  brought  to  light  sectors  of  two  successive  palatial  complexes  ( ld  admeion  and  ew  admeion)  dating  to  the  fourteenth and the thirteenth century BC, respectively, and  small segments of a large fortified town (c. 4  acres) protected by a 1. -km-long circuit wall at least since LH  A  ( eramopoulos  1909   Symeonoglou  19   19 5,  2 –   Spyropoulos 19 4  Sampson 19 5  Aravantinos 1995  200  

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emakopoulou  1990   akouri-Hild  2001   Shelmerdine  2001,  40   ickinson  200 ,  25).  he  palace  complex  yielded  a  large  number  of  Linear  B  tablets  documenting  palatial  economy  (agriculture,  ivory  and  textile  industry)  and the regional political and religious landscape  furthermore, wall frescoes with large-scale scenes of processions,  luxury prestige  goods  made  of  precious  materials  (metal,  ivory, faience, lapis lazuli), foreign imports (orientalia and aegy tiaca) and imported pottery attest to the international  contacts, overseas trade, wealth and power of the palace of  hebes  ( eramopoulos  1909   Symeonoglou  19   19 5,  2 –   Spyropoulos  19 4   Spyropoulos  and  Chadwick  19 5  Sampson 19 5  Aravantinos 19  1995  1999  200   200   emakopoulou  1990   akouri-Hild  2001   osch  200 ). According to Mycenaean regional political geography,  as  documented  by  the  Linear  B  tablets  from  hebes  and related archaeological finds, the palace state of  hebes  (te a i) controlled several inland and coastal satellite settlements (some partially or entirely fortified), including  reusis  ( e re u so),  Eutresis  (e u te re u),  Eleon  (e re o),  toia  ( o to a a) and several local or regional sanctuaries, while  Amarynthos (a a ru to) and  arystos ( a ru to) in Euboea  may have also been in the sphere of  heban economic and  political  influence  (Aravantinos  19   1995   1999   200   200  Aravantinos,  Godart,  Sacconi  2001,  5   Mountjoy  19   akouri-Hild 2010,  19– 22   nodell 201 ). rchomenos, the main palatial centre in northern Boeotia,  is located inland and lakeside, in the north-western edge of 

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the  opais  basin  on  the  foothill  of  Mount Akontion,  at  a  safe distance and elevation from the surrounding flooded,  swamped plain ( igs 2,  ).  n and to the east of the acropolis  were brought to light few eroded LH architectural remains  with  fresco  fragments  of  bull-leaping  or  siege.  Below  the  acropolis,  four  buildings  were  discovered  (palace  wings  or  palatial  annexes ),  including  a  megaron  with  a  hearth,  fresco  fragments  of  a  miniature  boar  hunt  scene  and  men  competing  in  athletic  contest,  bronze  weapons  and  seals,  as well as a magnificent tholos tomb with a side chamber  (the so-called  reasury of Minyas’), closely paralleled by  the  reasury  of Atreus’  at  Mycenae  in  terms  of  lay-out,  elaborate ashlar construction, monumental size, and exquisite plastered decoration on the ceiling of the side chamber  (Schliemann 1 1  Bulle 190  Spyropoulos 19 4   akovidis  1995a   Boulotis  2000   Aravantinos  200 ).  rchomenos  (whose Mycenaean name has not yet been identified in the  Linear B tablets) probably built the vast citadel of Glas at the  north-eastern edge of the  opais and controlled a number of  satellite peripheral settlements and forts around the  opais  basin,  some  of  which  must  have  been  connected  with  the  protection of the water management system (Aliartos, Agios  oannis,  yrgos-Agia Marina, Akraifnion), and the Larymna  port on the coast of the Euboean gulf (Hope Simpson and 

ig

ickinson 19 9, G2, G4, G , G10–12, G1  Hope Simpson  19 1, 5 , map C). Although the economy of both palace states was based  on  agricultural  production,  it  appears  that  rchomenos  focused  more  on  developing  and  controlling  the  unique  natural resources of the  opais basin towards agricultural  intensification  and  extensification,  whereas  hebes  developed  a  mixed  economy,  investing  heavily  in  regional  and  international  trade,  as  attested  by  the  archaeological  finds  and the Linear B tablets.  he political landscape of Boeotia,  evidence  of  intra-regional  trade,  the  rapid  demographic  increase  as  a  result  of  the  systematic  intensification  and  extensification  of  agriculture,  the  lack  of  a  clear  natural  boundary between northern and southern Boeotia, and the  absence of fortifications (except Haliartos) along the borderline between the two palace states may indicate peaceful and  collaborative interrelations between the palatial centres of  hebes and  rchomenos.  n the other hand, the very existence of several forts around the  opais basin, built by the  palatial authorities of  rchomenos to protect their invaluable  natural resources, costly investment of a colossal engineered  hydrosystem, and enviable agricultural production, may well  hint at potential threat, thus revealing dynamics of tension  and antagonism between the two regional palatial centres.  n 

he o ais asin in the

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Glas and oeotia

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he o ais asin anora ic ie

fact, rivalry and hostilities between  hebes and  rchomenos  have  been  well-preserved  in  mythology,  literature,  and  cultural memory ( akovidis 1995a   odriguez  en 200 ). raditionally, Boeotia holds a significant place in Greek  mythology, epic and dramatic poetry, associated in collective  memory with powerful and wealthy palace states and, later,  city-states, as documented in historical sources and attested  by archaeology.

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n  the  closing  years  of  the  fourteenth  century  BC  (LH  A2), a large-scale hydraulic engineering project of gigantic  proportions was  realised  in  Boeotia,  most  likely  a  venture  of  the  palace  of  rchomenos,  that  effectively  reclaimed  a  vast  area  of  land  from  the  opais  lake  (c.  200  km2) and transformed  the  closed  hydrosystem  of  the  opais  basin  into  the  most  fertile  plain  on  mainland  Greece  ( igs  12. ,  12.4).  he  submerged  marshland  was  artificially  drained  by  means  of  an  ingenious  and  complex  drainage  control  system that involved the course diversion of six rivers and  streams  from  the  basin  into  two  peripheral  wide  canals  running  along  the  northern  and  south south-eastern  edge  of  the  basin,  respectively,  to  be  used  for  flood  prevention,  irrigation, and transportation ( ig. 12. ).  hese canals were  protected by massive watertight earth embankments ( –4 m  high,  0– 5 m wide), which were reinforced in places with  cyclopean  revetments  and  perpendicular  core  walls.  hese  canals were navigable (2.5 m deep) and bore roads on their  crowns to facilitate transportation of commodities and provide access for repairs. A complex system of underground  drains and channels discharged the water overflow from the  canals  into  artificial  polder  dykes  (dug  along  the  northern  edge of the basin), an artificial permanent reservoir (to the  north-west), several natural bedrock cavities and sinkholes  ( ) to funnel the water down to the underground  water  table  (located  mainly  along  the  north north-eastern  edge  of  the  basin),  or  out  to  the  bay  of  Larymna  via  an  underground  channel  (to  the  east  of  Glas)  ( nauss  19   19 9   1990   1991,  1995   2001   nauss,  Heinrich,  alcyk  19 4   Heinrich  19   akovidis  2001,  152–15   Maggidis 

2009  Aravantinos,  ountouri,  appas  200   also,  Curtius  1 92   ambanis 1 92  1 9   enny 19 5   ahrstedt 19   Lauffer 19 9  1940  19 –19 4  19 1  19 5 ).  he  opais  drainage project was colossal by both ancient and modern  standards,  with  staggering  dimensions  and  numbers:  it  is  estimated that 2,000,000 m  of earth were moved to build a  total of  0 km of massive embankments, dams, and polder  dykes and that 250,000–400,000 m  of stone were used to  revet them  the discharge capacity of the main canal is calculated at 100–150 m  per second ( akovidis 2001, 155–15   Heinrich 19 ). he  area  once  named  Arne’ was  still  remembered  as  multi-vined’  in  the  Iliad  ( polystaphylon  Arne’,  .50 )  and  rchomenos  as  one  of  the  richest  kingdoms  of  the  heroic  past  (Iliad  . 1– 2   . 1),  whose  wealth  and  power was associated in the ancient literary sources with the  cultivation  of  the  drained  lake  (Strabo  .2.40   ausanias  .1 .2   iodorus  .1 . ).

G l as

( or

n e w

O r c h om

e n os ?)

n  LH  A2,  a  vast  citadel,  today  known  as  Gla(s)’  or  astro’ (castle), was built on top of an island-like, flat-topped  bedrock outcrop rising 10–  m above the plain below and  encompassing an area of 50 acres (seven times the size of  Mycenae or ten times the size of  iryns) at the north-eastern  edge of the  opais basin ( igs 12.5, 12. ).  he Mycenaean  citadel  of  Glas  was  fortified  by  a  massive  cyclopean  wall  (5.50–5. 0 m thick), which runs along the brow of the rocky  natural platform for approximately   km, features four gates  (including one double gate), and encompasses a cluster of  three  adjacent  and  intercommunicating  central  enclosures  that  isolate  one  third  of  the  total  fortified  area  (1   acres)  ( ig. 12. ).  hese central enclosures surround and demarcate  various groups of buildings, delineate their spatial arrangement, and differentiate between storage areas, administrative  or residential sectors ( ig. 12. :  ,  ). he northern enclosure ( .  acres) surrounds an administrative and residential complex with two  twin’ long wings  built at an angle on the summit of the rocky hill ( igs 12. :  A,  12. :  ).  Either  wing  contains  a  focal,  single-storey 

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ig

Glas aerial hoto ro the south

he Mycenaean Citadel o Glas

III

megaron-like  room  (melathron)  at  its  remote  end,  which  was richly decorated with frescoes but lacks a throne or a  fixed  central  hearth  surrounded  by  interior  columns.  Both  wings also contain several two-storey residential apartments 

III

archaeogeo hysical sur ey

communicating  through  two  long  corridors  and  a  central  staircase. he  southern  enclosure  (12.   acres)  encompasses  two  parallel,  long  storage  buildings  (150  m  long)  with  a  total 

Glas and oeotia capacity  of  c.  2,000–2,500  metric  tonnes,  which  were  divided  internally  by  cross-walls  and  equipped  with  wide  access  ramps  ( igs  12. :  B–C,  12. :  )   other  attached  subsidiary rooms used as guard houses, personnel residential  quarters,  workshops,  and  kitchens  (comprising  totally  c.  0  sq.  m.)  were  arranged  quite  symmetrically  north  and south of the storage facilities and often decorated with  frescoes  (several  rooms  in  E,  ,  M,  ,  but  also  in A,  H).  he southern enclosure is connected with the south gate of  the citadel via a road running through a central propylon on  its southern peribolos wall, while another road connects the  northern enclosure with the north gate of the citadel through  a propylon on its eastern peribolos wall  the two adjacent  enclosures  communicate  through  a  guarded  internal  gate  ( igs 12. , 12. :  ). Another smaller enclosure is formed  immediately  east  of  the  northern  enclosure  without  any  apparent entrance or visible ruins ( ig. 12. :  ).  inally, an  internal  cross-wall  running  from  the  central  tower  of  the  south-east double gate to the north cyclopean wall separates  and isolates the eastern sector of the citadel which was, thus, 

ig

11

accessible only from outside the walls through the eastern  entrance of the double South-east Gate ( ig. 12. ). Based  on  the  preliminary  results  of  early  investigations  ( oack 1 94   e  idder 1 94) and the finds of recent archaeological  excavations  ( hrepsiades  1955–19 1   akovidis  19  19  19 9  19 1  19 2  19 a  19 b  19 4  19 9   1990   1991   1995a   1995b   199   2001),  Glas  was  interpreted  as  a  fortress  protecting  the  regional  storage  centre  of production and administrative seat and residence of two  local rulers who were probably appointed to supervise and  maintain the complex draining system, organise and regulate  the agricultural production, manage taxation, central storage  and redistribution of products (crops and wine), control and  defend  the  satellite  peripheral  settlements  and  populations  ( akovidis 19 9  1995a  1995b  199  2001, 14 –15 ). he fortress theory, however, presents certain enigmatic  spatial peculiarities.  he notion that the largest part ( 0 )  of  the  citadel  was  allegedly  left  void  is  at  variance  with  the  immense  energy  expenditure  and  labour  investment  in  constructing  a  three-kilometre-long  cyclopean  wall. 

Glas: the t in Melathra and the central enclosures

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urthermore, the construction of the northern and southern  enclosures  ( ig.  12. :  ,  )  to  surround  and  demarcate  the  administrative  and  storage  buildings  suggests  that  the  fortified  area  outside  these  enclosures  was  not  left  void,  but  was  probably  dedicated  to  a  different  use.  ddly,  the  eastern enclosure ( ig. 12. ), though separated and isolated  from the remaining fortified area by a cross-wall for some  unclear purpose, contained no visible ruins. Likewise, the  north-eastern  enclosure  ( ig.  12. :  )  appears  to  be  void  of  any  structures,  bears  no  definite  entrance,  and  its  use  remained obscure. he discoveries of a recent systematic archaeogeophysical survey in the fortified area of the citadel (2010 2011)  changed  drastically  the  archaeological  plan  of  Glas  and  challenged  the  established  interpretations  of  the  function  and  purpose  of  this  gigantic  site  (Maggidis  2010   2011   201  2020  Maggidis et al 2020).  he geophysical survey  results from the enclosures were rather poor due to severe  ground erosion on the summit and the slopes.  he results,  however, from the western central and eastern sectors of the  citadel and the cyclopean fortification wall were impressive.  Several  buildings  were  detected,  including  three  large,  well-built complexes ( ig. 12. :  ,  , J) consisting of long  rectangular buildings with several large rooms. Clusters of  walls, rooms, small buildings, and silos ( ig. 12. : E, G,  ,  ) were located between the large complexes, occasionally  abutting on the inner face of the cyclopean wall. n  the  north-western  part  of  the  citadel  lies  the  est  Building  ( ig.  12. :  )  with  an  east–west  orientation.  his  building  complex  consists  of  an  oblong  rectangular  structure  containing  a  row  of  five  rooms. Another  parallel  room  and  few  wall  remains  were  traced  immediately  south  of  the  est  Building  and  may  belong  to  the  same  complex. A cluster of scattered rooms ( ig. 12. : E) were  further  explored  in  the  vicinity  of  the  est  Gate,  which  may  belong  to  a  residential  quarter,  as  indicated  by  their  small size, simple plan, different orientation, and relatively  poor  construction.  Among  them,  immediately  north  of  the  est  Gate,  lies  a  two-room  building  (guard  house )  abutting  on  the  inner  face  of  the  western  cyclopean  wall  ( est Gate Building), while, farther south of this gate, four  semi-circular rooms (silos ) were built against a recess of  the western cyclopean wall. he south-western area of the citadel is accessible from  both the  est Gate and the South Gate, and is dominated  by the plateau of a low hill, which is occupied by a large  building  complex  and  possibly  enclosing  other  important  structures  as  well  ( ig.  12. :  ,  Q,  ).  he  South-west  Complex  ( ig.  12. :  )  consists  of  at  least  three  parallel,  oblong rectangular wings of a similar ground plan and same  orientation  as  the  est  Building,  each  containing  a  row  of  large  rooms.  he  complex  has  solid  walls  constructed  of  roughly  dressed,  large  blocks.  he  size,  construction  and ground plan of the South-west Complex and the  est 

Building  recall  the  two  parallel,  long  storage  buildings  in  the southern central enclosure ( ig. 12. :  , B, C). Another  cluster  of  scattered  buildings,  rooms,  and  wall  remains  (South-west Cluster) were detected to the south-east of the  South-west Complex ( ig. 12. : G), which may belong to  a residential quarter, as indicated by their relatively small  size, simple plan, different orientation and construction. n the southern sector of the cyclopean wall, approximately  midway  between  the  est  and  the  South  Gate,  two  sally  ports were discovered, thus raising the number of gates in the  citadel of Glas to six.  he south-west sally port ( igs  : H,  ) is   m wide and gives access to a low terrace in front of  the wall that affords unobstructed viewing of the plain to the  south.  he other sally port ( igs  :  ,  ), located  0 m to the  east, facilitates a safe descent to the plain below via a narrow  and steep staircase that was partly built and partly hewn out  of the bedrock, providing access to a cave at the base of the  rocky hill. Between the two sally ports were identified five  narrow rectangular niches (1 m     m) opening into the outer  face of the wall with no access from within the citadel, but  once  accessible  possibly  through  trapdoors  from  the  upper  part of the wall ( ig. 12. ).  hese niches were likely sentry  boxes associated with the guarding of the adjacent sally ports.  wo more niches were located in the northern and western  sectors of the cyclopean wall.  inally, traces of large rectangular rooms (casemates or towers) were detected within the  thickness of the cyclopean wall in the western, north-eastern,  and south-western sector of the wall circuit. n the central part of the citadel lies the South Complex  ( ig. 12. : J), which consists of a large building with a northwest–south-east  orientation,  flanked  by  a  parallel  oblong  rectangular wing.  arther to the north-east of this complex  were detected a cluster of scattered buildings, rooms, and  wall  remains  (Central  Cluster)  ( ig.  12. :  ).  his  cluster  includes  a  multi-room  building  (Central  Building  1),  an  oblong  rectangular  wing  of  another  building  with  an  east–west orientation (Central Building 2), and a cyclopean  cistern ( ig. 12. : L), partly built and partly hewn out of the  bedrock, which is associated with a long retaining wall with  a north–south orientation.  he oblong wings of the central  buildings, though smaller in size, are similar to those of the  est Building and the South-west Complex. he  eastern  part  of  the  citadel  preserves  a  surviving  corner  of  the  cross-wall  that  ran  at  an  angle  from  the  north-eastern course of the cyclopean wall to the central  tower  of  the  double  South-east  Gate  ( ig.  12. ).  his  cross-wall  separated  and  isolated  the  eastern  part  of  the  citadel, which was, thus, accessible only from the eastern  entrance  of  the  double  South-east  Gate.  his  isolated  eastern sector of the citadel contained scattered structures  (East  Cluster)  ( ig.  12. :  ),  including  several  retaining  walls for terracing with an east–west orientation, walls and  rooms of various buildings, and at least ten circular structures (2.5–  m in diameter), possibly silos( ). Six of these 

Glas and oeotia

ig

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Glas: sally orts sentry o es and staircases in the outh all ie ro the south

circular structures are located in the centre of the eastern  sector, while four more were traced near the north-eastern  course of the cyclopean wall.  utside the eastern course  of  the  cyclopean  wall  a  built  staircase  was  found  (East  Staircase)  ( ig.  12. :  )   furthermore,  several  caves  and  sinkholes  were  located,  mapped,  and  briefly  surveyed  at  the foot of the rocky hill of Glas. n conclusion, the vast fortified area outside the central  enclosures  in  the  citadel  of  Glas  was  not  left  void  after  all,  but  was  apparently  covered  with  many  buildings  of  various uses, including several large, well-built complexes,  extensive  residential  quarters  and  clusters  of  buildings  stretching  between  these  complexes,  circular  structures  (silos ),  a  cistern,  sally  ports,  staircases,  retaining  walls  and  terraces.  Glas,  therefore,  was  not  merely  a  fortress  maintaining the drainage works and managing agricultural  production, but a large fortified town whose identification  raises  intriguing  questions  about  Mycenaean  regional  political geography.

he Homeric poems, particularly the  Catalogue of Ships’  (Iliad .494–51 ) (a separate poem, embedded in the Iliad,  that  draws  from  much  older,  Mycenaean  oral  epic  poems  but also hosts later interpolations as well), and other literary  sources mention several important Mycenaean towns in the  opais area, including  rchomenos, Arne,  opai, Aspledon,  Medeon,  Haliartos,  nchestos,  kalea,  Hyle,  oroneia.  he  initial  identification  of  Glas  with Arne  ( oack  1 94   hrepsiades 1955–19 1) did not meet with wide acceptance  and was eventually discounted.  t is also rather unlikely that  Glas was a third, unknown so far, regional palatial centre  in  Boeotia.  evertheless,  the  local  spatial  dynamics  and  site distribution pattern suggest that the satellite peripheral  settlements around the  opais basin may have been directly  controlled by Glas rather than  rchomenos, thus perplexing our attempt to define the relations between the palatial  centres of Glas,  rchomenos and  hebes in the framework  of Mycenaean regional geopolitics.

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hus emerges a far more intriguing hypothesis: what if  Glas is  rchomenos  relocated  According  to  this  alternative  scenario,  the  palatial  authorities  of  rchomenos  may  have relocated their palace and part of the settlement to the  most strategically important and highly defensible location  available after the draining of the marshland of  opais in  the thirteenth century BC, while using the original site of  rchomenos mainly as an ancestral burial place.  his scenario may explain the paradox of the gradual decline of the  palace at  rchomenos by the advanced LH  B1 (parts of  the palatial complex were abandoned already in LH  A2)  and the conspicuous presence of the  reasury of Minyas’  tholos tomb there in 1250 BC, while Glas was experiencing its highest peak, just before the final catastrophe in the  advanced LH  B2.

B oe ot i a i n c r i s i s n  the  course  of  the  twelfth  century  BC,  combined,  rapid  and  dramatic  changes  in  several  socio-economic,  political,  and  environmental  variables  affected  a  fragile  balance  and  triggered  as  catalysts  a  chain  reaction  of  progressively magnified and multiplied cumulative effect,  resulting  inevitably  in  a  catastrophic  systems  collapse  which  caused  the  decline  and  fall  of  several  interconnected  states  and  empires  in  the  Mediterranean  ( napp  and  Manning  201   Cline  2014   Bachhuber  and  oberts  2009   Gitin,  Mazar,  Stern  199   rews  199   ard  and  Joukowsky 1992   anschoonswinkel 1991   eiss 19 2).  n  Mycenaean Greece, the deterioration of the same system  that  had  strengthened  central  palatial  authority  through  the coordination and regulation of political and socio-economic  life  resulted  inevitably  in  the  rapid  dissolution  of  palatial  power,  decentralisation  and  fragmentation  of  the  Mycenaean  palace  states  ( napp  and  Manning  201 ,  12 –12   Middleton  2010   Maggidis  200   2009   Maran  2009   ickinson 200  Shelmerdine 2001,  2– ,  1   ur and Cline 2000   all e 1999   eger-Jalkotzy 199   199   utter 1992  Muhly 1992  Eberhard 19  Lehmann  19 5  Schachermeyr 19 0  Betancourt 19   esborough  19 4   lin 19 2   ermeule 19 0). he  three  major  Boeotian  palatial  centres  were  either  destroyed by fire ( hebes, Glas), or abandoned ( rchomenos)  in  the  LH  B.  n  hebes,  the  destruction  of  the  early  palace  ( ld  admeion)  is  dated  either  to  the  end  of  LH  A2  ( eramopoulos  1909,  54   Symeonoglou  19 5,  49)  or  the  beginning  of  LH  B1  ( akouri-Hild  2001,  101).  he  destruction  of  the  later  palace  ( ew  admeion)  was  traditionally  placed  in  LH  B1  (Symeonoglou  19 5,  0   Sampson 19 5  199 , 11 –115)  however, new evidence of  tablets ( f series) found in contexts with typical LH  B2  pottery suggests another fire destruction in the advanced LH  B2 (Spyropoulos and Chadwick 19 5  Aravantinos 1995   1999, 49–52,  9) or at the end of LH  B2 ( akouri-Hild 

2001,  10 –10 ).  n  total,  three  different  fire  destruction  horizons  have  been  documented  in  hebes,  dating  to  the  transitional  LH  A2–B1,  LH  B1,  and  transitional  LH  B2–C,  respectively  ( akouri-Hild  2001,  101,  10 –10   Shelmerdine 2001,  40  B nyai 2019,  9–91). Glas  was  totally  destroyed  by  fire  sometime  in  the  advanced  LH  B2  (c.  1220  BC)   at  the  same  time,  the  opais drainage works were ruined and abandoned, and as  a result several sites around the  opais basin were flooded  ( akovidis 1992  1995,  9– 1  2001, 142–145, 15 –15 ).  n  rchomenos,  part  of  the  palatial  complex  was  abandoned  already in LH  A2  the palatial complex declined in the late  LH  B1 and was abandoned without evidence of fire at the  end of LH  B2 (Spyropoulos 19 4   akovidis 1995a). At the  same  time,  another  Boeotian  site,  Eutresis,  was  abandoned  without  any  destruction  (Goldman  19 1,  2   Mountjoy  19 ,  2 –4 ). hebes  and  rchomenos  continued  to  exist  and were later re-occupied on a smaller scale, whereas Glas  and  the  opais  drainage  works  were  completely  destroyed  and abandoned, never to be inhabited again. his  regional  turmoil  and  disruption  (destructions  by  fire,  floods,  abandonments)  may  be  associated  with  local  uprisings  and  internal  conflicts,  hostilities  between  the  Mycenaean  palaces  of  hebes  and  rchomenos  or  external aggression. Both war versions have been preserved in  mythology,  literature,  and  folk  memory  ( odriguez  en  200 ).  hebes attacked  rchomenos, with Heracles blocking the outlet of the  ephissos river to the sea and the sinkholes, thus flooding the  opais basin (Apollodorus  .4.11   iodorus  .1 .   Strabo  .2.40).  Later,  the  Argives  repeatedly campaigned against and finally besieged  hebes  (Aeschylus,  e en gainst he es,  igonoi). Although the  Boeotians retain a prominent position in the Iliad,  hebes,  unlike  rchomenos, was not included among the Boeotian  towns  in  the  Catalogue  of  Ships’  (Iliad .494–51 )  and  the ana  of  hebes did not participate in the  rojan  ar,  which is said to have taken place shortly after the destruction of  hebes. n  the  advanced  twelfth  century  BC  many  small  settlements  in  several  regions  (i e   Argolid,  Achaia,  Attica,  Euboia,  hessaly,  islands,  Cyprus, Asia  Minor)  sustained  continuity  and  achieved  substantial  revival  with  their  limited production and trade capacity, despite the general  decline  and  fragmentation   on  the  contrary,  the  palaces  of  hebes and  rchomenos, like their counterparts in the  Argolid,  Mycenae  and  iryns,  though  partially  repaired  and reoccupied, and despite attempts for economic revival,  never  fully  recovered  and  were  gradually  abandoned.  herefore,  it  was  the  Mycenaean  elite  and  its  diagnostic  elements (palatial administration and writing, ideology and  ritual, foreign contacts and luxury goods, monumental art  and megalithic architecture, representational arts and crafts)  that suffered the most from the system meltdown  paradoxically, the same societal and cultural forces of transformation 

Glas and oeotia that  caused  their  demise,  fossilised  the  Mycenaean  kings  and warriors in the realm of a heroic past, elevated them in  the sphere of myth and preserved them in collective memory  (Maggidis 2019, 1 5, 1 9–1 1   napp and Manning 201 ,  12 ).  Meanwhile,  at  the  lower  level  the  impact  was  less  direct and, despite the marked depopulation on the mainland as a result of mass emigration to the shores, islands,  or  overseas,  the  remaining  core  of  Mycenaean  society  changed more gradually in terms of basic material culture  and cultural practices, evolving organically into Early  ron  Age  Greece  ( napp  and  Manning  201 ,  12   Maggidis  2009,  41 –41   Maran  2009   Shelmerdine,  199 ,  5 4   2001,  2– ,  1   utter 1992  Muhly 1992   esborough  19 2, 202–20 ). States  collapse,  but  civilisations  transform  (Middleton  201 , 2,  –11).  he Mycenaeans lost rapidly the established  level  of  socio-political  complexity,  wealth,  high  living  standards,  and  cultural  achievements  they  had  enjoyed  in  the Mycenaean palace states. Crisis instability and societal  collapse,  however,  triggered  a  reflex  of  cultural  resilience  that  in  turn  initiated  the  long  and  complex  process  of  transformation, transition, and regeneration of a new social  and economic order. A new distinctive post-palatial culture  emerged within a new political cell, the city-state, initially  with  lower  living  standards,  poorer  economy  and  simpler  art,  but  deeply  rooted  in  the  collective  cultural  memory  of a heroic and glorious Mycenaean past preserved by the  mystical power of mythology and literature.

Note 1 

 hereby wish to thank  rof. Guy Middleton for inviting me  to contribute to this well timed and much needed collective  volume.    express  my  gratitude  to  r.  Malcolm  iener,  a  life-long friend and esteemed colleague, for his advice, support, and all the fruitful discussions, and to the institutions  that generously supported the archaeogeophysical survey of  Glas:  ickinson College, the  nstitute for Aegean  rehistory,  and  the  Mycenaean  oundation.    thank  those  colleagues  who generously dedicated time and energy to discuss with  me their research and comment on my synthesis and interpretations   as  always,  any  errors  or  oversights  herein  are  mine alone.

R e fe r e n c e s lin,  . (19 2) Das nde der y enischen undst tten au de griechischen estland. Lund, C. Bloms. Aravantinos,  . (19 ) Mycenaean place-names from  hebes: the  new evidence. Minos 20–22,  –40. Aravantinos,  .  (1995)  ld  and  new  evidence  for  the  palatial  society  of  Mycenaean  hebes:  an  outline.  n  .  Laffineur  and  . .  iemeier  (eds)  Politeia: ociety and tate in the egean ron e ge. egaeu 12,  1 – 22. Li ge, University  of Li ge. Aravantinos,  . (1999) Mycenaean texts and contexts at  hebes.  n  S. .  Jalkotzy,  S.  Hiller  and  .  anagl  (eds)  loreant

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tudia Mycenaea. ten des Interna ionalen y enolo gischen Collo uiu s in al urg o Mai ol I,  49–52,  9.  ien,  erlag  der  sterreichischen Akademie  der  issenschaften. Aravantinos,  . (200 ) La B otie myc nienne.  n  . Jeammet and  J.M.  ossey (eds)  anagra: Mythe et archeology, 1 –21.  aris,  Montr al Mus e des beaux-arts de Montr al. Aravantinos,  .  (200 )                .  n  .  Aravantinos  (ed.)  ,  vol.  4:  ,  12 –1 0.  Athens,          . Aravantinos,  .L.,  Godart,  L.  and  Sacconi,  A.  (2001)  h es ouilles de la Cad e I: les ta lettes en in aire de la dos Pelo idou.  isa,  stituti editoriali e poligrafici internazionali. Aravantinos,  .,  ountouri E. and  appas  . (200 )            :          .  Proceedings o the econd International Con erence on ncient Gree echnology,  55 –5 4. Athens,  echniko Epimelitirio Elladas. Bachhuber,  C.  and  oberts,  .G.  (eds)  (2009)  orces o rans or ation: he nd o the ron e ge in the Mediterranean xford,  xbow Books. Balcer,  J.M.  (19 4)  he  Mycenaean  dam  at  iryns.  erican ournal o rchaeology  , 141–149. B nyai,  M.G.  (2019)  ie  Mykenische  staatenwelt:  zwischen  Mykene  und  heben.  n  J.  elder  and  .  aal  (eds)  ro G G to ana ingshi and Political rganisation in the ate ron e ge egean, 1 1–14 . Leiden,  Sidestone. Betancourt,  . (19 )  he end of the Greek Bronze Age.  nti uity 50, 40–4 . Boulotis,  C.  (2000)              .  n  . Aravantinos (ed.)  ,  vol.  : ,  1095–1149. Athens:          . Bulle, H. (190 )  rcho enos I die lteren nsiedelungsschichten. Munich,  erlag der k.B. Akademie der  issenschaften. Cline,  E.H.  (2014)  C: he ear Ci ili ation Colla sed. rinceton,  rinceton University  ress. Curtius,  E.  (1 92) Die Deich auten der Minyer it ungs ericht der erliner ade ie der issenscha ten Philoso hisch istorische lasse 55, 11 1–119 . akouri-Hild,  A.  (2001)  he  House  of  admos  in  Mycenaean  hebes  reconsidered:  architecture,  chronology,  and  context.  nnual o the ritish chool at thens 9 ,  1–122. akouri-Hild, A. (2010) Boeotia.  n E.H. Cline (ed.)  he  xford  Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean,  14– 0.  xford,  xford  University  ress. avis,  J.  (ed.)  (199 )  andy Pylos: n rchaeological istory ro estor to a arino. Austin, University of  exas  ress. e  idder, A. (1 94)  ouilles de Gla.  ulletin de corres ondance hell ni ue 1 , 2 1– 10. eger-Jalkotzy, S. (199 )  n the negative aspects of the Mycenaean  palace system.  n E.  e Miro, L. Godart and A. Sacconi (eds)  tti e Me orie des econdo Congresso Interna ionale di Micenologia o a a oli tto re ,  vol.  ,  15– 2 .  ome, Gruppo Editoriale  nternazionale. eger-Jalkotzy, S. (199 )  he Aegean islands and the breakdown  of  Mycenaean  palaces  around  1200  BC.  n  .  arageorghis 

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and  .  Stampolidis  (eds)  astern Mediterranean Cy rus Dodecanese Crete th th cent C, 105–120. Herakleion,  University of Crete-Ministry of Culture. emakopoulou,  .  (1990)  alatial  and  domestic  architecture  in  Mycenaean  hebes.  n  .  arcque and  .  reuil (eds)  ha itat g en r histori ue ctes de la ta le ronde internationale th nes uin ,  0 – 1 .  aris,  Ath nes  cole  ran aise d’Ath nes. esborough,  . .  (19 4)  he ast Mycenaeans and their uccessors.  xford,  xford University  ress. esborough,  . . (19 2)  he Gree Dar ges. London, Benn. ickinson,  . . . . (200 )  he egean ro ron e ge to Iron ge: Continuity and Change et een the ighth and el th Centuries C  London,  outledge rews,  . (199 )  he nd o the ron e ge: Changes in ar are and the Catastro he o ca C   rinceton,  rinceton  University  ress. Eberhard,  . (ed.) (19 )  orschungen ur g ischen orgeschichte: Das nde der y enischen elt. Cologne,  asmuth. Gitin,  S.,  Mazar,  A.  and  Stern,  E.  (eds)  (199 )  Mediterranean Peo les in ransition: hirteenth to arly enth Centuries C 1 – 5, 292– 1 . Jerusalem,  srael Exploration Society. Goldman, H. (19 1)  ca ations at utresis in oeotia. Cambridge,  Harvard University  ress. Heinrich,  B.  (19 )  rehistoric  Hydraulic  Constructions  in  the  Copais.  n  A.  Bekiaris  (ed.)  ,  vol.  A: ,  4 –52.  Athens,          . Hope Simpson,  . and  ickinson,  . . . . (19 9)  Ga etteer o egean Ci ili ation in the ron e ge, vol. 1:  he Mainland and the Islands. G teborg,  str m. Hope  Simpson,  .  (19 1)  Mycenaean Greece   ark  idge,  oyes. akovidis, S. (19 ) Gla,  rchaeologia o erica . E1, 204–210. akovidis,  S.  (19 )  A  Bronze  pivot  shoe  from  the  esidential  Building at Gla. Proceedings o , 42–52. akovidis, S. (19 9)            .   1 4,  – 9. akovidis,  S.  (19 1)  A   .   1 , 92–95. akovidis,  S.  (19 2)  A   .   1 , 105–10 . akovidis, S. (19 a)  ate elladic Citadels on Mainland Greece,  91–10 , figs 5 – . Leiden, Brill. akovidis,  S.  (19 b) A   .   1 , 99–101. akovidis,  S.  (19 4)  A   .   1 9, 42. akovidis, S. (19 9)  I: 10 . Athens, Ath nais  Archaiologik  Hetaireia. akovidis,  S.  (1990)  A   .  145, 40–44. akovidis,  S.  (1991)  A   .   14 ,  4– . akovidis, S. (1995a)      .   2,  9– 1. akovidis,  S.  (1995b)  he  Mycenaean  ortress  of  Gla.  n  J. .  livier (ed.), My ena a ctes du I e Collo ue international

sur les te tes yc niens et g ens organis ar le Centre de l nti uit Grec ue et o aine de la ondation ell ni ue des echerches cientifi ues et l cole ran aise d th nes (Ath nes 2–  octobre 1990).  C u l. 25,  0 – 15. Athens,  L’ cole  ran aise d’Ath nes. akovidis, S. (199 )  I : 1 . Athens, Ath nais  Archaiologik  Hetaireia. akovidis, S. (2001) Gla and the o ais in the th century C 221. Athens, Archaeological Society at Athens. ahrstedt,  U.  (19 )  er  opaissee  im  Altertum  und  die  Minyschen   an le.  rch ologischer n eiger 52, 1–19. ambanis,  M.C.  (1 92)  Le  dess chement  du  lac  Copais  par  les  anciens I. ulletin de corres ondance hell ni ue 1 , 121–1 . ambanis,  M.C.  (1 9 )  Le  dess chement  du  lac  Copais  par  les  anciens II. ulletin de corres ondance hell ni ue 1 ,  22– 42. enny, E.J.A. (19 5)  he ancient drainage of the Copais.  i er ool nnals o rchaeology and nthro ology 22, 1 9–20 . eramopoulos,  A.  (1909)  H      .  , 5 –122. napp, A.B. and Manning, S. . (201 ) Crisis in context: the end  of the Late Bronze Age in the eastern Mediterranean.  erican ournal o rchaeology 120(1), 99–149. nauss, J., Heinrich,  . and  alcyk,  . (19 4) Die asser auten der Minyer in der o ais: Die lteste lussregulierung uro as ( o ais 1),  Bericht  r.  50.  Munich,  echnische  Universit t  Mü nchen. nauss, J. (19 ) Die Melioration des o ais ec ens durch die Minyer i t Chr ( o ais  2),  Bericht  r.  5 .  Munich,  echnische Universit t M nchen. nauss, J. (19 9)  ie wasserbau-kulturder minyer in der  opais  (ein rekonstruktionversuch).  n H. Beister and J. Buckler (eds)  oioti a ortr ge o Internationalen otien ollo uiu u hren on Pro essor Dr ieg ried au er, 2 9–2 4. Munich,  Maris. nauss, J. (1990)  asser au und Geschichte: inische oche ayerische eit ( o ais ).  ehrstuhl r asser au u asser engen irtscha t i Inst r auingenieur esen .  Munich,  echnische Universit t M nchen. nauss, J. (1991) Arcadian and Boeotian  rchomenos, centers of  Mycenaean  hydraulic  engineering.  Irrigation and Drainage yste s 5(4),  – 1. nauss, J. (1995)  echnical and historical aspects of the unfinished  ancient drainage tunnel at the outmost northeast corner of the  opais  Basin.  n  A.  Spyropoulou  (ed.)   (1992), vol.  : ,  –95. Athens,          . nauss, J. (2001)  thelladische asser auten: r undungen u asser irtscha t lichen In rastru turen der y enis chen elt,  Bericht  r.  90.  Munich,  echnische  Universit t  Mü nchen. nodell,  A.  (201 )  all orld et or s and Mediterranean Dyna ics in the u oean Gul : n rchaeology o Co le ity in ate ron e ge and arly Iron ge Greece.  h   thesis,  Brown University. ountouri,  E.,  etrochilos,  .,  Liaros,  .,  ikonomou,  .,  outsoyiannis,  .,  Mamassis,  .,  arkadoulas,  .,  tt,  A.  Hadler,  H.,  Henning,  .  and  illersh user,  .  (201 )  he 

Glas and oeotia Mycenaean  drainage  works  of  north  opais,  Greece:  a  new  project  incorporating  surface  surveys,  geophysical  research  and excavation.  ater u ly 1 ( ),  10– 1 . Lauffer, S. (19 9)  r he Siedlungen im  opaisgebiet.  n  I Int ongress r rch ologie,  04– 05. Berlin,  e Gruyter. Lauffer, S. (1940) Arch ologische funde im  opaisgebiet 19 9– 1940.  rch ologischer n eiger 1 4, 1 4–1 . Lauffer,  S.  (19 –19 4)  opographische  untersuchungen  im  opaisgebiet  19 1  und  19 .    29 ,  449–454. Lauffer,  S.  (19 1)  asserbauliche  anlagen  des  altertums  am  opaissee, asser i anti en ellas, 2 9–2 5. Braunschweig:  Leichtweiss- nst. Lauffer, S. (19 5)  roblemes du Copais: solutions et  nigmes.  n  .  oesch  and  G. Argoud  (eds)  a eotie nti ue,  101–10 .  aris, Editions du Centre national de la recherche scientifique. Lauffer,  S.  (19 )  o ais I ntersuchungen ur historischen andes unde Mittelgriechenlands.  rankfurt,  . Lang. Lehmann,  G.A.  (19 5)  Die y enisch r hgriechische elt und der stliche Mittel eerrau in der eit der ee l er In asionen. Leverkusen,  estdeutscher  erlag. Maggidis, C. (200 ) Mycenae abroad: Mycenaean foreign policy,  the Anatolian frontier, and the theory of overextension – reconstructing  an  integrated  causal  nexus  for  the  decline  and  fall  of  the  Mycenaean  world.  n  .  ousoulis  and  .  Magliveras  (eds) Mo ing cross orders: oreign elations eligion and Cultural Interactions in the ncient Mediterranean,  1–100.  Louvain,  eeters  ublishers. Maggidis,  C.  (2009)  Mycenaean  palatial  overextension  and  the  dynamics of the systems collapse of the Mycenaean world.  n  .  anielidou (ed.)  : ,  9 –41 . Athens, Academy of Athens. Maggidis,  C.  (2010)          M       .   1 5,  1– 9. Maggidis, C. (2011) Glas: archaeogeophysical survey 2010, 2011.  Available at: http: glas-excavations.org gis.html Maggidis, C. (201 )  ediscovering a giant. Po ular rchaeology. July issue. Available at https: popular-archaeology.com article rediscovering-a-giant1 Maggidis, C. (2019)  he palace throne at Mycenae: constructing  collective historical memory and power ideology.  n E. Borgna,  . Caloi,  .M. Carinci and  . Laffineur (eds) Mne e: Past and Me ory in the egean ron e ge. egaeu   1 ,  1 5–1 1.  Leuven – Li ge,  eeters. Maggidis,  C.  (in  press)  Glas  and  Mycenaean  regional  political  geography: recent discoveries and new theories.  n E.  arantzali  (ed.) he Peri hery o the Mycenaean orld,  rd International Interdisci linary Collo uiu a ia . Lamia.  Maran, J. (2009)  he crisis years   eflections on signs of instability  in  the  last  decades  of  the  Mycenaean  palaces.  cien e dell antichit toria rcheologia ntro ologia 15, 241–25 . McConnel,  B.E.  (19 –19 9)  ortifications  of  the  Lake  opais  drainage works. Dart outh Classical ournal 11,  –10 . Middleton, G. . (2010)  he Colla se o Palatial ociety in Greece and the Post alatial Period xford, Archaeopress. Middleton, G. . (201 )  he show must go on: collapse, resilience,  and  transformation  in  21st  century  archaeology.  e ie s in nthro ology 4 (2– ),  –105.

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Mountjoy,  .A.  (19 )  rcho enos Mycenaean Pottery ro rcho enos utresis and other oeotian ites. Munich,  erlag  der Bayerischen Akademie der  issenschaften. Muhly,  J. .  (1992)  he  crisis  years  in  the  Mediterranean  world:  transition  or  cultural  disintegration   n  .A.  ard  and  M.S.  Joukowsky (eds)  he Crisis ears: he th Century C ro eyond the Danu e to the igris, 10–2 .  ubuque,  endall Hunt. oack,  . (1 94) Arne. Mitteilungen des Deutschen rch ologischen Instituts 19, 405–494. osch, M.B. (200 )  he Mycenaean textile industry of the  admeia.  n  . Aravantinos (ed.)  ,  vol.  4:  ,  1 1–190. Athens,          . ur, A. and Cline, E.H. (2000)  oseidon’s horses: plate tectonics  and  earthquake  storms  in  the  Late  Bronze  Age  Aegean  and  eastern Mediterranean. ournal o rchaeological cience 2 (1), 4 – . odriguez  en,  E.  (200 )                :      .  n  . Aravantinos (ed.)        (2000 ,  vol.  4:  ,  1 1–190. Athens:          . utter, J. (1992) Cultural novelties in the post-palatial Aegean world:  indices of vitality or decline   n  .A.  ard and M.S. Joukowsky  (eds) he Crisis ears: he th Century C ro eyond the Danu e to the igris,  1– .  ubuque,  endall Hunt. Sampson, A. (19 5) La destruction d’un atelier palatial myc nien    h bes.  ulletin de corres ondance hell ni ue  109,  21–29. Sampson,  A.  (199 )  Cases  of  earthquakes  at  Myceanaean  and  pre-Mycenaean  hebes.  n  S.  Stiros  and  .E.  Jones  (eds)  rchaeoseis ology, 11 –115. Athens,  nstitute of Geology    Mineral Exploration and the British School at Athens. Schachermeyr,  . (19 0) Die g ische r h eit I : Griechenland i eitalter der anderungen.  ienna,  sterreichische  Akademie der  issenschaften. Schliemann, H. (1 1) Exploration of the Boeotian  rchomenos.  ournal o ellenic tudies 2, 122–1 . Shelmerdine, C. (199 )  eview of Aegean prehistory  .  erican ournal o rchaeology 101, 5 –5 5. Shelmerdine,  C.  (2001)  he  palatial  Bronze  Age  of  the  Greek  mainland.  n  .  Cullen  (ed.)  egean Prehistory e ie ,  29– . Boston: Archaeological  nstitute of America. Shelmerdine,  C.  (ed.)  (200 )  he Ca ridge Co anion to the egean ron e ge.  Cambridge,  Cambridge  University  ress. Spyropoulos,  .  (19 4)                .  thens nnals o rchaeology ,  1 – 24. Spyropoulos,  .  and  Chadwick,  J.  (19 5)  he es a lets II Salamanca, Universidad de Salamanca. Symeonoglou,  S.  (19 )  ad eia I: Mycenaean inds ro he es Greece: ca ation at edi us t.  G teborg,  str m. Symeonoglou,  S.  (19 5)  he o ogra hy o he es ro the ron e ge to Modern i es.  rinceton,  rinceton University  ress. hrepsiades,  .  (1955)  A    ( )  .    110,  121–124.

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sources crites. Louvain-la- euve,  partement d’arch ologie  et d’histoire de l’art. ermeule, E. (19 0)  he fall of the Mycenaean empire.  rchaeology 1 ,  – 5. all e,  L.  (1999)  as  the  disruption  of  the  Mycenaean  world  caused  by  repeated  epidemics  of  bubonic  plague   uscula theniensia 24, 121–12 . ard,  .A. and Joukowsky, M.S. (eds) (1992)  he Crisis ears: he th Century C ro eyond the Danu e to the igris. ubuque,  endall Hunt. eiss, B. (19 2)  he decline of Bronze Age civilization as a possible response to climatic change. Cli atic Change 4, 1 –19 . angger,  E.  (1994)  Landscape  changes  around  iryns  during  the Bronze Age. erican ournal o rchaeology  9 ,  1 0–212.

13 The Argolid Tobias Mühl enbruch

The aim of this paper is to compare the situation in the Argolid between the thirteenth and twelfth centuries BC, with the collapse of the palaces tentatively dated at the turn of the century.1 In this contribution, the whole thirteenth century BC, LH IIIB1 and LH IIIB2, is covered because of  the  difficulty  in  dating  LH  B  tombs  to  one  of  the  sub-phases.  his  is  due  to  the  definition  of  LH  B1  and  LH IIIB2 pottery being based on their settlement context (Mountjoy 1986, 121). Mycenaean culture is understood as an archaeologically defined phenomenon, which is primarily  based  on  specific  elements  of  the  material  culture  without  ethnic or political interpretations (cf. Childe 1929, also e.g. Davis and Bennet 1999, 111–114). There are several reasons why the Argolid is of paramount importance for the history of the so-called Mycenaean culture. They also apply to the period in question, the late Mycenaean palatial period, LH IIIB, and the postpalatial period, LH IIIC. Firstly, by the 1880s the excavator of Mycenae and Tiryns, Schliemann, noticed indications of a massive destruction at both sites. At that time, he concluded that both settlements had been destroyed during the same event. This event, explained by Schliemann as the ‘Dorian invasion’ and dated to c. 1100BC, now marks the end of the palatial period. Schliemann’s extreme view of the consequences of this ‘radical change’ (Mü hlenbruch 2003a, 47; Schliemann 1 ,  9 )  may  have  even  influenced  researchers  after  the  end of World War II (e.g. Desborough 1964). Secondly, two extraordinarily important sites are situated in the Argolid: Mycenae and Tiryns. At the former, Schliemann excavated the famous first Grave Circle ( Grave  Circle A’) within the citadel (Schliemann 1878) and consequently the site became eponymous for Mycenaean culture. At  iryns,  Schliemann  and  rpfeld  excavated  the  first 

Mycenaean ‘palace’ (Schliemann 1886) – or rather, the first  example  of  building  complexes  which  we  refer  to  as  ‘palaces’. Thirdly, the settlement history of Tiryns in the postpalatial period is unique (e.g. Maran 2010, 726–731; Mü hlenbruch 2013) and highly important to the topic of this volume and this chapter. Additionally, the Argolid is not only well-known for its palaces and settlements of the thirteenth and twelfth centuries BC, but also for the corresponding burials – especially tholos tombs and/or chamber tombs in the vicinity of Mycenae, Tiryns, Midea, Argos and Asine (e.g. Alden 1981; Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 61–102; Eder 1998, 25–71). Moreover, the stratigraphy of Tiryns and Mycenae, and above all the careful excavation and documentation by Kilian in the Lower Citadel of Tiryns, have helped us study the history of the settlements and the development of the pottery in close detail. Nevertheless, it is important to differentiate between architectural phases and pottery phases to avoid circular arguments.2 Finally, the Argolid is of special importance for the history of research pertaining to Mycenaean culture. Several well-known archaeologists excavated Mycenaean sites in this region alongside and after Schliemann.3 R egarding the terminology, I have adopted the dynamic concept of archaeological culture by Gramsch, which is that  culture change must be regarded as a rule, although there can be periods of  increased changes’ (Gramsch 2009).  or these  periods, I have introduced the term ‘Kulturumbruch’, i.e. radical culture change’.  hese events are defined as periods  with massive discontinuity in various aspects of people’s lives both in the material and immaterial worlds (structures/ objects and acts). These changes are likely to have happened suddenly and within a limited period of time – perhaps 20

Tobias Mü hlenbruch

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ig

he rgolid ith i

ortant sites o

III C

na asi ditions ans ir odified y o ias M hlen ruch

Table 13.1 The Argolid in LH III B/ C: chronological chart rchitectural Phase iryns LH III B Early LH III B Middle LH III B Developed LH III B Final LH III C Early/‘R uinenbewohnung’ LH III C Early (Middle/Young) LH III C Developed LH III C Advanced LH III C Advanced LH III C Late LH III C Late

Architectural ori on iryns

Pottery Phase

15a0–15a3 16a0–16a7 17a0–17a3 17a4–18 19a0–19a1 19b0–19c 20a0–20a3 21a0–21a1 21b0–21d 22a0–22b 22c0–22d

LH III B1 LH III B Mid = LH III B2 Early LH III B2 Late LH III B2 Late LH III C Early 1 LH III C Early 2 (‘tower’) LH III C Middle 1/Developed LH III C Middle 1/Developed LH III C Middle 2/Advanced LH III C Middle 2/Advanced LH III C Late

Architectural Phase Mycenae VI A–VI B VII–VIII VIII VIII IX X XI XI XI XI  (first part)

solute chronology BC c. 1300– c. –1200 c. 1200–

c. –1050

13. The Argolid years or even less. A radical culture change may have only occurred at one site, but if it is recognised for a larger region, it should be regarded as more dramatic. In archaeology, destruction horizons; abandonments of regions, settlements or burial sites; new establishments or land-takings are the primary indicators for radical culture changes (Mü hlenbruch 2017b, 215). Certainly, the degree of culture change may be interpreted in different ways and is always dependent on perspective. Moreover, the use of terms such as ‘primitive’ or ‘improvement’ should be avoided in evaluations of such processes. This is why I feel uncomfortable with the term ‘collapse’, as it has negative connotations (e.g. Middleton 2017). Furthermore, there are two sides to every process and  to  every  culture  change   some  people  benefit,  others  do not (cf.  Gramsch  2009,  14–19,  22  f.).  hus,    am  in  total agreement with Deger-Jalkotzy, who pointed out the existence of ‘Negative Aspects of the Mycenaean Palace System’ (Deger-Jalkotzy 1996). Although the frescoes in the Mycenaean palaces were colourful, the life of many people at that time could have been tough (e.g. Maran 2009a, 255; Mü hlenbruch 2017c). R egarding the time span of radical culture changes, I am also in favour of a limited period (cf. Middleton 2017, 10 citing R enfrew 1984, 366, 369). It is important to keep in mind our restricted abilities for dating and/or synchronising structures or events accurately without appropriate written sources, especially if we are not in possession of the stratigraphy (Mü hlenbruch 2017a with further references). However, this is not the case in the Argolid. The processes in the landscape around 1200 BC are, in my opinion, a case of radical culture change that happened within a limited period (Mü hlenbruch 2017b, 216–218). Nevertheless, I will focus on the settlements and give only a brief summary of the tombs such as in LH III, in which people were buried primarily in collective burials and which were used over a longer period of time (e.g. Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 61–102). As such, these burials are not closed contexts that would present better possibilities for reconstructing developments.

T h e s e t t l e m e n t s ys t e m

an

d th e s e ttle m e n ts

To better understand the Mycenaean settlement system of the Argolid, a short introduction to this region is useful. When dealing with the Argolid, we must bear in mind that the  region  and  its  borders  are  defined  in  modern  political  terms. It is part of the north-eastern Peloponnese and comprises various natural sub-regions. The Argos plain with its fertile soils, the Inachos and its good access to the Argolic Gulf are of special importance, as indicated by the location  of the settlements of Argos, Mycenae, Midea and Tiryns. Mountains enclose the Argos plain to the west, to the north, and to the east. The importance of Argos in the west, which

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is not limited to the LH  B C period, is difficult to evaluate,  since building has occurred there from antiquity until today. We cannot discount the possible existence of valuable structures at this site. Mycenae was strategically well-situated in the northern corner of the Argos plain and able to control a pass to the Corinthia. If Argos served as a Mycenaean fortification against the west, Midea can be interpreted as a  fortification against the east.  he proximity of  iryns to the  coast during the Late Bronze Age is a strong argument for the interpretation of the site as the harbour of the Argos plain.4 The overall picture of the settlement history of LH IIIB and LH IIIC is characterised by impressive changes. The citadels of Mycenae and Tiryns with the palaces, as well as the citadel of Midea, were destroyed at the end of LH IIIB, but they continued to be inhabited during LH IIIC. The smaller sites in particular seem to be abandoned, which resulted in a more regional settlement structure. At the beginning of LH  C,  iryns may have profited from some  sort of synoi is os, perhaps resulting from movement of people from the smaller sites.5 R egarding sources and the state of research, one should keep in mind that the Mycenaean Argolid has been the centre of attention for more than 140 years, and the primary focus of settlement archaeology has been palaces and citadels. Consequently, our knowledge of ‘villages’ and ‘farmsteads’, etc., is limited (Mü hlenbruch 2013, 285). Berbati, dating to the prepalatial and the palatial period, is an exception deserving special attention, although architectural remains are sparse. Nonetheless, based on the pictorial pottery found at the site and on the Neutron Activation Analyses of pictorial pottery from the eastern Mediterranean, the importance of Berbati as a palatial-era pottery production centre in the Argolid, producing pictorial decorated vessels for export, is affirmed.6 The LH IIIB farmhouse at Chania near Mycenae, which is another important site in this respect, must also be mentioned here (Palaiologou 20157). Asine must be regarded, in my opinion, as a kind of ‘village’. Partly excavated between WWI and WWII, with seven structures of special interest, we are able, thanks to the PhD thesis of Sjöberg, to differentiate the buildings according to the recent chronological framework. Apart from the shrine of Asine, the dating of most of the buildings to LH IIIC Middle and LH IIIC Late is remarkable. This development may have been the result of a movement of people in the postpalatial Argolid, which may relate to the function of the settlement as a harbour.8 While the excavation of a village, a farmstead or similar small sites may not be considered economically viable, insofar as  only’ pottery and some small finds might come to  light, I would like to point out that they can reveal important discoveries and new information – e.g. Berbati, Chania or the unexpected evidence of Linear B at Iklaina in Messenia are cases in point (Shelmerdine 2012).

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Unfortunately, no large Linear B archive has been found in the Argolid. Still, the archaeological data for the palatial period in the Argolid can be interpreted as evidence of a distinctive settlement system, just as it has been reconstructed for Messenia based on the Linear B texts from the palace of Pylos (Stavrianopoulou 1989).

T h e l an

d s c ap

e an

d t h e ‘ i n f r as t r u c t u r e ’

urning to these aspects, it is difficult to date the Mycenaean  roads and bridges in the Argolid. Nonetheless, I do not think we are mistaken in assuming that they were built in general during the palatial period (Jansen 1994; Hope Simpson and Hagel 2006, 144–175). Mycenaean water management constructions are of special interest, so two sites will be mentioned  here.  he Agios  Georgios  bridge’  at  Mycenae  has been discussed as a possible Mycenaean reservoir dam, which may have been erected in LH IIIA2/B. The dam and

canal of Kophini (near Tiryns) is dated to the end of the palatial period, since it redirected a river whose periodic flooding  would  have  affected  the  area  of  a  new  quarter  of  the settlement – the Northern Lower Town.9

Mycenae A few years ago, French distinguished six stages of ‘palaces’ in Mycenae, although the existence of ‘Palace I’–‘Palace III’ and ‘Palace VI’, the last one dating to the postpalatial period (sic! ), is very questionable. Here, the stages IV–VI, dating to LH IIIA2–C, are discussed.10 At the beginning of LH IIIB, ‘Palace IV’, erected in LH III A2, was still in use. Concerning the citadel itself, i.e. with stage  alace  ’, the fortification was extended to the west  and, from that time onwards, enclosed the areas of Grave  Circle A, the Cult Centre, etc.  he  Lion  Gate  stood  and  served as the main gate. The North (-west) Q uarter belongs to this stage, and the erection of the South-west Q uarter

ig he citadel o Mycenae Mycenae rchi e: li a eth Postgate rench fig ion Gate Granary Gra e Circle Great a ittle a a ouse ouse o the arrior ase outh ouse ith nne Processional ay Megaron hrine Ga a sountas ouse Central Court e le oo ith the resco ellenistic o er est Gate outh est uarter orth uarter ouse M Palace ith Megaron rtisans uarter ouse o Colu ns ouse Delta ouse Ga a orth toreroo s orth Postern Gate Cistern orth sally ort outh sally ort ouse l ha ouse eta

13. The Argolid may also belong to this stage, as well as other buildings. Outside the citadel/in the ‘Town’, the following are also connected with this stage: building activity in the Pezoulia area (Petsas’ House area and Cyclopean Terrace Building); the House of the Tripod tomb as well as the ‘Workshop’ next to it  probably the  lakes House  definitely the  vory  Houses’, the Panagia Houses and the House of Lead. The end of this stage has been connected with an earthquake.11 Stage ‘Palace V’ succeeded ‘Palace IV’ and is dated to LH B2 (compare  rench 2002, 10 fig. 1,  rench and Shelton  2005, 177). The inhabitants repaired building damage in a ‘shoddy’ way, then erected the last palace at the centre of the citadel. This palace can still be seen today. The new structures are  the  Grand  Staircase’,  which  is  attached  to  the  palace  complex; the ramp system next to the Cult Centre; the North Gate  the Complex with House M and, finally, Building  .  By adding the North-east Extension to the citadel wall with two sally ports, the access to an underground cistern became enclosed in the acropolis. Stage ‘Palace V’ came to an end in widespread destruction caused by fire12. This destruction is considered to have happened more or less synchronously with the catastrophes at Tiryns and Midea. Outside the citadel, the habitation of Panagia Houses II and III; the House of the Tripod tomb; the Cyclopean Terrace Building and the Plakes House can be dated to stage ‘Palace V’. Due to survey  projects,  we  do  know  about  a  fortified  town  of  ca. 30 hectares around the citadel – dating to LH IIIA/B(?).13 Stage ‘Palace VI’ belongs to LH III C (French and Shelton 2005, 177). The structures in the Megaron area, however,  cannot  be  dated  definitely  to  the  postpalatial  period. The same is true for activities within the area above the Megaron (rooms 11 and 41), at Grave Circle A, and for  Houses A and B in the North-east Extension. In contrast, new buildings in LH IIIC Early were erected in the area of the House of the Columns, as were House N, the buildings first  of  phase  ,  later  of  phase    in  the  area  of  the  Cult  Centre, a room in the Tsountas Corridor, and structures in the South-west Q uarter. The LH IIIC pottery found in the palatial Houses C and D, the Complex with House M and in the House of the Warrior Vase point, in my opinion, towards postpalatial habitation soon after the destructions of LH IIIB – thus in LH IIIC Early/from LH IIIC Early onwards. f the Granary was constructed during the palatial period,  the same would be true for this building. During LH IIIC Middle, further building activities took place in the area of the Cult Centre (phase XI) as well as in the South-west Q uarter. The House of the Warrior Vase and the Granary, on the other hand, were destroyed at the  end of LH IIIC Advanced. The destruction of structures in the South-west Q uarter cannot yet be dated precisely.14 The evidence of LH IIIC settlement structures in the ‘Town’ of Mycenae is modest.15 We do know about LH IIIC Early habitation of the House of the Tripod Tomb (Onasoglou 1995) and about the abandonment of the nearby ‘Workshop’ at LH IIIC Developed (Danielidou 2008, 260 f.;

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Tournavitou 2015, 51 fn. 32). This underlines the importance of the excavation of the East House in this area, a complex of LH IIIC Middle/Late (Tournavitou 2015).

T iryns Having been under intensive study since 1884 (Schliemann 1886), the citadel of Tiryns has not ceased in delivering important contributions to our knowledge of the Aegean Bronze Age and especially to the decades in question here.16 The site of Tiryns consists of a ridge with the Citadel – subdivided by height into the Upper, Middle and Lower Citadel – and the ‘Lower Town’ in the surrounding plain (e.g. Maran 2010, 722). At the beginning of LH IIIB, the LH IIIA palace on the Upper  Citadel  with  the  first  Great  Megaron  and  the  first  cyclopean  fortification  wall  restricted  to  this  area  were  still in use.17 Statements about the structures on the Middle Citadel are difficult to make – was it used at least partially  and temporarily as a kind of palatial garden, or even as a kind of zoo, which is suggested by the remains of lions?18 Thanks to Kilian’s intensive excavation and detailed documentation of the Lower Citadel between 1976 and 1983, we are in possession of stratigraphy and aware of room complexes from LH IIIA2/B1 in this area. Due to more recent building activities, the size of the relevant trench was limited and, thus, it is impossible to give details about the settlement structure.  evertheless, the first (non-Cyclopean) fortification of the Lower Citadel could be dated to  ‘LH III B1’.19 The state of research regarding the ‘Lower Town’ in LH IIIB is unsatisfactory (Maran 2009a, 248; Mü hlenbruch 2013, 256–258 with further references20). If the construction of House M is indeed to be dated to ‘the advanced thirteenth century BC’, earlier walls associated with ‘the same pottery’ may be dated to LH  B Early Middle (Gercke and Hiesel  1971, 15–17). Of special interest are the recent campaigns of Maran in the western ‘Lower Town’ that have brought to light architecture of LH IIIA2 (together with a fragment of a Linear B-tablet) and LH IIIB Early. This could mean that from an early stage of LH  B onwards, the western fortification of the citadel could have served as a kind of ‘sunny side’, since the view on it was undisturbed by buildings.21 After extensive damage from an earthquake (?) (Kilian 1988b, 134), in LH IIIB Developed/Final, Tiryns was transformed extensively. Therefore, Lauter coined the expression about Tiryns being a ‘Mycenaean Versailles’ as opposed to Mycenae being the corresponding ‘Louvre’. At the Upper Citadel, the last palace was built, which realised not only an elaborate complex with frescoes, amongst other elements, but also a spatially very well-organised structure. The hierarchy of spaces from the outside to the inside culminated in the new Great Megaron with its monumental hearth and  throne22. The erection of the Western Staircase and the Southern  and  Eastern  Galleries  at  the  Upper  Citadel  are  contemporary (e.g. Maran 2015, 280).

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ig

he site o iryns

ose h Maran

13. The Argolid The Lower Citadel in LH IIIB Developed/Final was extensively re-organised as well. A massive wall to the Middle  Citadel  was  erected  ( ilian  19 b,  1 2  fig.  9  LH B2’ ), as well as the fortification wall in the cyclopean style. Several chambers in the wall could have served as storage facilities and for archers. The ‘Syringes’, i.e. two underground cisterns, were also integrated in the citadel at that time ensuring the water supply. The North Passage is a narrow postern gate that gave limited access from the ‘Lower Town’ to the north-western part of the Lower Citadel. However, even during the late palatial period, this strategically thought-out concept was replaced. We know this because Maran found, while excavating in this area, that the  orth  assage had been closed and the  orth Gate was  set into the fortification wall next to the northern tip of the  Lower Citadel. It is possible that at the same time several of the chambers were walled up as well.23 The settlement of the Lower Citadel now comprised courtyards and open spaces, as well as several large building complexes, e.g. corridor houses, which were structured by north–southorientated terraces. The buildings served the purposes of living, crafting on different levels from daily to specialised (in the context of the palace), storage, administrative and cult activities. The detailed study of the stratigraphy and of the settlement history from Kilian’s excavations was published by Damm-Meinhardt (2015).24 For the ‘Lower Town’, building activities of LH IIIB Developed/Final, again our knowledge is limited ( emakopoulou  and  alakou  19 2   Gercke  and  Hiesel  1971, 15–17: perhaps house M). Stratigraphically, an immense destruction horizon marks the end of LH IIIB, matching the one at Mycenae. For Schliemann (1886, 97), who was excavating mainly on the Upper Citadel, this was reason enough to determine that this event was the end of the  civilisation  of  Greece’  (see  also  Maran  2009a).  he  Lower Citadel was affected by the destruction as well (Damm-Meinhardt 2015, see also e.g. Kilian 1980, 177). Kilian assumed an earthquake was responsible for the destruction (e.g.  ilian  19 0,  1 4  fig.  )  and  interpreted  two skeletons next to building X as victims of this event (Kilian 1982, 408). Today, with respect to Tiryns and Midea, this theory has become unlikely (Hinzen et al. 2018; see also Maran 2009a). Immediately after the destruction, restructuring and rebuilding on the Upper Citadel clearly took place. In the  eastern  part  of  the  former  Great  Megaron,  Building    was erected. It is highly probable that the eastern part was deliberately selected as this had been the area of the throne in  the  former  Great  Megaron  –  a  highly  symbolic  place.  The rebuilding of the altar in front of Building T, now in a ‘square platform-like structure’, probably took place at roughly the same time. Pithoi may have been positioned behind Building T. Some parts of the Upper Citadel were cleaned of destruction debris, others again were left in situ.

127

I agree with Maran about a long period of use of Building T, probably the whole postpalatial period.25 In the Lower Citadel, evidently more or less immediately after the destruction, the first buildings were erected  – Horizon 19a, the so-called ‘R uinenbewohnung’, characterised as a kind of temporary construction (Damm-Meinhardt 2015, 247–284 with further references). At the end of LH C Early one finds Horizon 19b1, which   have called the  initial horizon’, because it is the first postpalatial settlement  which covered nearly the whole western part of the Lower Citadel and whose principal structure remained unchanged until LH IIIC Late. This is especially true for the orientation of the buildings, for the ‘roads’, for the three courtyards and for the sequence of three shrines. In my opinion, the palatial Building   was re-erected at that time in a modified way  (‘Building VIa’). We do not know of many building activities from LH IIIC Developed, but LH IIIC Advanced saw new and important developments, e.g. the erection of the rooms 127 and 115. The sub-phase LH IIIC Advanced ended partly in destruction (rooms 110.115.127a.b). According to seismological studies, we now know that the reason for this was not an earthquake. R ebuilding took place even in LH IIIC Late (e.g. room 110a.127a.b) with room complex 106.a.124 deserving special attention. Late in LH IIIC Late, e.g. R oom 104.a marked the end of the Late Bronze Age in Tiryns.26 The importance of the postpalatial ‘Lower Town’ was already recognised by Kilian who reconstructed an enlarged settlement of Tiryns as well as a regular plan (e.g. Kilian 1980, 173). More recent excavations by Maran have proven him right. Maran suggested that the postpalatial ‘Lower Town’ went back to a late palatial ‘master plan’, including the redirection of the stream by building the dam of Kophini (Maran 2009a, 254 f.; Maran 2010, 730 f.; Maran 2015, 284). (The existing knowledge of a project of the palatial times during LH III C points to the involvement of former palatial officials.)  onetheless, the  urbanisation’ seems to  have come to an end already in the first half of the postpalatial period (Maran and Papadimitriou 2016, 112). We do know about quarters of LH IIIC, which were, in general, to the north of the Lower Citadel (excavation by Demakopoulou), of LH IIIC Early–Developed in Sector North-west (excavation by Maran and Papadimitriou 2013–2015), of LH IIIC Early/Middle? in Sector Northwest (excavation by Kilian), of LH IIIC Early–Advanced in Sector North-east (excavation by Maran and Papadimitriou 1999/2000), and of LH IIIC Advanced or Late in Sector East  ( Megaron’    and  House  excavation  by  Gercke  and Hiesel).27

Midea Midea is the third citadel of the Argolid and has also been the focus of large-scale and detailed excavations during recent decades.

Tobias Mü hlenbruch

128

ig

iryns uilding o

III C on the

er Citadel

ose h Maran Maran

fig

13. The Argolid

ig

129

he citadel o Midea atie De a o oulou De a o oulou et al

Unfortunately, we do not know much about building activities at Midea until LH IIIB2 Early. Nonetheless, from then onwards, the hill hosting the citadel was surrounded by a cyclopean fortification wall against all but the south-east side,  which was already protected by a steep slope. At the east and west side, two main gates could be identified.  n addition, a  vaulted gallery (the ‘syrinx’) was located to the south-west. he remains of a terrace wall outside the fortification may  be interpreted as a wall enclosing the ‘Lower Town’. The interior of the citadel is subdivided into the Upper and Lower Acropolis. Due to erosion, our knowledge of the Late Bronze Age Upper Acropolis is limited – was there also a palace at Midea? – However, we do know about several buildings on the terraces of the Lower Citadel as well as in the vicinities of the  est Gate and the East Gate.  rimarily, they belong  to the LH IIIB2 period. The entire site is said to have been destroyed by intense fire around 1200 BC – roughly at the same time as the catastrophes at Tiryns and Mycenae. In this context, a building sequence on the eastern Lower Terraces deserves special attention. A kind of LH IIIB2 ‘Megaron’ was replaced by a LH IIIC Early building, comparable to Building T from Tiryns.28 Another room of LH  C Early was identified in the neighbourhood of the  ‘syrinx’, which was no longer in use. At Midea, victims of the  catastrophe  have  been  identified  as  well.  o  a  certain 

fig

degree, the fortification wall was also repaired in the postpalatial period. Midea remained inhabited until LH IIIC Late.29

T h e t om

b s

The most prominent types of tombs of LH III are tholos and chamber tombs. This is also true of the Argolid. Unfortunately, due to more recent activities at the tholos tombs of Mycenae, Tiryns and Dendra, we do not have any secure feature that would, for example, allow us to reconstruct the treatment of the buried people. It is highly probable that the most elaborate tholoi are the ‘kingly’ tombs and dated to LH IIIA/B. In contrast, multiple non-cremation burials are attested by the chamber tombs, which are usually found with pottery and other objects. R egarding continuity or change from LH IIIB to LH IIIC, Cavanagh and Mee (1998, 61–102) stated specifically about LH  C:  Certainly some chamber  tomb cemeteries ceased at the end of LH IIIB, but because the associated settlement was abandoned. Where sites continued so did the cemetery, and new settlements have new cemeteries … This apparent continuity, however, can mask rather different situations: old tombs continuing in use … new tombs constructed in old cemeteries … and new cemeteries … and old tombs reused …’ On this, Alden’s PhD, although published in 1981, remains very valuable.

130

Tobias Mü hlenbruch

R egarding the Lower Citadel of Tiryns, attention must be paid to burials without grave offerings, which are dated to LH IIIB2 and LH III C Early. The latter may have been victims of destructions or may be interpreted in relation to a regular burial rite that was practiced for only a very short period. Further studies on intramural Mycenaean burials without grave offerings are needed.30

I n t e r p r e t at i on The development of the political, social, economic, religious and ideological sectors in the Argolid, as well as knowledge of daily life at the end of the palatial period and during the postpalatial period, have been the topic of several contributions made primarily by Maran during recent decades.31  he first  question to be asked is – was  Mycenaean Greece’ a united  kingdom, or were there several independent kingdoms? The second question is whether the term ‘Tanaja’, known from Egyptian sources, was the name of a kingdom in the Argolid (e.g. Eder and Jung 2015; Kelder 2010; Panagiotopoulos 2008, 28 f.). In addition, I would also like to ask the question whether our search for a Mycenaean capital (or capitals) may be anachronistic. Although neighbouring empires did have a capital, e.g. the Hittites (e.g. Seeher 2002), might it be possible that Mycenaean Greece could have been ruled  by a kind of itinerant kingship (compare Maran 2006a, 84 regarding the Argolid)? At least during LH IIIB, the Argolid itself is likely to have been united under the rule of the ana of Mycenae (e.g. Maran 2004, 274f.32). Thus, Tiryns should be regarded as a second palace of the same ruler and Midea could perhaps be interpreted as a third residence.33 The two megarons of Tiryns need not necessarily be attributed to the ana and the lawagetas, but to the ana and his ‘deputy’ at Tiryns instead (Kilian 1987, 32; Maran 2006a, 85; Matz 1956, 114 f.). Following the destructions, Tiryns must have become the principal site in LH III C Argolid (e.g. Maran 2006b, 144; Maran 2008c; Mü hlenbruch 2013, 319). In my opinion, Building T served as a meeting-house for the most prominent groups at Tiryns and for a ‘leader’ at that time. These people, who may have been officials in the former palace-administration, could have summoned all their experience to rebuild the site (e.g. Mü hlenbruch 2013, 268 f.). Buildings at Tiryns that may have been associated with these people and other groups are Building VIa, room complexes 127.a.b and 106.a.124, room 8/00 and ‘Megaron’ W, dating to different sub-phases (e.g. Mü hlenbruch 2013, 272, 353 f.). Without written sources, we cannot draw absolute conclusions about the political system or terms for the ‘leaders’ in the postpalatial period, or about the social structure (e.g. Deger-Jalkotzy 1991; Deger-Jalkotzy 1995, 375–37734). As for Tiryns, it was certainly important for the elite or ‘socio-politically’ ambitious persons to refer to the past.35 In comparison with the rulers of the palatial period

they obviously had less power, especially in the religious and symbolic spheres. Then, concerning different aspects, agona, that is competitive activities, must have played an important role in social life.36 Turning to the economy, I will not repeat the characteristics of the palatial period which have already been described several times. What intrigues me is the theory that, until the end of LH IIIB, parts of Crete may have been ‘vassals’ of mainland Mycenaean Greek palace states.  n addition, the  differences between ‘imported’ objects from Mycenae (especially from Egypt) and Tiryns (especially from Cyprus) are striking. Otherwise, a quite pessimistic picture emerges. At the end of the palatial period, the immense building activities in the Argolid may have put too great a strain on people, while lands and soils may have been overexploited. Longdistance trade may have suffered and, with the postpalatial period, several fine arts, specialised crafts and technology  were more or less lost. Primarily potters, bronze smiths and shipbuilders are recognised for making higher quality products in this period. Nevertheless, the excavations at Tiryns have once again proven the existence of trade between the Argolid and Crete until LH IIIC Middle, and we should not forget about the ‘positive’ effects that the end of the palace economy had on the environment.37 R egarding cult (e.g. Palaima 2008), although a comparison between LH  B and LH  C is difficult (M hlenbruch  2010, 100–103 regarding the Lower Citadel of Tiryns), I would cautiously argue in favour of a transition from one phase to the other. On the one hand, in LH IIIC Early, room 117 in the Lower Citadel of Tiryns was equipped extraordinarily  and  the  figurines  of  LH  C  Middle  from  room 110 are, in my opinion, masterpieces (Kilian 1981, 53–55). On the other hand, the equipment of Building T – without a monumental hearth or highly religiously charged frescoes – led Maran to the conclusion of ‘a much sharper line of division’ in LH IIIC ‘between sacred and profane power’ (Maran 2006b, 142). I believe that it is undisputable that cult was an important aspect of society in postpalatial times and that the relevant specialists played an important role (Mü hlenbruch 2010, 103).

S u m m ar y To sum up – with the catastrophes at the end of LH IIIB, which occurred in a limited period of time, it was primarily the palatial sphere of Mycenaean culture that got lost in the Argolid (e.g. Deger-Jalkotzy 1991; Deger-Jalkotzy 1995, 375; R utter 1992, 70). Tiryns is of special importance for the decades after the destruction as people continued to live at the site. They reorganised the settlement and new ways of life came into being. Obviously, in several aspects the palatial past played important roles for the inhabitants (e.g. Maran 2006b). Nonetheless, I would describe the events of c. 1200 BC as ‘radical culture change’ in the Argolid.

13. The Argolid

A c k n ow

l e d gm

e n ts

For helpful discussions, I would like to thank U. DammMeinhardt, J. Maran, G. . Middleton and  h. Stockhammer  and for the improvement of my English style, F. Hobson and D. Sasseville.

P os t s c r i p t In accordance with Maran (2017) today I would not use the term Mycenaean ‘culture’ anymore.

Notes 1

R egarding the absolute chronology, see most recently Mü hlenbruch 2017a. Although it was published more than 30 years ago, Kilian 1980 must be mentioned at the beginning of every contribution on the Argolid in LH III B/C. 2 Damm-Meinhardt 2015, 285–294; French 2011, 2 Tab. 1; rench  and  Stockhammer  2009   ilian  19 a,  1 2  fig.  2   Mü hlenbruch 2013, 3, 359–392; Podzuweit 2007, Beilage 84; Stockhammer 2008; e-mail by Stockhammer [ 24.01.2018] ; Wardle 2015. The chronological schemes for Mycenae differ from each other. 3 I mention only a selection of late excavators Dörpfeld, Karo, Verdelis and Kilian (Tiryns) (e.g. Maran 2010, 722 f.), Tsountas, Wace, Taylor, Verdelis, Mylonas, Iakovidis (Mycenae) (e.g. French 2010, 671 f.; Iakovidis 1983, 23 f.; Verdelis 1961), Blegen (Prosymna) (Blegen 1937) or Persson and Verdelis (Dendra/Midea) (e.g. Persson 1942; Verdelis 1967). 4 Demakopoulou 2015; French 2010; Iakovidis 1983, 21, 23; Kilian 1980, 168–171; Maran 2010, 722; Papadimitriou, Philippa-Touchais and Touchais 2015; Sjöberg 2004, 71 f.; Voutsaki 2010, 599. 5 E.g.  lin 19 2, 10–54   eger-Jalkotzy 200   emakopoulou  2015  Eder 199 , 25– 1, especially 2  fig.    situation in LH   A B , 29– 2 incl.  0 fig. 4   rench 2010  Hope Simpson  1981, 8–32; Kilian 1980, 171, 173; Maran 2010; Shelton 2010, 143–146; Voutsaki 2010, 605–607. 6 E.g.  kerstr m  19   Mommsen  and  Maran  2000–2001   Schallin 2015; Sjöberg 2004, 73 f. 7 Iakovidis 2003, 122 dated the site to LH III C, according to information provided by the excavator. 8 Frödin and Persson 1938; Mü hlenbruch 2013, 304–309, especially 305–309; Sjöberg 2004. 9 Hope Simpson and Hagel 2006, 176–184; Knauss 2001; Maran 2010, 728; Maran 2015, 280. 10 French 2002, e.g.  10  fig.  1,  4   fig.  14   rench  and  Shelton  2005, 177; French 2010, 677 concerning ‘Palace VI’. 11 In general French 2002, e.g.  10  fig.  1,  52  fig.  1   rench  2010, 674–676; French and Shelton 2005, 177. See also S.E. Iakovidis and E.B. French in Andreadi 2003, 12; Danielidou 2008 in combination with French 2010, 674; Maggidis 2014; Wardle 2015; http://www.mycenae-excavations.org/ lower_ town.html (04.01.2018). 12 French 2010, 677. See also French 2002, 51–64. R egarding House M etc.: Iakovidis 1983, 50–53. R egarding Building K: http://www.mycenae-excavations.org/citadel.html (04.01.2018).

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13 Mountjoy 1993, 147, 149 f.; Mü hlenbruch 2013, 298 (There, I did not mention Panagia House II, because it was abandoned earlier than Panagia House III.); Mylonas Shear 1987, especially 156 f.; N.N. in: Andreadi 2003, 48 f., 54–56; Onasoglou 1995, 149 f. See also French 2002, 64–69; http://www. mycenae-excavations.org/lower_ town.html (04.01.2018); Maggidis 2014. 14 Mü hlenbruch 2013, 287–300, especially 289–298, citing primarily Albers 1994, French 2002, French 2011, Iakovidis 1983, Iakovidis 1986, Mylonas 1968. See also French 2010, 677 f. 15 E.g. Mü hlenbruch 2013, 298. R egarding the ‘Town’ of Mycenae in general: http://www.mycenae-excavations.org/ lower_ town.html [ 04.01.2018] ; Maggidis 2014. 1   Still very useful:  ilian 19 b, 1 2 fig. 9. 17 E.g. Kilian 1988b, 134; Maran 2010, 725; Maran 2015, 278–280. See also Maran 2001a. 18 Although found in LH III B2/C contexts – cf. Mü hlenbruch 2013, 256 with further references, e.g. von den Driesch and Boessneck 1990, 110 f., concerning skeletal remains from lions. 19  ilian 19 a, 12 –141   ilian 19 b, 1 2 fig. 9, 1 4  Maran  2010, 725. 20 Concentrating on LH III B2 Late – in trenches A and B there were  no  settlement  remains  (Gercke  and  Hiesel  19 1,  2  f.,  misinterpretation by Mü hlenbruch), compare Verdelis 1963, 1 based on Mü ller and Oelmann 1912, 127. 21 Maran 2007, 216 f.; Maran 2008a; Maran 2009b; Maran 2011a; personal communication by J. Maran. 22 E.g.  ilian  19 b,  1 2  fig.  9  LH B2’   ilian  19 c   Kü pper 1996, 111–118; Lauter 1987, 225; Maran 2006a; Maran 2010, 726–729; Maran 2015, 280–282; Mü hlenbruch 2003b, 482 f.; Thaler 2009. 23 E.g. Maran 2008b; Maran 2010, 726, 728; Maran 2015, 280, 282. R egarding the chambers see also Damm-Meinhardt 2015, 247 f., e.g. Kilian 1980, 173. 24 See also e.g. Kilian 1980, 173; Kilian 1982, 428; Maran 2010, 726, 728. 25 E.g. Kardamaki 2015a; Kardamaki 2015b; Kilian 1981, 51–53; Maran 2000; Maran 2001b; Maran 2006b, 126; Maran 2015, 283 f.; Mü hlenbruch 2013, 258 f., 263 f., 266–269. 26 Mü hlenbruch 2013 with further references. For the destruction horizon of LH III C advanced, see Hinzen et al. 2015. 2   emakopoulou and  alakou 19 2  Gercke and Hiesel 19 1,  11–15; Kilian 1978; Maran and Papadimitriou 2006; Maran and Papadimitriou 2016; Mü hlenbruch 2013, 223–246, 260–267 with further references; Podzuweit 2007, 221; Stockhammer 2008. 28 I tend to interpret this building as a kind of seat of the ruler or rulers of Midea, but maybe during the early stages of LH III C, the region of Midea was part of a dominion of Tiryns? 29 Demakopoulou 2015 with further references, especially Walberg 2007 (Walberg, e.g. p. 196–198, differentiates two LH III B phases of the Megaron Complex and the Shrine Area, without giving a further term for theses subphases). See also Mü hlenbruch 2013, 300–304 with further references. 30 E.g. Damm-Meinhardt 2015, 188 f., 243, 250 f.; Kilian 1980, 1  f., 1 9 fig. 5  Maran 200 b, 92–94.

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31 E.g. Maran 2000; Maran 2001b; Maran 2004; Maran 2006a; Maran 2006b; Maran 2008b, 84–95; Maran 2008c; Maran 2009a; Maran 2011b; Maran 2012; Maran 2015; Maran and Stavrianopoulou 2007. See also e.g. Mü hlenbruch 2013; Stockhammer 2008. R egarding the post-palatial period in general see e.g. Deger-Jalkotzy 1991; Deger-Jalkotzy 1994; Deger-Jalkotzy 1995; Deger-Jalkotzy 1996; Deger-Jalkotzy 2008; R utter 1992. 32 Interesting thoughts about Mycenae during LH III B2 were published by Stockhammer 2008, 49 f. 33 We do know several examples of a king or queen with more than one palace: e.g. Q ueen Elizabeth II, and not only in Germany,  ing Ludwig   of Bavaria is known for the palaces  built during his reign. 34 E.g. in Mü hlenbruch 2013, 358 I stressed the importance to regionally differentiate for LH III C. 35 E.g. Maran 2000; Maran 2001b; Maran 2006b; Maran 2008c; Maran 2011b; Maran 2012; Maran 2015, 283–285. See also Mü hlenbruch 2013, 318. At least in Tiryns, the palatial period was not negatively connotated. 36 E.g. Deger-Jalkotzy 1991; Deger-Jalkotzy 2008, 403–405; Maran 2001b, 120 f.; Maran 2006b, 142–144; Mü hlenbruch 2017c, 162–164. 37 E.g. Cline 1994, 41, 46 tab. 28, 61, 66 tab. 40, 87, 89 f. fig. 55.5   eger-Jalkotzy 200   ardamaki et al. 2016; Kroll 1982: Kroll 1984; Maran 2005; Maran 2009a; Maran 2015, 282 f.; Middleton 2010, 41; Shelmerdine and Bennet 2008 in general with regard to LH III A/B.

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Maran, J. (2017) Later Balkan prehistory. A transcultural perspective.  n M. Gori and M.  vanova (eds)  al an Dialogues egotiating Identity et een Prehistory and the Present, 17–37. London and New York, R outledge.Maran, J. and Papadimitriou, A. (2006) mit Beiträ gen von Joseph Maran und Alkestis Papadimitriou, R ainer Pasternak, Philipp Stockhammer, Christian H bner und Stefan Giese.  orschungen im Stadtgebiet  von Tiryns 1999–2002. rch ologischer n eiger 2006, 1, 97–169. Maran, J. and Papadimitriou, A. (2016) mit Beiträ gen von Daniel allu,  irginia  Garc a- az,  Annelou  van  Gijn,  aphael  Kahlenberg, Peggy Morgenstern, Tyede H. Schmidt-Schultz, Michael Schultz und  uth Shahack-Gross, Gegen den Strom der  Geschichte.  ie n rdliche Unterstadt von  iryns: ein gescheitertes Urbanisierungsprojekt der mykenischen Nachpalastzeit. rch ologischer n eiger 2016/2, 19–118. Maran, J. and Stavrianopoulou, E. (200 )  otnios an r – reflections  on the ideology of Mycenaean kingship. In E. Alram-Stern and G.  ightingale  (eds)  ei elion liten ildung und elit rer onsu on der y enischen Palast eit is ur o erischen Epoche, 285–298. Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Matz, F. (1956) reta My ene ro a Die inoische und die ho erische elt.  Grosse  ulturen  der  r hzeit.  Stuttgart,  Gustav  ilpper. Middleton, G. . (2010)  he Colla se o Palatial ociety in Greece and the Post alatial Period Oxford, Archaeopress. Middleton, G. . (201 )  he show must go on: collapse, resilience,  and transformation in 21st-century archaeology. e ie s in nthro ology 46(2–3), 7–105. Mommsen, H. and Maran, J. (2000–2001) Production places of some Mycenaean pictorial vessels. The contribution of chemical pottery analysis. Opuscula Atheniensia 25–26, 95–106. Mountjoy, P.A. (1986) Mycenaean Decorated Pottery Guide to Identification. G teborg,  str m. Mü hlenbruch, T. (2003a) Heinrich Schliemann und Tiryns. In or ations latt der einrich chlie ann Gesellscha t Ankershagen 15, 43–47. Mü hlenbruch, T. (2003b) Zu vorderorientalischen Parallelen in der mykenischen Palastarchitektur. rch ologisches orres onden latt 33, 479–491. Mü hlenbruch, T. (2010) Soziale R ä ume im spä tbronzezeitlichen Tiryns I: Architektur. In B. Horejs and T.L. Kienlin (eds) iedlung und and er tudien u so ialen onte ten in der Bronzezeit, 95–106. Bonn, Habelt. Mü hlenbruch, T. (2013) au e unde und tratigra hie der nter urg und des nord estlichen tadtge iets a agnen is Die y enische ach alast eit III C Text. Tiryns 17, 2. Forschungen und Berichte. Wiesbaden, R eichert. Mü hlenbruch, T. (2017a) The absolute dating of the volcanic eruption of Santorini hera (periferia South Aegean G ) – an alternative perspective. Pr historische eitschri t 92, 1, 92–107. Mü hlenbruch, T. (2017b) Von der ‘Urnenfelderwanderung’ zum ‘Seevölkersturm’ – zum Kulturwandel zwischen Mitteleuropa und Ä gypten um 1200 v. Chr. In D. Brandherm and B. Nessel (eds) Phasen erg nge und r che i ron e eitlichen Europa, 215–222. Bonn, Habelt.

13. The Argolid Mü hlenbruch, T. (2017c) Zur sozialen ‘Ungleichheit’ in der mykenischen Palast- und Nachpalastzeit. rch ologisches orres onden latt 47, 2, 2017, 153–171. Mü ller, W. and Oelmann, F. (1912) Die Nekropole der ‘geometrischen’ Periode. In iryns Die Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen des Instituts, 127–168. Athen, Eleutheroudakis. Mylonas,  G.E.  (19 )  Mycenae s ast Century o Greatness. Sydney, University Press. Mylonas Shear, I. (1987) he Panagia ouses at Mycenae. Philadelphia, University Museum. nasoglou, A. (1995)   oi ia tou ta hou t n tri od n stis My nes. Athens, The Archaeological Society at Athens. alaima,  .G.  (200 )  Mycenaean  religion.  n  C. .  Shelmerdine  (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Aegean Bronze Age, 342–361. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Palaiologou, H. (2015) The Mycenaean building at Chania of Mycenae. In A.-L. Schallin and I. Tournavitou (eds) Mycenaeans to Date he rchaeology o the ortheastern Pelo onnese Current Conce ts and e Directions, 53–78. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen. Panagiotopoulos, D. (2008) Die Mykener. Hochkultur an der Schwelle der historischen Zeit. In Badisches Landesmuseum Karlsruhe (ed.) eit der elden Die ‘dun len ahrhunderte’ Griechenlands Chr , 28–32, 34–37. Darmstadt, Primus. apadimitriou,  .,  hilippa- ouchais, A. and  ouchais, G. (2015)  Argos in the MBA and the LBA. A reassessment of the evidence. In A.-L. Schallin and I. Tournavitou (eds) Mycenaeans to Date he rchaeology o the ortheastern Pelo onnese Current Conce ts and e Directions, 161–184. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen. Persson, A.W. (1942) e o s at Dendra near Midea. Lund, Gleerup. Podzuweit, C. (2007) tudien ur s t y enischen era i Tiryns 14. Forschungen und Berichte. Wiesbaden, R eichert. R enfrew, C. (1984) roaches to ocial rchaeology. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. R utter, J. (1992) Cultural novelties in the post-palatial Aegean world: indices of vitality or decline? In W.A. Ward and M.S. Joukowsky (eds) he Crisis ears: he th Century C ro eyond the Danu e to the igris, 61–78. Dubuque, Kendall/ Hunt. Schallin, A.-L. (2015) Mycenaean figures and figurines from the  Potter’s Workshop at Mastos in the Berbati valley. In A.-L. Schallin and I. Tournavitou (eds) Mycenaeans to Date he rchaeology o the ortheastern Pelo onnese Current Conce ts and e Directions, 197–209. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen. Schliemann, H. (1878) My enae ericht er eine orschungen und ntdec ungen in My enae und iryns. Leipzig, F.A. Brockhaus. Schliemann, H. (1886) iryns Der r historische Palast der nige on iryns rge nisse der neuesten usgra ungen Leipzig, F.A. Brockhaus. Seeher,  J.  (2002)  attusa-Bo azk y  –  Hauptstadt  des  eiches.  Die Entwicklung der Stadtanlage und ihr Ausbau zur Gro reichsmetropole.  n  unst-  und  Ausstellungshalle  der 

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Bundesrepublik  eutschland GmbH (ed.) Die ethiter und ihr eich Das ol der G tter, 156–163. Stuttgart, Theiss. Shelmerdine, C.W. (2012) Iklaina tablet IK X 1. In P. Carlier, Ch. de  Lamberterie,  M.  Egetmeyer,  .  Guilleux,  .  ougemont  and J. Zurbach (eds) É tudes yc niennes , 75–77. Pisa and R oma, Serra. Shelmerdine, C.W. and Bennet, J. (2008) Economy and administration. In C.W. Shelmerdine (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Aegean Bronze Age, 289–309. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Shelton,  .  (2010)  Mainland  Greece.  n  E.H.  Cline  (ed.)  The ord and oo o the ron e ge egean, 139–148. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Sjöberg, B.L. (2004) Asine and the Argolid in the Late Helladic III Period ocio cono ic tudy Oxford, Archaeopress. Stavrianopoulou, E. (1989) ntersuchungen ur tru tur des eiches on Pylos Die tellung der rtscha ten i ichte der inear e te. Partille, Åström. Stockhammer, P.W. (2008) ontinuit t und andel Die era i der ach alast eit aus der nterstadt on iryns. http://www. ub.uni-heidelberg.de/archiv/8612/ (01.10.2008) Thaler, U. (2009) rchite tur der Macht Macht der rchite tur My enische Pal ste als Do u ent und Gestaltungsrah en r hgeschichtlicher o ialordnung. Unpublished thesis, Universitä t Heidelberg. Tournavitou, I. (2015) The East House in the Lower Town of Mycenae. The past, the present, and the future. In A.-L. Schallin and I. Tournavitou (eds) Mycenaeans to Date he rchaeology o the ortheastern Pelo onnese Current Conce ts and e Directions, 37–51. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen. Verdelis, N.M. (1961) A private house discovered at Mycenae. rchaeology 14(1), 12–17. erdelis,  .M.  (19 )  eue  geometrische  Gr ber  in  iryns.  Athener Mitteilungen 78, 1–62. Verdelis, N.M. (1967) Neue Funde von Dendra. Athener Mitteilungen 82, 1–53. von den Driesch, A. and Boessneck, J. (1990) Die Tierreste von der mykenischen Burg Tiryns bei Nauplion/Peloponnes. In iryns . Forschungen und Berichte, 87–164. Mainz, Philipp von Zabern. Voutsaki, S. (2010) Argolid. In E.H. Cline (ed.) he ord Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean, 599–613. Oxford, Oxford University Press. alberg,  G.  (200 )  with  appendices  by  J.  Hruby, A.  ngvarssonSundström, J. Newhard, and D.S. R eese and contributions by M.  Baumann,  S.M.  isher,  .  itszimons,  .L.  Giering,  M.  Johnson, E. Kosmetatou, J.L. Kramer, M. Lindblom, A. Ostenso, and J. Verstraete, Midea: he Megaron Co le and hrine rea ca ations on the o er erraces . Prehistory Monographs 20. Philadelphia, INSTAP Academic Press. Wardle, K.A. (2015) R eshaping the past: where was the ‘Cult Centre’ at Mycenae? In A.-L. Schallin and I. Tournavitou (eds) Mycenaeans to Date he rchaeology o the ortheastern Pelo onnese Current Conce ts and e Directions 577–596. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen.

14 Collapse and transformation in Athens and Attica Robin Osborne

Wh

If we possessed evidence for the thirteenth and twelfth centuries BC only for Athens and Attica, we would be very puzzled about what was happening, but it is unlikely that we would be asking questions about collapse at all. The superficial reason for this is that Athens has produced good  archaeological evidence of uninterrupted human occupation throughout the Bronze and Iron ages. But it is not only continuity that marks Athens out, it is also the nature of the occupation, and in particular the Late Bronze Age occupation. Paradoxically, the fact that continuity of occupation is so clearly attested at Athens makes the city and Attica a peculiarly good region to think about when it comes to understanding what happened at the end of the Bronze Age. For, by contrast to Athens, some other sites in Attica which have  significant  Mycenaean  remains  have  produced  no  evidence after the end of LH IIIB, some produce evidence from LH IIIB to IIIC but none after IIIC (often after early C)  or  Submycenaean  (SM).  ne  site  in  particular,  the  cemetery at Perati on the east coast of Attica, has evidence only from the end of LH IIIB and throughout LH IIIC, with nothing earlier and nothing later, and another site, the Arsenal cemetery on Salamis, evidence only from the end of LH IIIC through Submycenaean. This one region, therefore, offers a great variety of archaeological stories; the challenge of making sense of them both individually and as a group takes us to the fundamental nature of the crisis at the end of the Bronze age.

at

s or t of

a p l ac e w as

M yc e n ae an

A th e n s?

Were it not for the massive cyclopean defensive walls on the Athenian Acropolis, we might doubt whether Athens was ever a major Mycenaean site at all (for general discussion of 

Mycenaean Athens see  antelidou 19 5, 1 –209, 220–2 1   Mountjoy  1995   rivitera  201 ,  5 –9   and  more  briefly  Lemos 200 , 50 –511).  he only indication that there might  have been a palace is a single column base and some steps comparable  to  those  at  Mycenae.  here  are  no  remains  of  frescoes, no Linear B tablets, and around the Acropolis no tholos tombs, only chamber tombs. Cyclopean masonry aside, all the distinctive markers of Mycenaean cultural achievement  – the things whose loss from subsequent centuries points to  cultural collapse – are absent. The cyclopean defensive walls that surround the Acropolis,  running  for  0  m,  varying  in  width  from  .5  to    m  and  up  to  10  m  high,  and  enclosing  an  area  of  2.5 ha, were built late in LH  B, a century and a half later  than  the  original  fortification  of  Mycenae  and  iryns,  but  roughly contemporary with the remodelling of the defences at Mycenae ( akovidis 19 ,  9– 4  Hurwit 1999,  4– 9).  The Athenian Acropolis defences share with the remodelled defences  at  Mycenae  the  careful  inclusion  of  a  staircase  leading down to a water supply, in this case an underground spring that has been dubbed the Fountain House. So just how like, or how unlike, Mycenae was Athens   Scholars have been divided. The minimalists insist that what we have at Athens is little, and late, that Athens was essentially outside the Mycenaean mainstream.1 The maximalists insist that essentially what makes Athens look different is that the site has been continuously occupied. They point to extensive terracing on the top of the Acropolis early in LH B,  and  find  a  Mycenaean  palace  there.2 They imagine tholos tombs, completely destroyed by later building, on one or more of the hills by the Acropolis, and recognise a lintel from such a tomb in the large ‘oath stone’ found by the classical R oyal Stoa in the Agora. Athens’ problem,

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Robin Osborne

they argue, is that ancient and modern occupation, and in particular ancient and modern remodelling of the Acropolis, has removed all trace of any palace and with it any archives or frescoes. The strongest positive evidence for constructing a history  of Athens  that  makes  it  look  like  Mycenae  or  iryns  comes from the quality of some of the material that has been found. From the Acropolis itself come sherds of LH IIA palatial style pottery, including two sherds of ‘palace style’ jars and Marine Style stirrup jars, with further palatial  style  pottery  from  the  fill  of  later  wells  on  the  south  slope of the Acropolis. This pottery was not only used but made  at Athens  (Mountjoy  1995,  1   1999,  492).  But  the  most impressive evidence comes from the chamber tombs that have been discovered on the north and west slopes of the Areopagus hill, in the north-east and west parts of the Agora and on the hill known as Kolonos Agoraios to the west of the Agora.   utstanding  among  the  chamber  tombs  is  an  LH  A  tomb that has come to be known, from its most outstanding finds, as the  omb of the  vory  yxides ( mmerwahr 19 1,  9 –110, 15 –2 9  the tomb of the  vory pyxides is described  at  15 –1 9).  he  tomb  itself  is  exceptionally  large,  with  a  dromos  11  m  long  and  a  large  rectangular  chamber  5.9    4.   m,  preserved  to  a  height  of  2. 5  m.  he  roof  had  collapsed  in  the  Mycenaean  period,  smashing  but  also  preserving some of the contents, and perhaps also leading to the removal of the body and some other offerings.  ne  large and one smaller ivory pyxis were found. The smaller is attractively decorated with rows of marine decoration (nautilus shells and tentacles), but it is the large pyxis that stands out. It has decoration in high relief showing scenes of griffins attacking deer, with handles in the form of a lion  and a fawn. Where the pyxis was carved is not certain, but there is distinct Minoan influence and similar ivory carving  has been found at Mycenae itself.  arious gold foil ivy-leaf  ornaments, apparently from the burial shroud, were also found in the tomb, along with a Canaanite jar, one of two found at Athens and indicative of at least indirect links with the eastern Mediterranean.4 The large ivory pyxis was lined with tin. The large numbers of tinned vessels found in the chamber tombs (particularly in a tomb just north-west of the Tomb of the Ivory Pyxides, known as the ‘Tomb of the Bronzes’ because of its bronze sword and dagger, both with gold rivets) are another sign that we are dealing with a community with a high level of general wealth. The tinned vessels were plain pottery vessels, bowls and kylikes, which had been covered in tinfoil or dipped in tin to create the appearance of metal vessels. Although they were clearly intended as cheaper substitutes for metal vessels, tin cannot itself have been cheap. Tinned vessels have been found elsewhere in the  Mycenaean  world  also,  and Athens  seems  here  to  be  keeping up with fashion.5

ne further distinctive Athenian fabric further indicates  that by this date Athens was well connected with a wider Mycenaean world.  his is an LH  B– A fabric known as  Acropolis Burnished  are, a wheel-made, hard-fired pottery  covered in an orange wash and then burnished to achieve a brown colour. Within Attica this was exported to Thorikos and Kiapha Thiti; beyond Attica it occurs in quantity at Ayia Irini on Kea but also at Tanagra and Korakou. It was sufficiently popular to spawn a cheaper imitation,  ed  ash  Ware, in Athens in LH IIIB.

M yc e n ae an

p r e s e n c e i n A t t i c a ou

ts id e A th e n s

That Athens was, at least by the start of the fourteenth century, a wealthy community does not mean that it was structured like other Mycenaean centres, however.  he strongest indication that it might not be structured like them comes from what is happening in the rest of Attica. Mycenaean presence  is attested at some forty sites in Attica (including the island of Salamis), but the story represented at the different sites is distinct from that at Athens, both in terms of the site history and the nature of the material found (Fig. 14.1). Some sites in Attica were already in existence in MH and  continue into LH. This is true of the major sites of Eleusis and Thorikos, both of which continue into LH IIIC, with some Submycenaean pottery found at Eleusis. It is also true of Brauron and Kiapha Thiti, although here occupation ceased at the end of LH II. From many other sites in Attica, chamber tombs and other finds indicate occupation  beginning in LH II or LH IIIA and continuing through to at least early in LH IIIC: this is true of a series of sites running down the west coast from  haleron –  alamaki, just south  of  haleron, Ayios  osmas,  rachones and  oula, and of a  series of sites looking to the east coast or in the Mesogeia,  eratea,  opreza,  Ligori,  Markopoulo,  Merenda,  Spata,  elanideza and Glyka  era  houresi. A small number of sites show no sign of occupation after LH IIIB, including arkiza,  on  the  west  coast  and  ikermi  and  Marathon  towards the east. n the island of Salamis, nothing has been found before  LH IIIA, but a large chamber tomb cemetery at Ayia Kyriaki was used from early in LH IIIA to late in LH IIIC, and an LH IIIB chamber tomb is known from Limniones, and at Kanakia occupation and burial extend at least from LH IIIB to early in LH IIIC, when the complex was destroyed by fire.9 Late in LH  C the first cist graves of the Arsenal cemetery on Salamis appear, and burial there, alone in Attica, continues with a large number of Submycenaean graves. n  the Attic  mainland  the  most  striking  story  of  a  site  first occupied in late LH  B or in LH  C is the cemetery  site at Perati, the occupation of which falls almost entirely within LH  C ( akovidis 19 9  Cavanagh and Mee 2009).  A further chamber tomb at Porto R aphti shows the same pattern, and nearby Keratea has also yielded an LH IIIC tomb.10

14. Collapse and transformation in Athens and Attica

1 9

Fig. 14.1. Map of Mycenaean Attica.

verall, one conclusion is clear from the periods of site  occupation: although there are some patterns – in particular  the occupation of a site for the first time early in LH  B  and the continuation of occupation into but not beyond LH C – there is no one-size-fits-all template for Attica. Sites  were coming into and going out of occupation throughout the Late Bronze Age.

H ow

d i d A t h e n s r e l at e t o A t t i c a?

In terms of the nature of the archaeological evidence found, most striking, given their absence from Athens, is

the occurrence of tholos tombs in Attica. The earliest are one  at  Marathon  and  two  at  horikos  dating  to  LH  A  (i.e. antedating the rich chamber tombs in Athens itself). The Thorikos tholoi contained an ivory pyxis, albeit far less elaborate than that from the Athenian chamber tomb, a large palace-style jar, a small gold buckle, and elements of an  embossed  gold  necklace,  closely  parallel  to  finds  from  grave  circle  A  at  Mycenae  (Servais  19 1   Servais-Soyez  19 4, 4 –5 ). Late in LH  A or early in LH  B a tholos  tomb was also built at Acharnai (Menidhi), just 10 km from  Athens, and the six burials which it contained are similarly accompanied by rich grave goods, including two lyres.11 In

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a different way, Eleusis too distinguishes itself from Athens in its burial record: four earth-cut chamber tombs have been found there, but the dominant mode of burial continues to be rectangular built tombs, of which 1 0 have been excavated,  and the tradition of such tombs was maintained, alongside the tholoi, at Thorikos also. Attic chamber tombs were as rich as the tholoi, but distinct from the chamber tombs of Athens in their inclusion (e.g. at  oula,  arkiza,  ourvatsi,  Eleusis,  and Ayia  yriaki)  of  psi  and  phi  figurines,  and  at  ourvatsi of an exceptional number of rhyta (Cavanagh and  Mee 199 ,  4  Sgouritsa 200 , 2 0). But the differences between Athens and Attica run deeper than how the élite choose to bury themselves. The pottery traditions of Athens and Attica are themselves distinct (for what  follows  see  Mountjoy  1999,  492–494). Although  in  LH  A  we  can  observe  various  high  grade  Mycenaean  styles occurring in both Athens and Attica (palatial class at Athens and Thorikos, marine style at Athens, Thorikos and Eleusis), from LH IIIA we can observe that there are shapes  –  the  cup  with  side-handles  and  the  one-handled  bowl – which are popular in Attica but absent from Athens,  as they are from Aigina with which Athens had long shown and continued to show close links. Even back in LH  A,  ari  displays  an  Arcade  Group’  vessel  linking  it  not  to Attica  but to Messenia,  ythera, Melos,  os, and  hessaly.  n LH  IIIA, Salamis develops its own pottery tradition including pictorial craters, some of which have a distinctive two-tier decorative zone. There were certainly links between Athens and various settlements in Attica – anything else would be incredible.  Proof, if needed, is provided by the use of Laurion lead in the Acropolis Fountain House. But it is equally clear that the links were such as to allow very different material traditions  to  take  hold  in  different  places.  ot  only  are  there no signs of any central authority being exercised from Athens over sites in Attica, the independence and diversity of different places within Attica are clear signs that there was no central authority.  hereas  outsaki was  able to demonstrate from the distribution of prestige goods in the Argolid that Mycenae  exerted strict control over the  production, circulation and consumption of prestige artefacts’, it is the absence of such control that is manifest in the material record from Attica ( outsaki 2001). Although  scholars have repeatedly tried to locate Athenian synoikism in the late Bronze age, nothing in the detailed archaeology supports this.12 Given the size of Attica, this should cause  no surprise. We might indeed ask what exerting authority might be good for. The separate settlements individually show considerable prosperity, and if the main advantages of any unification are military, the inhabitants of Attica would  have had to be convinced either that there were dangers which they would more effectively face together than separately, or that the gains of aggression were greater than the compromises on local independence required to achieve

aggressive gains.  nce more, in the absence of any existing  pattern of persistent military threats from outside, the scale of Attica hardly encouraged belief that unity would bring better  defence  –  how  would  any  army  be  gathered  to  the  right  place  at  the  right  time  And  it  is  hard  to  think  that  there were easy targets for aggressive action. Close examination of the archaeological record, therefore, discourages us from trying to explain away the absence of clear remains of a palace, of signs of a Linear B record archive, and of tholos tombs in Athens itself: the very different geographical situation meant that Athens was neither going to be another Mycenae nor another  ylos (cf. rivitera 201 , 54–55). Compared to Mycenae the territory  was simply too extensive; compared to Pylos there were too many existing alternative centres with easy access to quite separate resources. Athens might control a ‘hither province’ of the lower plain of Athens, bounded by Hymettos and Aigaleos, but the easy links from Eleusis to Boeotia, the  Saronic  Gulf  and  the  north-east  eloponnese,  from  Marathon, Brauron and  horikos on Attica’s east coast to  the Cyclades and Euboia, along with Thorikos’s local access to lead and silver resources, all made the rest of Attica an implausible ‘further province’ (on the arrangements at Pylos see Bennet 1995 and 200 ).

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In terms of Athens itself, it might be tempting to think, the story of the end of the Bronze Age is already told. Athens may have mustered the very considerable labour power required to construct the massive Acropolis fortifications, but it never  constructed and maintained the tight system of control that can be demonstrated from the Linear B archive at Pylos and from the archaeology of Mycenae and the Argive plain   and Athens survived.  here are possible signs of crisis – the  hiding of a hoard of bronze, including ten double axes, up against the south part of the fortification wall at the end of  LH  B, for instance (Mountjoy 1995, 50–51) – but there are  also signs of wealth (including a chamber tomb containing a pair of bronze greaves on the south slope of the Acropolis (Mountjoy  19 4))  and  of  prosperity  –  above  all  the  quantity of LH  C pottery in the  ountain House fill.  here is  transformation, apparent above all by the end of the chamber tombs and their replacement by pits and cist graves, and by Submycenaean tombs appearing on the Acropolis itself; but the discontinuity should not be exaggerated even here, since the main early iron age burial grounds overlap with or join on to the areas of Mycenaean chamber tombs.  he  three richest Early Iron Age tombs, from the end of the ninth century, would, indeed, be dug in the same burial ground as the  richest  Mycenaean  chamber  tombs,  and  their  contents  include electrum earrings, iron sword and spearheads, some spectacular  gold  jewellery  and  the  first  post-Bronze  Age 

14. Collapse and transformation in Athens and Attica locally made ivory seals ( apadopoulos and Smithson 201 ,  –102, 104–11 , 124–1 , 9 ). But the story cannot be told simply in terms of Athens itself. For, as we have seen, some sites in Attica show no sign of occupation after the end of LH IIIB, and a great many show no occupation after early in LH IIIC. The continuity displayed at Athens cannot currently be demonstrated anywhere else, although at Eleusis the meagre pottery record during  Submycenaean  and  Early  rotogeometric  (E G)  indicates continuity to the eye of faith ( osmopoulos 2015,  12 –1 9). Elsewhere outside Athens there is a stubborn gap  before occupation manifests itself in Late Protogeometric (L G).1 This is true both in the places which had used tholos tombs (Marathon, Menidi,  horikos), and in those that had  chamber tombs. And it is true even on Salamis, with its strong Submycenaean showing at the Arsenal cemetery.14 More importantly, a simple story of gradual change fails to  register the dramatic appearance, and equally dramatic falling out of use a century later, of the LH IIIC chamber-tomb cemetery at Perati, nor the dramatic change in location of human presence on Salamis, where the cist graves of the Arsenal cemetery were created at a site with no evidence of use before the end of LH IIIC. To account for what happens in Attica we need not only to explain why people in every community across the region, regardless of its past history, found it impossible or undesirable to continue anything like their established practices, but also why for a short while in late LH IIIC something like the old ways of life were attractive in and around Perati, and nowhere else, and why for a short while in the Submycenaean, new ways of life were attractive in eastern Salamis, and nowhere else. hat life flourished at  erati there is little doubt.  wentyfive of the 45  hase 1 tombs (LH  C Early) continued in  use in  hase 2 (LH  C Middle), when  1 new tombs were  opened, and 1  of the earlier tombs were used in  hase    (LH IIIC Late), joined by six new tombs (Cavanagh and Mee 2009, 1 1).  mports come not only from the Cyclades,  Kos and the Dodecanese, but from Crete, Cyprus, Egypt and Syria  influences from the  odecanese are apparent in  locally made pottery  a distinct style of fine  ctopus stirrup  jars seems to have been developed locally, and exported to os,  axos and perhaps  roy  a rare box form was exported  to  axos and  alysos, and an LH  C Late jug and lekythos  to  os (Mountjoy 1999, 490, 49 –499  Crouwel 2009).  his  was also a go-ahead community; old-style burial rituals seem to have dropped out of use, with very few kylikes found, and although inhumation dominated, cremation, which would become  the  dominant  G  mode  of  disposing  of  the  dead,  was introduced.  he earliest double-spiral finger rings and  arched fibulae also appear, not only heralding the importance  of these in the  G but indicating changing fashions of dress  and adornment (Mountjoy 1999, 490). The Salamis Arsenal cemetery gives fewer signs of prosperity (though there are bronze pins, rings and fibulae and 

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gold wire spirals) and virtually none of the connections to the Aegean and eastern Mediterranean, but its links with Athens  are close: both show the same clear relations to so-called Granary style’ pottery at Mycenae, and the developments  in the pottery, most famously the declining popularity of the stirrup jar and its replacement with the lekythos, are exactly parallel, though the fabric of the Salamis pottery is generally local ( raiker 19 9, 1 4–1  Styrenius 19 2, esp.  104,  109).  here  are  some  signs  that  Salamis  lags  behind  Athenian fashion. The pots themselves and their decoration are decoratively rather homogenous but become clumsier with time, and while in Athens cremation becomes more popular in the later Submycenaean period, at Salamis, where most graves seem to belong early in the Submycenaean period, only two of more than 100 graves were cremations. Just as what happens at Athens has to be seen in the context of what happens in Attica, so what occurs in Attica needs to be seen against what happens in Athens. This is particularly important in the case of the Salamis cemetery, which is closely parallel to the Pompeion cemetery in the erameikos.  n  particular,  the  similarly  sized  (112-grave)  Pompeion cemetery shares with the Salamis cemetery, and with the cemetery under the Stoa Basileios, not only the funerary ritual and shapes and styles of pottery, but the way it is laid out in neat rows and, most importantly, that it is essentially a purely Submycenaean cemetery (Kraiker 19 9   apadopoulos and Smithson 201 , 5 ).  hile other  inhabitants of Athens in this period had been innovatively buried on the Acropolis, or conservatively in various Agora cemeteries, these two distinct groups in Athens and a group on Salamis chose to do differently. If the Athenian story looked to be one of transformation, the narrative we get from Attica is distinctly more complex. Here the story has to be in part about collapse. Whatever happened made established ways of life unsustainable for a  significant,  and  in  many  cases  previously  wealthy,  population across Attica. It made life unsustainable for those inland, responsible for the Menidi tholos, who must surely  have depended on agriculture; it made life unsustainable for the people of Thorikos, despite their ability to claim access not only to the sea but also to an unusual and valued mineral resource; it made life unsustainable for those spreading down the west coast of Athens, who were plausibly in good contact with the town of Athens itself. The very diversity of these communities, and the diversity of their past history, makes their near-contemporary archaeological disappearance the more noteworthy. Any narrative of collapse in Attica, however, has to be compatible with the foundation and century-long life of the community that produced the Perati cemetery, with its access to high quality potting, its two-way exchanges with the Cyclades and the Dodecanese, and its access to goods from the eastern Mediterranean (Murray 201 ).  he cemetery at  Perati does not obviously link closely to sites elsewhere in

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Attica  –  the community made its own pottery and  looked  east and south, rather than back to Athens. And even when Perati is abandoned we have to be able to explain how and why a sizeable, if less spectacular, community could sustain themselves at a new site on Salamis. If we consider the sorts of explanations that have been offered more generally for Mycenaean collapse, then many  of those that look most attractive for Mycenae itself or  ylos  look unattractive here.15 While Athens’ ability to survive when Mycenae and  ylos did not, might be attributed precisely to Athens’ failure ever to develop a complex palace economy, that failure should have protected not just Athens but other Attic sites: if they were not caught up in a system, system failure would hardly affect them. But so too in the case of revolt from below: if the hierarchies were at most local, then they are unlikely to have created burdens great enough to be resented and thrown off. Athens’ and Attica’s very difference from other centres and regions makes explanations that depend on internally generated economic or political problems unattractive. But the variety of settlements in Attica, both in location and type, also works against many external factors. Invaders from across the sea might indeed never have reached, or at least never have inflicted damage on, the exceptionally  well-fortified  Athenian  Acropolis,  but  if  invasion  from  across the sea was a problem, who would think it a good idea to place themselves at  erati or on the coast of Salamis   ould sea raiders really have made a bee-line for Menidi   This quite apart from the strong connections overseas manifested at Perati which discourage any thought that sea travel had become seriously insecure. Do earthquake or drought or plague offer any better answer   he  geographical  diversity  of  Attic  Mycenaean  settlements, the range of dates at which they went out of use, and the efflorescence of first  erati and then Salamis  fit poorly with earthquakes.  rought and plague are better  fitted to the long chronology of abandonment that we see in  Attica, since the effect of drought may be cumulative, with some places succumbing to a small number of drought years, others only when the frequency of drought years becomes much higher; similarly plague may destroy some communities immediately, others only with a repeat visit, while in others again the problem is the reduction of population below levels at which it can reproduce itself, and decline may be prolonged. But why should a situation of prolonged drought  or  repeated  plague  have  left  Athens  untouched   More importantly, explanations like this do not themselves  explain why disappearance of settlements in Attica comes at a time when there are distinct culture changes. Why would either drought or plague lead to chamber tombs being abandoned and individual pit or cist graves adopted – let alone  to the replacement of stirrup jars by lekythoi The crisis that leads to Attica’s population surviving only at Athens itself has to be in part cultural. Along with the

abandonment of the settlements responsible for the chamber tombs that littered Attica in LH IIIB went a rejection of particular ways of organising the community by those who remained. We see that rejection most clearly in the burial record itself, but this is because our knowledge of LH settlement  archaeology  in  Attica  is  so  completely  deficient.  The rejection is gradual; if we take seriously the depleted number of kylikes at Perati, perhaps some of the ritual surrounding  chamber-tomb  burial  went  first,  the  chamber  tombs themselves followed, then the practice of inhumation. Somewhere in this, whatever practice required stirrup jars was lost, and lekythoi were found better to serve whatever adjusted practice followed. But in Athens there was continuity in the spaces used for burial, even if new spaces were also taken over, and used in strikingly new ways, as at the ompeion cemetery and at Salamis Arsenal.  ew modes of  clothing, marked by fibulae, come in here somewhere, with  locally different gendered clothing practices, to judge by different distributions of fibulae by gender ( apadopoulos  and Smithson 201 , 90  on gender and status see further  Lemos 200 , 51 ). It has proved attractive to think that some of these changed customs are a result of a changed population. Indeed, the new cemetery sites at Perati and Salamis Arsenal guarantee that people had moved. We do not know where the community that buried at Perati came from, and although there are increasing numbers of LH  C finds on Salamis,  we are equally ignorant of the origins of those who moved to the Salamis Arsenal site. These two puzzles are only part of a larger puzzle. We know almost nothing of settlement in Attica during the Late Bronze Age; almost all the evidence that we have comes from burials, and we know that that evidence relates only to part of the population. As in the Early Iron Age, Bronze Age burials do not represent the whole age range of the population  (Cavanagh  and  Mee  199 ,  4   Morris  19 ,  2).  he chamber tomb burials, both in Athens and across  Attica, account for only part of the population. Significant  evidence for settlement itself comes only from Athens, and then primarily from the settlement debris secondarily deposited in the Fountain house or in other rubbish pits and wells. Papadopoulos has argued that the remains from the Early Iron Age Agora area come from graves and from pottery making activity, not from settlement (Papadopoulos 200   apadopoulos  and  Smithson  201 ,  90 .  Contra Lemos  200 ,  525).  Strictly  speaking,  therefore,  the  evidence we have from Attica shows only that the part of the population that buried themselves visibly in LH IIIB and C  no  longer  buried  themselves  visibly.  Given  that  their  living conditions were invisible to us even when their burials were visible, we should not be so surprised to find  no settlement traces when their burials become invisible. Lack of archaeological visibility may not correlate with total absence of population.

14. Collapse and transformation in Athens and Attica When evidence of human presence returns to Attica outside Athens, largely in L G, it returns in a number of places,  including Brauron, Eleusis, and Thorikos, which had been important late Bronze Age centres.  his L G evidence too  is not direct evidence of settlement, but is divided between evidence for cult activity and burials. What needs explaining, therefore, is why, outside Athens itself, the tradition of archaeologically visible burial disappears during E G and M G.  hat was lost was not only the  tradition of family burial, but the alternative model of regularly arrayed individual graves that marks the Salamis Arsenal and Pompeion Submycenaean cemetery practices. If there are people in the Submycenaean and early and middle  G  landscape across Attica, then they are not engaging in even minimally co-operative practices when it comes to burial. What happens in Athens and Attica at the end of the Bronze Age is best explained, therefore, by supposing that community life came under enormous strain. Some particular groups outside Athens briefly sustained communal life through to the  end of LH  C, as at  erati or during SM, as at the Salamis  Arsenal, but no longer. Within Athens itself the merest vestiges of communal life remained after SM, marked only by  sporadic burials in the vicinity of older cemeteries. Athens’ survival might best be attributed to its size, to the prominence of the Late Bronze Age cemeteries, and to having a space that was so well defended, the Acropolis; that the advantages of the minimal cooperation required to make continued use of that space overcame the atomistic tendencies of the time. rought  and  disease  do  not  offer  a  sufficient  explanation  for what happened, but they offer our best examples of the sorts of problems that might lead first to abandonment of all  forms of community organisation and then even to the neglect of the family group. With the abandonment of community and family activities comes the loss of various standard practices (‘rituals’) and with that loss the loss also of a need for particular pots (e.g. the stirrup jar). That the population dropped seems certain, but life may well have continued in Attica at a low level, leading to the gradual re-emergence of archaeologically visible life as population grew again and the advantages of co-operation reasserted themselves. ‘Collapse’ is too dramatic a term for what happens at the end of the Bronze Age in Athens and Attica, but ‘transformation’ is too anodyne. What we witness is the break-up of a society in the face of pressures brought about not directly by other humans but by factors beyond human control. ot surprisingly the archaeological picture of what such a  break-up produces is itself chaotic.

A c k n ow

l e d gm

e n ts

 am grateful to Guy  . Middleton for the invitation to concern myself with an earlier period in Athens’ history than I have previously thought about, and to  annis Galanakis and  Caroline  out for comments on an earlier draft.

14

Notes 1 

2 

  4  5     

 

9 

10  11 12  1  

14

15 

his  is  the  story  sketched  by  mmerwahr  19 1,  150–152,  but  partly  disputed  by  antelidou  19 5,  220–222,  22 .  Although distancing herself from details of Immerwahr’s view, Mountjoy’s overall picture is also relatively minimalist:  Mountjoy 1995,  9– 1. he  date  of  the  terracing  is  disputed,  see  rivitera  201 ,  0– .  rivitera points out that if there is no substantial LH  IIIB building on the Acropolis, then LH IIIB is much less well attested than LH IIIA in Athens, with very few burials that can be dated to this period. his is the story told e.g. by Hurwit 1999,  1– 4. o fewer than four Canaanite jars were found at the Menidhi  tholos, Mountjoy 1999, 4 . or tinned vessels in Attic graves see Sgouritsa 200 , 2 1. he  survey  which  follows  is  heavily  indebted  to  Mountjoy  1999, 4 –490. See also Sgouritsa 200 , 2 –2 1. or MH Brauron see  alogeropoulos 2010. Human presence  in the Brauron area continues after LHII as displayed by cemetery  finds,  see  ontorli- apadopoulou  2009.  or  the  possibility that  ourvatsi is the successor to  iapha  hiti see  Sgouritsa 200 , 2 0. n the dates of latest LH  C material see Sgouritsa 200 , 20   n. 2 .  or Markopoulo see http: www.chronique.efa.gr app webroot index.php fiches voir 1 4  for Glyka  era  houresi  see  rivitera  201 ,  1 0–1 2  and  http: www.chronique.efa. gr app webroot index.php fiches voir 4  for Merenda see  rivitera 201 , 125–12  and http: www.chronique.efa.gr app webroot index.php fiches voir 2121. or  anakia  see  http: www.chronique.efa.gr index.php fiches voir   http: www.chronique.efa.gr index.php fiches voir 20 1  and http: www.chronique.efa.gr index.php fiches voir 20 0 or  orto  aphti  see  also  http: www.chronique.efa.gr app webroot index.php fiches voir 22 . For the distinctive distribution of tholos and chamber tombs in Attica see Mee and Cavanagh 1990, 2 9–242. or a recent discussion see Sgouritsa 200 . By the end of L G material is known from Aliki Glyphada,  Anavyssos,  Brauron,  Hymettos,  ouvara,  Marathon,  Markopoulo, Menidi, Merenda Mounychia,  ea  onia,  rofitis  lias,  Salamis,  ourkovouni  and  ari   see  ’ nofrio  1995,  0,  1–  Lemos 2002, 2 1–2 2. I use the traditional term Submycenaean, since it is well established in the scholarly literature for this material and this period in Attica, but  ickinson 200 , 14–15 notes how  problematic this term is generally. or  a  useful  survey  of  theories  of  Mycenaean  collapse  see  Middleton 201 , 129–154.

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from Nestor to Navarino, second edition, 121–1 .  rinceton,  American School of Classical Studies. Cavanagh,  .G.  and  Mee,  C.  (199 )  A Private Place: Death in Prehistoric Greece. Jonsered, Paul Åströms Förlag. Cavanagh,  .G.  and  Mee,  C.  (2009)  erati  kai  para  pera.  n  .  Danielidou (ed.)  1 9–1 9. Athens, Academy of Athens. Crouwel,  J.  (2009)  A  group  of  Mycenaean  octopus  stirrup  jars  made in (east) Attica. In D. Danielidou (ed.) ,  199–210.  Athens,  Academy of Athens. ickinson,  . . . . (200 ) The Aegean from Bronze Age to Iron Age: Continuity and Change between the Twelfth and Eighth Centuries BC. London, R outledge. akovidis, S.E. (19 9)  .    ,   vols. Athens,  Athens Archaeological Society. akovidis, S.E. (19 ) Late Helladic Citadels on Mainland Greece. Leiden, E.J. Brill. mmerwahr, S.A. (19 1) The Athenian Agora. Vol. 13. The Neolithic and Bronze Ages. Princeton, American School of Classical Studies. alogeropoulos,  .  (2010)  Middle  Helladic  human  activity  in  eastern Attica: the case of Brauron. In A. Philippa-Touchais (ed.) Mesohelladika. La Grè ce continentale au Bronze Moyen, 211–221. Paris, Ecole franç aise d’Athè nes. ontorli- apadopoulou, L. (2009)          .          .  n  .  Danielidou (ed.) ,  91– 95. Athens, Academy of Athens. raiker,  .  (19 9)  ie  ekropole  n rdlich  des  Eridanos.  n  W. Kraiker and K. Kü bler, Kerameikos: Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen. Vol. 1. Die Nekropolen des 12. bis 10. Jahrhunderts, 1–1 . Berlin,  e Gruyter. Lemos,  .  (2002)  The Protogeometric Aegean: The Archaeology of the Late Eleventh and Tenth Centuries BC. xford,  xford  University Press. Lemos,  . (200 ) Athens and Lefkandi: a tale of two sites.  n S.  Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 505–5 0. Edinburgh,  Edinburgh University Press.

Mee,  C.  and  Cavanagh  .G.  (1990)  he  spatial  distribution  of  Mycenaean tombs. Annual of the British School at Athens 5,  225–24 . Middleton, G. . (201 ) Understanding Collapse: Ancient History and Modern Myths. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Mountjoy,  .A. (19 4)  he bronze greaves from Athens: a case for  a LH IIIC date. Opuscula Atheniensia 15, 1 5–14 . Mountjoy,  .A.  (1995)  Mycenaean Athens. Jonsered, Åströms förlag. Mountjoy,  .A.  (1999)  Regional Mycenaean Decorated Pottery, 2 vols.  ahden,  erlag Marie Leidorf. Murray,  S.C.  (201 )  mported  exotica  and  mortuary  ritual  at  Perati in Late Helladic IIIC east Attica. American Journal of Archaeology 122,  – 4. antelidou, M. (19 5)  , Athens. apadopoulos, J. . (200 ) Ceramicus Redivivus. The Early Iron Age Potters’ Field in the Classical Athenian Agora. Princeton, American School of Classical Studies. apadopoulos, J. . and Smithson, E.L. (201 ) The Athenian Agora Vol. XXXVI. The Early Iron Age: The Cemeteries. Princeton, American School of Classical Studies. rivitera,  S.  (201 )  Princi i elasgi e escatori: l ttica nella tarda età del Bronzo.  aestum,  andemos Athens,  Scuola  archeologica italiana di Atene. Servais, J. (19 1) Les fouilles sur le haut du  latouri:   objets  trouvés dan la tholos. Thorikos V 1968. Brussels, Belgian Archaeological School in Greece. Servais-Soyez, J. and B. (19 4) La tholos  oblongue’ (tombe  ) et  le tumulus (tombe  ) sur le  latouri. Thorikos VIII 1972/ 1976. Ghent, Belgian Archaeological School in Greece. Sgouritsa,  .  (200 )  Myth,  epos  and  Mycenaean  Attica:  the  evidence  reconsidered.  n  S. .  Morris  and  .  Laffineur  (eds)  Epos: Reconsidering Greek Epic and Aegean Bronze Age Archaeology. Aegaeum 28, 2 5–2 4. Liè ge, Peeters. outsaki, S. (2001) Economic control, power and prestige in the  Mycenaean world: the archaeological evidence.  n J. .  illen  and S.  outsaki (eds) Economy and Politics in the Mycenaean Palace tates 195–21 . Cambridge, Cambridge Philological Society.

15 Continuities and changes in Mycenaean burial practices after the collapse of the palace system Peta Bulmer

The Mycenaeans used the social occasions provided by funerals to express versions of the identity of the dead (Cavanagh 2008, 327) in order to enact or (re)negotiate the social relationships of the living (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 49; Voutsaki 1998, 44–45; Brü ck and Fontijn 2013, 207; Murray 2018, 36), including the rights and responsibilities within and between kinship groups. This means that their burial practices were not only sensitive to social change (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 58; Dickinson 2006a, 183), but were one of the ways in which social relationships were formally recognised. If it is the case, therefore, that the collapse of the palace system around 1190 BC brought about a new social order to mainland Greece (Fig. 15.1), then these changes should have been enacted and expressed through the funerary practices of the postpalatial period. The changes in burial practices typically cited for LH IIIC include an increase in single burials and a decline in the use of chamber tombs (Whitley 2001, 78; Dickinson 2006a, 181), the introduction of cremation (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 93; Dickinson 2006a, 180), and an increase in burials with weapons (Deger-Jalkotzy 2006, 168; Dickinson 2006a, 73; Crielaard 2011, 95). It is not possible here to provide a detailed account of the postpalatial cemeteries, but this information can be found throughout the work of Cavanagh and Mee, and especially in A Private Place (1998). For Late Bronze Age burials containing weapons, Deger-Jalkotzy’s accounts (1999, 2006, 2008) are essential. There was no sudden change in the burial practices of the Mycenaeans following the collapse, but a mixture of continuities and changes at various times. The aim here is to explore what changed and what stayed the same, and more importantly, why this might have been the case, in order to gain insight into the developments in social organisation

that came about with the collapse of the palaces. There is no doubt that the destruction of the palaces and other centres had a profound effect on those at the top of society (DegerJalkotzy 2008, 392), so before considering burial practices more broadly, we begin by considering the ways in which the elites expressed their status and claims to power through burial practices. In the Argolid, the monumental tholos tombs of the palace rulers (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 78) went out of use in LH IIIB or early LH IIIC, and no new tombs of this magnitude were constructed after the collapse of the palaces (Cavanagh and Mee 1999, 94; Dickinson 2006a, 74). This may have been because they lacked the resources for work on such a scale (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 59; Dickinson 2006a, 75), but the fact that most of the old monumental tholoi were not re-used suggests that those who took power at the citadels did not want to use them. Either they were not related to the former rulers or did not wish to be associated with them (Connerton 2008, 63), or they preferred not to advertise their social superiority in this way. (Note that this was not the case in Thessaly, where new, if relatively small tholoi, continued to be constructed in proximity to Bronze Age tholoi during the Early Iron Age – Georganas 2011, 630). So how did those in power in the Argolid exploit burial practices to express status in the postpalatial period? For both elite and non-elite burials, there was a continuity in the use of grave goods after the collapse of the palaces, and heirlooms, luxury goods and exotica continued to  reflect  social  status  and  aspirations  ( ickinson  200 b,  119; Deger-Jalkotzy 2008, 403–404). This was not the only way to express status, however. At Khania near Mycenae, and at Argos, new tumuli were constructed for elite burials (Palaiologou 2013, 273). Tumuli had gone out of use

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Fig. 15.1. Sites in mainland Greece.

before the palace period, but circular, mounded, bounded burial grounds for exclusive use had a long tradition in the Argolid, including shaft grave circles and monumental tholos tombs (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 49). That the new tumuli were constructed by aspiring elites, who were willing to experiment with burial practices, is supported by their use of cremation – a practice without precedent in the Bronze Age Argolid. Cremations are often associated with the expression of elite status (Dickinson 2006a, 189), because of the cost of the wood required (Lemos 2002, 187; Palaiologou 2013, 273), and the long public spectacle afforded by the pyre (Crielaard 2006, 287). At Khania, nine cremations were placed within six vessels in the tumulus (Papadimitriou 2006, 532–533) during LH IIIC Middle Advanced–Late (Palaiologou 2013, 249), and at Argos the tumulus contained 36 cremations alongside at least 16 inhumations (Dickinson 2006a, 180;

Papadimitriou 2006, 532–533). As at Khania, the cremations date to LH IIIC Middle–Late (Jung 2010, 173). The use of locally made pithoi and grave goods shows that these were not the burials of outsiders bringing foreign customs to the Argolid, but native Mycenaeans (Palaiologou 2013, 275). It is unclear whether or not the use of tumuli and cremation were successful in expressing claims to power at Argos and at Khania near Mycenae. It is telling, however, that the practice of cremation was not adopted more widely by the population anywhere in the Argolid, and even in the Early Iron Age the traditional Mycenaean practice of inhumation continued to be the norm, here and in many other regions of the mainland (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 93; Palaiologou 2013, 274). The cremations at Mycenae and Argos should, therefore, be considered as exceptional and experimental, rather than the start of a new trend in postpalatial burial customs. Interestingly, no new monumental tombs were

15. Continuities and changes in Mycenaean burial practices after the collapse of the palace system constructed at Tiryns, and cremation was not practiced there, yet it is clear that there were factional claims to power at this former palace (Maran 2006, 125). Those who aspired to power at postpalatial Tiryns may have used monumental buildings for the living, rather than the dead, to express their claims, along with the selective display of heirlooms and exotica (Maran 2006, 131). Where cremation was adopted elsewhere in LH IIIC, if on a rather limited scale (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 93), this has usually been attributed to interactions with, and emulation of, neighbouring cultures that already practiced cremation (Cavanagh and Mee 2009, 177). For the cremations in Achaea, links with south Italy are cited (Dickinson 2006a, 73), but usually it is the Near East that receives credit for the introduction of cremation to mainland Greece (Iakovidis 1970, 470; Crielaard 2006, 281; Murray 2018, 56). At Perati in east Attica, the burnt remains of at least 1   individuals  were  placed  within  vessels  or  on  the  floor  of 11 chamber tombs within this new, entirely postpalatial cemetery (Iakovidis 1970, 422; Cavanagh and Mee 2009, 175). It has been argued that cremation was adopted at Perati because of the high value placed on Near Eastern goods and practices,  which  is  reflected  in  the  imported  objects  often  used as grave goods in this cemetery (Iakovidis 1970, 469; Crielaard 2006, 281) (although this usage has been challenged, see Murray 2018). The problem with this explanation is that the burnt remains deposited in the tombs at Perati were not, in fact, cremations. Of all the samples tested, all contained the partially burnt remains of multiple individuals including adults and children (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 61), and none contained the burnt remains of a whole individual, or even a large portion of one (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 94). The bodies were not burnt inside the tombs, and no funerary pyres have been found at the cemetery (Iakovidis 1980, 15; Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 94), unlike the abundant evidence for pyres discovered in the later cemeteries at Lefkandi (Popham 1987, 71). The incomplete and comingled burnt remains were sometimes placed in the larger chamber tombs, or associated with richer grave goods (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 95), but there is no evidence that they were the result of  flamboyant  funerals  designed  to  celebrate  high  status  individuals. When compared with the complete cremations of whole individuals that the examples at Perati are meant to emulate (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 61), the burnt remains found at this cemetery barely resemble cremations at all. It was thought that the cremations which began in LH IIIC had no precedent in Mycenaean Greece, but there was a native practice that could explain the remains found at Perati. When a chamber tomb was formally closed down, a ritual with  fire  could  be  held  at  the  entrance  to  the  chamber,  in  which selected bones from the comingled remains of earlier burials were partially burnt (Galanakis 2016, 191). Whole bodies were not burnt, but bones from different individuals

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would be selected for this ritual, which was deliberately and carefully carried out (Galanakis 2016, 192). It is likely that some of these partially burnt, co-mingled bones from formal tomb closing rituals with fire, were subsequently reburied at  Perati, by newcomers who wished to retain a connection to their ancestors after leaving their old communities (Bulmer 2016, 61). Cremations occurred in different parts of the mainland including Achaea, Elis, Arcadia, Boeotia, Thessaly and Attica, but still in relatively low numbers, for much of the postpalatial period (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 93; Dickinson 2006a, 180). The wider use of cremation, which began at the end of the Bronze Age in Attica and Lefkandi (Lemos 2002, 152; Dickinson 2006a, 186), took place on a scale which precludes their exclusive use as expressions of status for elite individuals. The creation of anonymous ancestors – which is achieved more rapidly through cremation, as it quickly removes the flesh and allows the remains to be  easily comingled (Iakovidis 1970, 427; Brü ck and Fontijn 2013, 208) – could have been important to the expression (or creation) of identity to members of new communities, as well as those in expanding communities undergoing change at the end of the Bronze Age (Bulmer 2016, 239). The introduction of cremation to mainland Greece does not, therefore, require a single cause or overseas origin (Mee 2011, 240; Galanakis 2016, 190), but can be explained in terms of exceptions (the elite cremations in the Argolid), the result of traditional Mycenaean fire rituals ( erati), or  the need for living people to develop their social identity and connection with their ancestors (Connerton 2008, 63), who were sometimes rapidly created (Attica and Lefkandi). Burials containing weapons are said to have increased in number in the postpalatial period (Deger-Jalkotzy 2006, 168; Dickinson 2006a, 74; Middleton 2010, 101; Crielaard 2011, 95), and these special burials are also thought to have expressed high status. Frequently described as ‘warrior graves’, it has been suggested that weapons were placed in the graves of men who attained status on the strength of their personal military prowess (Deger-Jalkotzy 1999, 121; Papadopoulos 1999, 267; Whitley 2001, 96; Deger-Jalkotzy 2008, 404). This idea rests on the assumption that life in the postpalatial period was fraught with violence, including piracy and the incursion of the Sea Peoples (Deger-Jalkotzy 1999, 130; Papadopoulos 2009, 75), and that strong military men were required to protect communities. It also draws upon the slight increase in agonistic imagery used on pottery at this time (Maran 2006, 143; Middleton 2010, 103; ickinson 2014,  0), and the assumption that this reflects  both a daily reality of warfare in LH IIIC, and an accompanying ideology of militarism (Deger-Jalkotzy 1999, 130; Cavanagh 2008, 335). Are these assumptions supported by the evidence? Burials with weapons were not common in the palace territories before the collapse (Dickinson 2014, 69), perhaps

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because palace rulers reserved this form of competitive display for themselves (Deger-Jalkotzy 2006, 152). R ather than increasing, however, the use of weapons as grave goods actually decreased after the collapse of the palaces in these regions. No weapon burials have been discovered in the postpalatial Argolid, Laconia, Messenia, Corinthia, or Boeotia, and outside of Achaea burials with weapons were extremely rare at this time. There were just four in Attica, two in Arcadia, one in Thessaly and one in Phokis (DegerJalkotzy 2006, 166–167 and 170–171). The majority of postpalatial weapons burials on the mainland – 15 out of 23, or 65% (Deger-Jalkotzy 2006, 166–167 and 170–171) – have been found in Achaea in the northern Peloponnese (see Arena, this volume). Why were they concentrated in this region? Unlike in the palace territories, burials with weapons were relatively common in Achaea before the collapse (Cavanagh and Mee 199, 73). Of the 26 Late Bronze Age burials with weapons identified in Achaea by  Papadopoulos (1999, 267), there are several which were not dated more precisely than LH IIIB–C, because of the imprecision of excavation records, and the repeated use of tombs over many years (Papadopoulos, 1999, 268). This shows that the practice of burial with weapons was not newly devised after the collapse, and there was also not a significant rise in the  use of weapons in graves in the postpalatial period, but in fact continuity with local palace period practices. It also means that, whatever their purpose, the use of weapons in graves in Achaea had its origins in the palace period, and did not take place as a response to the collapse (Bulmer 2016, 173). Weapons have frequently been associated with power (Harrell 2014, 100), and it has been suggested that burials with weapons were given to leaders, rather than military combatants (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 111; Deger-Jalkotzy 1999, 130; Papadopoulos 1999, 268; Dickinson 2014, 70). If the postpalatial burials with weapons were used as a form of competitive display, then they and the burials of those with which they competed should have been richly furnished, and contain abundant weapons and armour, like the burials with weapons discovered in postpalatial Crete (Deger-Jalkotzy 2006, 166–167 and 170–171). The burial in tomb B at Kallithea in Achaea (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 95) was well provided with a range of weapons and other equipment, but examples of very rich weapons burials are exceptional. In fact, the majority were relatively poor burials, with little to distinguish them from other burials apart from the weapons themselves (Papadopoulos 1999, 268). Usually the grave contained a sword, but sometimes also a different bladed weapon or a projectile (Deger-Jalkotzy 2006, 166–167 and 170–171). The lack of elaboration and wealth argues against these burials belonging to leaders who achieved their positions through competition, ostentatious display, or physical force. The distribution of burials with weapons in Achaea, with just one or two examples per cemetery (Deger-Jalkotzy

2008, 404), does suggest that this type of formal burial was reserved for high status funerals (Dickinson 2014, 70), but if they were the burials of leaders, then their power, and the right to be buried with weapons, was not usually inherited, as this would be expressed in subsequent weapon burials in the same tombs. Only one tomb contained a succession of burials with weapons – tomb 2 at Lousika: Spaliareïka contained three consecutive burials with weapons (Middleton 2010, 104).  eger-Jalkotzy (200 ) identified just 2  burials  with weapons for postpalatial mainland Greece. The fact that some of the postpalatial burials with weapons were relatively poor, and that rich or poor, they were relatively uncommon (Dickinson 2014, 70) suggests that this form of burial was provided to individuals who had a measure of social status, but not necessarily wealth or political power achieved through competition or inheritance. The pattern in Achaea of no more than one burial per cemetery per generation suggests that burials with weapons were special, they were carried out in recognition of a non-hereditary social position that was held for a long time, and for just one person per community (Bulmer 2016, 167). For Late Mycenaean Greece, various special roles might be suggested – midwife, priest or priestess, bronze smith, entertainer, healer, and so on. If this was the case, then there is no reason why women could not be among those selected for special burials with weapons, and the assumption (since sex has so frequently been ascribed on the basis of the grave goods, and so rarely verified by analysis of skeletal  remains (Harrell 2014, 100)) that weapons burials are male must be rejected. What is clear is that there is not a single, simple, satisfactory explanation for the use of weapons in Mycenaean graves, and to attempt to identify just one, especially an exclusively military one, must ultimately be fruitless. Burials with weapons have received a disproportionate amount of attention, given that there are so few of them (Middleton 2010, 111), they are concentrated almost exclusively in just one region of the mainland, and they represent a continuous tradition rather than a new custom prompted by the collapse of the palaces. Why is this so? There is a long history of assuming that life after the collapse was particularly grim and violent (Dickinson, 2006a, 70), and that violent men rose in status because of this (Deger-Jalkotzy 2008, 404). Yet this impression of daily warfare is contradicted by the lack of evidence for battle sites, mass graves of warriors, or monuments to the war dead, anywhere in mainland Greece (Driessen 1999, 14), and the increase in trade in LH IIIC Middle (when most of the burials with weapons took place) which indicates a level of stability if not peace (Crielaard 2006; Middleton 2010, 90). For this reason, the small number of weapons found in graves and the slight increase in battle imagery on pottery should not be treated as evidence for an increase in the occurrence of actual violence, the importance of violent men, or a military

15. Continuities and changes in Mycenaean burial practices after the collapse of the palace system ideology in the postpalatial period (Middleton 2017, 150). The oft repeated concept of ‘warlike Mycenaeans’, which is frequently used in relation to the postpalatial period, must also be rejected, on much the same grounds (Dickinson 2014, 70). Turning now to the tombs themselves, during the palace period, of all the burials discovered, it is clear that most people were buried collectively in chamber tombs and modest tholoi (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 77). These tombs featured a subterranean chamber accessed via an entrance passage (dromos) and doorway (stomion), which was re-opened to admit subsequent burials. Simple graves such as pits and cists were normally used for single burials, but these graves were used less frequently, and were usually placed within cemeteries dominated by collective tombs (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 62). It is often stated that there was a decline in the use of collective tombs, and an increase in the use of simple graves in the postpalatial period (Whitley 2001, 78; Dickinson 2006a, 181). Was this the case? It is useful to return to the cemetery at Perati when considering this question, as it was newly constructed after the collapse, and the people using this cemetery did not have the option to continue using their old family tombs. R ather, the type of tombs they built must have been the result of deliberate choice (Bulmer 2016, 28). The cemetery comprised 192 chamber tombs and 26 pit graves – precisely what might be expected of a cemetery constructed during a time of transition from collective to simple tomb types (Iakovidis 1970). When the construction dates of the tombs are examined, however, a different picture emerges. The period of the cemetery’s use has been divided into three phases. Of the 26 pit graves, 22 were built in the first phase, and four in the  second phase (Iakovidis 1970, 465). No new pit graves were built in the final phase towards the end of the postpalatial  period. Some of the pit graves contained multiple burials, perhaps continuing a practice found in different cemeteries in palace period Attica (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 69), and four had an artificial dromos, in imitation of chamber tombs  (Iakovidis 1970, 422). This evidence suggests that, rather than transitioning from collective tombs to simple graves, the users of this cemetery continued to prefer collective tombs throughout LH IIIC, and the early simple graves were a matter of necessity rather than choice. Considering mainland Greece as a whole, were collective tombs replaced by simple graves in LH IIIC? Cavanagh and Mee were unable to provide precise figures for every  cemetery  (199 ,  2),  but  their  results  are  sufficient  for  a  comparison of periods. For LH IIIA–B, the 2,100 or more recorded tombs in use included 1,871 (89% ) collective tombs (predominantly chamber tombs), and 229 (11% ) simple graves (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 80–88). For the postpalatial period, 1,015 or more tombs have been recorded, including 910 (90% ) collective tombs, and 105

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(10% ) simple graves (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 98–102). Far from rejecting the collective tomb types of the palace period, then, these figures indicate that people continued to choose  collective tombs after the collapse, and the construction of simple graves did not significantly increase until after LH  IIIC (Lewartowski 2000, 14). The timing of this change to simple graves – four or five generations after the collapse –  means that the catalyst should not be sought in and around 1190 BC, but at the very end of the postpalatial period. Although chamber tombs continued to be the tomb of choice in the postpalatial period, many of the new tombs were smaller than those built in LH IIIB. The range and quantity of grave goods did not significantly decline, which  means the reduction in the size of the tombs cannot simply be attributed to a lack of resources (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 60). The new tombs at Perati were a third smaller, on average (Cavanagh and Mee 2009, 172), and they got smaller still during the life of the cemetery, despite the growth of trade and economy during LH IIIC Middle. The smallest tomb, 54, had a floor space of just 0.  m2 (Iakovidis 1970, 421), and many of the chambers were less than 1 m in height. The palace period chamber tombs at Elateia Alonaki were spacious, but new tombs were smaller, with particularly cramped chambers by the end of the postpalatial period (Deger-Jalkotzy 2014, 46). In the smallest of chambers, it was impossible to carry out formal funerary rituals, or lay out the dead in an organised way. R ather than using the stomion (the entrance to the chamber), some funerary rituals could have taken place in the dromos, but at Perati these were also shrinking in size and definition ( akovidis  1970, 420). During the palace period, the fragments of broken kylikes (drinking cups) often found in large numbers in the dromoi of chamber tombs, are thought to indicate that a toast with wine was held in the dromos during funerals (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 72). In the postpalatial period, broken kylikes are largely absent from the dromoi (with a few exceptions including Achaea), although in the Elateia–Alonaki cemetery, the kylikes were accompanied by kraters (wine mixing bowls) (Cavanagh and Mee 2014, 51–53). These changes, although varied by region, suggest that either there were changes in the rituals which took place at the graveside, or a change in the participants attending them. Some of the funerary rituals previously carried out at the graveside may have been relocated to the living communities in LH IIIC. If wakes took place in settlements, this could represent a shift in emphasis from the dead to the living, because of the need to strengthen social relationships amongst the living community (Bulmer 2016, 43). At Tiryns, where the importance of the old chamber tomb cemetery seems to have diminished in LH IIIC (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 96), there were at least three new elite buildings which might have provided the setting for funerals in the citadel and lower town (Maran 2006, 126–127). There is

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no concrete evidence for funerary activities shifting to the settlements, but the smaller chamber tombs constructed in the post-palatial period do suggest that people were less invested in providing tombs for future descendants, and more concerned with the most immediate generation. Despite the continued use of collective tomb types, the number of people buried together in these tombs declined noticeably in LH IIIC (Dickinson, 2006a, 181). Almost a third of the chamber tombs at Perati contained a single burial, and even among those buried collectively, the number of burials in each tomb was markedly low (Iakovidis 1970, 422). Elsewhere, the number of people buried together in postpalatial chamber tombs also declined, although single burial did not become common anywhere in mainland Greece until the Early Iron Age, and collective burial was retained even longer in some regions (Dickinson 2006a, 181), especially Thessaly (Georganas 2011, 628), but also Phokis, and Messenia (Lemos 2002, 8). The reduction in the size of burial groups probably reflected a reduction in the size of groups within the living  (Cavanagh and Mee 1990, 63). At new cemeteries built for new communities such as Perati, this is easy to explain. The organisation of the tombs within the cemetery indicates that people did not move their entire kinship group to the new community all at once, but relocated as individuals or small families (Cavanagh and Mee 2009, 171). These small groups would have had to live and function independently, so their groupings in both life and death were relatively small. The low numbers of people buried together at Perati throughout the postpalatial period suggests that either large, formal kinships were not subsequently established at this community, or they were not expressed in burial practices. The situation was different in the former palace territories. If kinship rights and obligations had been enforced by palace rulers to maintain the status quo in the palace period, then the collapse would have brought individuals greater freedom to renegotiate their relationships both within and between kinships groups (Middleton 2010, 1; Palaiologou 2013, 273) – a consequence which may not have been entirely unwelcome. The ability to renegotiate or even opt out of kinship relationships could have led to smaller groupings in life, a reduction in the importance of kinship to social identity (Mee 2011, 240), and subsequently, smaller burial groups in death, among people who otherwise continued to use Mycenaean burial practices. If kinships developed in the postpalatial period, they were not expressed through larger numbers of people being buried together, although the clustering of single graves in the Early Iron Age suggests that social organisation could be expressed again in a different way (Lemos 2002, 187–188). Interestingly, the commitment to large collective tombs – presumably for large families – may have begun to diminish in some places before the collapse of the palaces. Broadly speaking, chamber tombs were richly furnished in LH II, but

gradually became smaller and poorer in LH III (Cavanagh and Mee 1990, 62; Palaiologou 2013, 273), and fewer chamber tombs were built towards the end of the period (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 57). In Attica, there was a willingness to experiment with traditional Mycenaean burial practices during the later palace period, which explains some of the features at Perati, including hybrid tombs (pit graves with an artificial dromos), the use of collective tombs for single  burials, and the use of simple graves for multiple burials (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 67). The decline in the use and richness of chamber tombs in some regions, and alterations to traditional practices in others, suggests that the social changes which led to single burial in parts of Mycenaean Greece began before the collapse, and raises the question of whether the collapse was the cause of social change, or a symptom of it. R ather than smaller tombs, some larger chamber tombs were constructed in Achaea in LH IIIC. The new cave dormitory tombs were spacious, and featured a series of deep pits into which dozens of inhumations were placed (Cavanagh and Mee 1998. 92). Some older chamber tombs were also extended or had new pits cut for additional burials at this time. In contrast to the emphasis on individual identity implied by the use of cremation or the placing of weapons in graves (both of which occurred in Achaea in LH IIIC), these tombs expressed a broader collective identity, and served burial groups where the similarity of their members was more important than their differences. Here it would seem that kinship, or another type of social grouping, increased in importance after the collapse (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 93). There were regional variations in burial practices before and after the collapse of the palace system (Cavanagh and Mee 1998, 134; Dickinson 2006b, 115). In Attica and other parts of the east-facing koine (Crielaard 2006, 282), people’s willingness to adapt and experiment with burial practices may explain why cremation and cemeteries of simple graves found expression in these areas first.  hat said, these particular developments came at the end of LH IIIC, and for most of the postpalatial period, and in most regions, burial practices remained recognisably Mycenaean. The general continuity in burial practices suggests that the collapse did not bring about significant social change. This interpretation seems at odds with the evidence for destructions and abandonments around 1190 BC. The lack of exceptionally ostentatious funerary display, however, indicates that the effects of the collapse were felt most keenly by the ruling elites (Deger-Jalkotzy 2008, 392; Middleton 2017, 46). At the same time, the burial practices of ordinary people in, for example, the Argolid, continued much as they had before, without an increase in simple graves or a turn to cremation in the postpalatial period. The main change after the collapse was a reduction in the size of burial groups, which was rapid in Attica and in new communities, but took place gradually in the old palace states. There was also a

15. Continuities and changes in Mycenaean burial practices after the collapse of the palace system reduction in the number of new chamber tombs being constructed, but the preference for this tomb type (including a willingness to clear out and re-use old abandoned tombs) lasted until the end of the period. The collapse of the palace system affected people beyond the palace rulers themselves (indeed it affected regions that did not even have palaces – Georganas 2011, 627), but the political changes the destructions brought were not sufficient  to significantly disrupt traditional burial practices, even at  the cemeteries closest to the palaces. This in itself indicates that, to a certain extent, life (and death) went on as usual after the collapse, for all but those at the top of society. But how could the palace system have experienced such destruction, without destroying Mycenaean culture (Middleton 2017, 152) and bringing about a new social order? Two separate levels of social organisation were in existence in Late Bronze Age Greece. One form of social organisation related to the palaces and the administration of the centralised, bureaucratically controlled state, and the other related to the day-to-day relationships of people belonging to traditional and long-serving kinships. There is no doubt that the collapse of the palaces effectively wiped out the mechanisms of social organisation at the state level (Deger-Jalkotzy 2008, 390), since the evidence at Tiryns, Mycenae and elsewhere indicates that the palaces were never fully rebuilt, centralised power was not successfully reintroduced, and those who did achieve authority never acquired the command of resources enjoyed by the former palace rulers (Dickinson 2006a, 75). These changes do not mean that the kinship structure was also immediately wiped out (Middleton 2010, 94). With the collapse of the palaces came the freedom to renegotiate social rights and obligations both as families and as individuals (Dickinson 2006a, 256; Middleton 2010, 1), as well as the opportunity to relocate and physically sever old connections. This disintegration of old kinship relationships, however, could have taken generations to develop. In Attica – a region that does not seem to have had a palace – change seems to have begun before the collapse of the palaces. That these changes took time to fall into place in the former palace territories is evidenced by the continued commitment to collective burial in many regions, and the rather limited use of simple graves until the Early Iron Age. The postpalatial period is often depicted as a dark and difficult era in which to live ( ickinson 200 a, 242   egerJalkotzy 2008, 405), but people are not just the passive victims of social change. We make and change the world we live in, and by so doing, we make and change ourselves, and the ways in which we view the world (R ees 1998, 71). The people who lived after the destructions actively created their postpalatial culture, blending old traditions and new opportunities to meet their needs. It is against this background that the renegotiation of kinship relationships and the resultant redefining of social identities after the collapse  of the palaces begins to seem plausible as an explanation for

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the eventual changes in burial practices which took place at the end of, or in some cases after, the postpalatial period. In this respect, it could be argued that the collapse was not entirely a negative process, but one which allowed greater freedom for those who lived in the period which followed.

R e fe r e n c e s Brü ck, J. and Fontijn, D. (2013) The myth of the chief: prestige goods, power, and personhood in the European Bronze Age. In H. Fokkens and A. Harding (eds) The Oxford Handbook of the European Bronze Age, 197–215. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Bulmer, P. (2016) Death in Post-palatial Greece: Reinterpreting Burial Practices and Social Organisation After the Collapse of the Mycenaean Palaces. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Liverpool. Cavanagh, W. (2008) Death and the Mycenaeans. In C. Shelmerdine (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Aegean Bronze Age, 327–341. New York, Cambridge University Press. Cavanagh, W. and Mee, C. (1990) The location of Mycenaean chamber tombs in the Argolid. In R . Hä gg and G. Nordquist (eds) Celebrations of Death and Divinity in the Bronze Age Argolid, 55–64. Stockholm, Svenska Institutet i Athen. Cavanagh, W. and Mee, C. (1998) A Private Place: Death in Prehistoric Greece. Jonsered, Paul Åströms Förlag. Cavanagh, W. and Mee, C. (1999) Building the Treasury of Atreus. n  . Betancourt,  .  arageorghis,  . Laffineur and  .  iemeier  (eds) Meletemata: Studies in Aegean Archaeology Presented to Malcolm H. Wiener as He Enters his 65th Y ear. Aegaeum 20, 93–102. Liè ge, Université de Liè ge. Cavanagh, W. and Mee, C. (2009) Perati kai para pera. In D. Danielidou (ed.) : , 169–189. Athens, Akademia Athenon. Cavanagh, W. and Mee, C. (2014) ‘In vino veritas’: raising a toast at Mycenaean funerals. In Y. Galanakis, T. Wilkinson, and J. Bennet (eds) Athrymata: Critical Essays on the Archaeology of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honour of E. Susan Sherratt, 51–56. Oxford, Archaeopress. Connerton, P. (2008) Seven types of forgetting. Memory studies 1(1), 59–71. Crielaard, J. (2006) Basileis at sea: elites and external contacts in the Euboean Gulf region from the end of the Bronze Age to the beginning of the Iron Age. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 271–297. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Crielaard, J. (2011) The ‘wanax to basileus model’ reconsidered: authority and ideology after the collapse of the Mycenaean palaces. In A. Mazarakis Ainian (ed.) The ‘Dark Ages’ Revisited, 83–111. Thessaly, University of Thessaly Press. Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (1999) Military prowess and social status in Mycenaean Greece.  n  . Laffineur (ed.) Polemos: le contexte guerrier en Égée à L’â ge du Bronze. Aegaeum 19, 121–131. Liè ge, Université de Liè ge. Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (2006) Late Mycenaean warrior tombs. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 151–179. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press.

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Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (2008) Decline, destruction, aftermath. In C. Shelmerdine (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Aegean Bronze Age, 387–415. New York, Cambridge University Press. Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (2014) A very underestimated period: the Submycenaean phase of early Greek culture. In D. Nakassis, J. Gulizio and S. James (eds) Ke-ra-me-j a: Studies presented to Cynthia W. Shelmerdine, 41–52. Philadelphia, INSTAP Academic Press. Dickinson, O. (2006a) The Aegean from Bronze Age to Iron Age: Continuity and Change Between the Twelfth and Eighth Centuries BC. Abingdon, R outledge. Dickinson, O. (2006b) The Mycenaean heritage of Early Iron Age Greece. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 115–122. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Dickinson, O. (2014) How warlike were the Mycenaeans, in reality? In Y. Galanakis, T. Wilkinson and J. Bennet (eds) Athrymata: Critical Essays on the Archaeology of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honour of E. Susan Sherratt, 67–72. Oxford, Archaeopress. Driessen, J. (1999) The archaeology of Aegean warfare. In R . Laffineur (ed.) Polemos: le contexte guerrier en Égée à L’â ge du Bronze. Aegaeum 19, 11–20. Liè ge, Université de Liè ge. Galanakis, Y. (2016) Fire, fragmentation and the body in the Late Bronze Age Aegean. In M. Mina, S. Triantaphyllou and Y. Papadatos (eds) An Archaeology of Prehistoric Bodies and Embodied Identities in the Eastern Mediterranean, 189–196. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Georganas, I. (2011) The transition from the Late Bronze to the Early Iron Age in Thessaly: some thoughts. In A. MazarakisAinian (ed.) The ‘Dark Ages’ Revisited, 627–633. Thessaly, University of Thessaly Press. Harrell, K. (2014) Man/woman, warrior/maiden: the Lefkandi Toumba female burial reconsidered. In Y. Galanakis, T. Wilkinson and J. Bennet (eds) Athrymata: Critical Essays on the Archaeology of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honour of E. Susan Sherratt, 99–104. Oxford, Archaeopress. Iakovidis, S. (1970) : Athens, Bibliotheke tes en Athenais Archaiologikes Etaireias Arith. Iakovidis, S. (1980) Excavations of the Necropolis at Perati. Los Angeles, Institute of Archaeology, University of California. Jung, R . (2010) End of the Bronze Age. In E. Cline (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean, 171–184. Oxford, Oxford University Press.

Lemos, I. (2002) The Protogeometric Aegean: The Archaeology of the Late Eleventh and Tenth Centuries BC. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Lewartowski, K. (2000) Late Helladic Simple Graves: A Study of Mycenaean Burial Customs. Oxford, Archaeopress. Maran, J. (2006) Coming to terms with the past: ideology and power in Late Helladic IIIC. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 123–150. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Mee, C. (2011) Greek Archaeology: A Thematic Approach. Chichester, Wiley-Blackwell. Mee, C. and Cavanagh, W. (1984) Mycenaean tombs as evidence for social and political organization. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 3(3), 45–64. Middleton, G.D. (2010) The Collapse of Palatial Society in LBA Greece and the Postpalatial Period. Oxford, Archaeopress. Middleton, G.D. (2017) Understanding Collapse: Ancient History and Modern Myths. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Murray, S. (2018) Imported exotica and mortuary ritual at Perati in Late Helladic IIIC east Attica. American Journal of Archaeology 122(1), 33–64. Palaiologou, H. (2013) Late Helladic IIIC cremation burials at Chania of Mycenae. In M. Lochner and F. R uppenstein (eds) Brandbestattungen von der mittleren Donau biz zur Ä gä is zwischen 1300 und 750 v. Chr., 249–279. Wien, Osterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Papadimitriou, A. (2006) The Early Iron Age in the Argolid: some new aspects. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 531–547. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Papadopoulos, T. (1999) Warrior-graves in Achaean Mycenaean cemeteries.  n  . Laffineur (ed.) Polemos: le contexte guerrier en É gée à L’â ge du Bronze. Aegaeum 19, 267–274. Liè ge: Université de Liè ge. Popham, M. (1987) Lefkandi and the Greek Dark Age. In B. Cunliffe (ed.) Origins: The Roots of European Civilisation, 67–80. London, BBC Books. R ees, J. (1998) The Algebra of Revolution: The Dialectic and the Classical Marxist Tradition. London, R outledge. Voutsaki, S. (1998) Mortuary evidence, symbolic meanings and social change: a comparison between Messenia and the Argolid in the Mycenaean period. In K. Branigan (ed.) Cemetery and Society in the Aegean Bronze Age, 41–5 . Sheffield, Sheffield  Academic Press. Whitley, J. (2001) The Archaeology of Ancient Greece. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

16 The irrelevance of Greek ‘tradition’ Oliver Dickinson

My aim in this chapter is simple, to discredit the notion that what is generally referred to as Greek tradition contains useful historical information relating to Greek prehistory, especially to supposed historical events that are generally placed within the period on which this book focuses, or are seen as direct consequences of developments within it. I am referring to the Trojan War and to the population movements generally known as the Dorian Invasion and Ionian Migration, that supposedly occurred within two or three generations of the ar.  hese  three  have  constantly  been  given  a  significant  role in general histories of Greece. Even relatively recently Cartledge, though noting increasing scepticism about a historical Trojan War (1998, 56), could write that the picture in Greek tradition of a disturbed period of ‘palace revolutions and wanderings of peoples’ after the War ‘accords with the archaeological picture’, although he went on to argue on archaeological grounds that the traditional date given to the Dorian Invasion was much too early (1998, 58–59). I wish to argue that there are many reasons, not simply archaeological, to effectively ignore the legends of these and all other historical-sounding events, mostly wars, set in Greece’s remote past. R easons for approaching this material with caution have been voiced from relatively early in the study of Greek prehistoric archaeology. Nilsson made some very apposite critical comments about the approach of ‘Certain English scholars’, who supposed that once the fabulous elements in the legends were removed the rest could be considered good history, and even the chronology and genealogies taken as reliable (1932, 3–4). In contrast, he laid emphasis on the tendency of heroic legend to mix historical and fabulous elements and confuse chronology, making the important comment: The historical aspect of Greek mythology and especially the mythical chronology are products of the systematizing of the

myths by the poets of cyclical epics and still more the products of rationalisation and historification by the logographers.

Forsdyke (1956) subjected the work of the later chronographers and historians to critical analysis and demonstrated how dubious its basis was and how much that is often called traditional was nothing of the kind, but resulted from scholarly attempts to create a chronologically datable history of early Greece that could stand comparison with those of Egypt and Mespotamia. He too commented on the tendency of epic to confuse chronology and introduce fictional events  and persons, and like Nilsson insisted on the necessity of having a historical record as a control, that could be used to demonstrate how far an epic might have diverged from historical truth (1956, 162–166). However, he also had no doubt that the story of the Trojan War had a core of truth. He  wrote,  significantly,  that  as  the  Iliad was the earliest preserved Greek epic it ‘ought to stand nearest to historical truth’ (195 , 1 4), a view that reflected his ideas about how  epic poetry was preserved, and he believed that the evidence of archaeology generally supported placing the composition of the Iliad at the transition from Bronze to Iron Age, while identifying some notable anachronisms (1956, 15–17). The strictures of these scholars seem to have been largely ignored by their contemporaries. R ather, the majority of scholars seem to have continued treating what Cartledge calls the Greek myth-historical tradition as a useful source of information. Of course, this approach was  the  same  as  that  of  the  first  Greek  historians,  who  essentially had no other source of information about the past.  hucydides  seems  to  have  been  the  first  to  draw  general historical conclusions from this material, in his famous account of the earliest period of Greece’s history (I.1–12; Warner 1972, 35–43), but although he recognised

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the tendency of poets to exaggerate (I.20–21; Warner 1972, 46–47) he does not seem to have felt any reason to doubt the essential truth of the traditions. Thus, he did not question the tradition that the Trojan War lasted ten years, only tried to produce a rational explanation, and his successors took a similar approach. When sites famous in legend like Mycenae and Tiryns began to be investigated seriously through archaeology and evidence of a prehistoric civilisation in Greece was discovered, it was natural enough to identify this, quickly termed the ‘Mycenaean civilisation’ by Tsountas (Tsountas and Manatt 1897), with that of the Homeric heroes. But archaeology almost at once began to reveal the existence of ‘pre-Mycenaean’ phases, making clear that Greece’s prehistoric past was much longer than suggested by Greek traditions. This could be accepted, perhaps with the help of Herodotus’s references to ancient non-Greek peoples in the Aegean such as Pelasgians (I.56–8, Burn 1972, 61), but a more serious challenge to the credibility of Greek tradition was presented by the discoveries of Evans and others in Crete after 1900. Here was a civilisation that was clearly much older than the Mycenaean and likely to be its source, but apparently quite unknown to the Greeks. Evans argued that the Mycenaean civilisation was an offshoot of the Minoan, established by conquerors and colonists from Crete, who subjected the earliest Greek tribes to arrive in southern  Greece  and  heavily  influenced  them.  He  maintained that both Minoan and Mycenaean civilisations were ‘non-Hellenic’ (1912, 281–283; 1921, 23–24, 27–28), and was even ready to argue that the Greek heroic legends were adaptations from earlier epics centring on his Crete-derived Mycenaeans (1912, 288–293). This implicit denial of the value of Greek tradition does not seem to have attracted detailed rebuttal at the time (I would like to thank Professor N. Momigliano and Dr Y. Galanakis for helpful comment on this), maybe because Evans’s most extreme positions were largely ignored by those who took a more positive view of the Greeks, such as Wace and Blegen. Their discoveries, especially Wace’s at Mycenae, made it clear that the greatest period of Mycenaean civilisation was when Crete was well into decline, and so the legends could still be considered to reflect the glories of a Greek civilisation, and belief in the  essentially ‘Mycenaean’ nature of the society depicted in the Homeric poems could continue to be asserted (cf. Wace and Stubbings 1962). Blegen even felt obliged to argue for raising the date of the destruction of Troy VIIa, which he argued to be Homeric Troy, to c. 1250, to reconcile this with the date of the destruction of the Mycenaean palace at Pylos, which he placed c. 1200 and, like others at the time, attributed to the Dorian Invasion (Finkelberg 2011b, 893–894; cf. also Blegen 1975, 163). This meant ignoring the date of 1103 calculated for the establishment of the royal lines of Sparta, and so of 1183 for the fall of Troy, by Eratosthenes

(Forsdyke 1956, 28–30), and the higher dating has been strongly criticised on archaeological grounds. The decipherment of Linear B as Greek seemed to confirm  ace and Blegen’s views, even allowing  ace to argue  that Crete had been taken over by Mycenaean Greeks in its final palatial phase. But it was to provide a basis for questioning the ‘Mycenaeanness’ of the world portrayed in the Homeric poems, which may reasonably be described, if the veneer of fairy-tale magnificence is removed, as dangerous  and unstable, dominated by an aristocratic class who were little better than pirates and cattle-raiders. The contrast with the stable society that could be deduced from the Linear B documents, with organised systems of taxation and distribution overseen by literate administrators based at the palace centre, was stark. It gave added strength to Finley’s argument that Homeric society was not Mycenaean, but that of the post-Mycenaean ‘Dark Age’ (1977, but originally presented in 1956). This was followed by his questioning of the reality of a Trojan war anything like what was portrayed in the Iliad (1964), which combined with the careful analysis of the archaeological evidence already displayed in Lorimer 1950 to contribute to the much more critical and generally sceptical approach now displayed in compilations like Morris and Powell 1997 and Finkelberg 2011a. This has not been without resistance. Hammond, in writing about the ‘literary tradition for the migrations’ (i.e. the Dorian Invasion and related movements), asserted vigorously that the evidence of archaeology supported the accuracy of the material transmitted in the Homeric poems, describing them as ‘historical documents’, and argued that epic plays and other forms of oral tradition maintained the continuity of tradition (1975, 678–679). More recently Latacz has renewed the argument for a historical Trojan War (2004), laying emphasis on the capacity of the ‘oral-formulaic’ method of verse composition to preserve material from the past, while he and others have also sought a historical context for the War in supposed confrontations between the Hittite empire and the state of Ahhiyawa in the thirteenth century BC (cf. most recently Cline 2013, ch. 4). The argument for taking the legends seriously has continued to centre on the Trojan War, for the Homeric poems are the only surviving part of the material covered by the term ‘Greek tradition’ that has a genuinely archaic air and clearly derives from a long tradition of oral composition of poetry. If genuine historical memories of this war survived through continuous transmission in poetry, it could fairly be argued that memories of other events such as population movements could also have been preserved in this and other forms. The argument has always depended mainly on combining beliefs about oral tradition with the evidence from archaeology. There was at one time a tendency to think that oral tradition was inherently reliable, especially in the form of orally transmitted poetry; Forsdyke wrote of ‘fraternities of poets or reciters’ maintaining common repertories of poems

16. The irrelevance of Greek ‘tradition’ with ‘strict oral discipline supported by divine authority’ (195 , 14, 1 ). But this simply does not fit what has been  established about the ‘oral-formulaic’ method by which the Homeric poems seem to have been composed (cf. Elmer and Foley in Finkelberg 2011a, 604–610). The mixture of linguistic forms and archaeologically datable references in the poems demonstrates that they are not memorised reproductions of poems inherited from the past, for although the tradition to which they belong certainly stretches back to Mycenaean times they are obviously not in Mycenaean Greek, and they have absorbed many post-Mycenaean features (see further below). Even if it is accepted that they present a coherent picture of a real society – as has been seriously questioned – this need not belong to the relatively remote past, but could be the time of the poems’ creation or not long before ( aaflaub in  inkelberg 2011a,  1). The work done on oral tradition in prose form also provides ample reason for caution in claiming its reliability. One only has to read accounts of the recent past by leading members of Athenian society to see how these could give a seriously distorted impression by a combination of patriotic ideology, bias, and sometimes, no doubt, the fallibility of human memory (Thomas 1989, ch. 4). More generally, it must be stressed that accounts of the past are not maintained simply out of a disinterested concern to preserve ‘history’, but to support the identity and cohesiveness of the society, and especially to serve the interests of its governing class. So traditions will be concerned particularly with how a society or community was founded, what claim it has to the lands that it occupies, and what right its leaders have to govern, and if social arrangements change significantly,  the tradition will also change, to fit the new arrangements.  All of these themes are particularly relevant to stories of folk movement, and it is, therefore, no surprise to find good  examples in the stories of the Dorian Invasion and Ionian Migration, which are likely to have little relevance to what actually happened, and in which changes in how they were told over time can certainly be detected. Nor is it surprising  to  find  evidence  of  the  construction  and  manipulation  of genealogies, which are often used to justify claims to power, status and land, whether at the mythical level, in the supposed descent of the various groups of Greeks from the mythical Hellen (Hall 2002, ch. 4), or in the details of particular groups or families (cf. Thomas 1989, chs 2–3 and Hall 1997, chs 3–4, also Dickinson 2008, 192 for a notable medieval non-Greek example). A point that needs particular stressing is that there was no such thing as a common Greek tradition about the past or a single fixed version of any particular story, so that any  unqualified reference to a story or piece of information as  deriving from ‘tradition’ has the potential to be seriously misleading. Each major centre maintained its own traditions, which might differ considerably from those of their neighbours. The scope for serious variation even in the story of

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the Trojan War and its aftermath, that became common to all Greeks, can be seen in the reports that several Archaic poets set Agamemnon and Orestes in Sparta (Hall 1997, 91–92).  nfluential  poets  continued  to  add  to  and  change  stories, as the Athenian tragedians most notably did, and there is no sign that their audiences objected. In the case of prose traditions about the past, we generally know only what the historians chose to report; Herodotus did at least cite different versions of stories in some cases, but not always in any detail. Thus, his comments on the very mixed origins of the supposed founding populations of the Ionian cities (I.146.1–2; Burn 1972, 101) can only serve as a general warning against accepting the story promoted by Athens for political reasons, already known to Herodotus and elaborated in successive sources, that the founders set out from Athens in an organised expedition, led by one or more princes of the Athenian royal family. In general, the picture of Greece given by the myth-historical tradition imagines it very like what it was in historical times, divided into independent city states; so local were the traditions that alliances or examples of dominance and subjection are rarely mentioned. Many of the cities would be familiar, but some famous legends were attached to those that were no longer prominent, like Mycenae, Pylos and Iolkos. They were universally ruled by kings, although the legends give little indication of understanding how kingdoms work. The Delphic Oracle, on the archaeological evidence a post-Mycenaean foundation, is given a history going far into the mythical past and makes an appearance in several important legends, and other major ritual centres that would have been familiar to the historical Greeks, including those that hosted the pan-Hellenic festivals, were mostly given foundation dates in the legendary period. Heroes are often presented as founding shrines through setting up altars in the standard Greek fashion, and the gods that were worshipped and often played a major role in legends were the familiar gods of the Greek world. It was accepted that many of the Greek peoples were not in their historical territories, like the Dorians and Thessalians, but they were thought to be residing in or near recognisably Greek territory. The preserved traditions focus very much on the mainland, but Crete and many of the islands were thought to be or to have become Greek during the legendary period, though few traditions were preserved from these, even from Crete. There were certainly no Greek settlements beyond, on the eastern or northern shores of the Aegean, and western Anatolia was the only foreign region that featured more than vestigially in the traditions. The picture given in the Homeric poems shows many of these features, and also offers a wealth of detail of all kinds, ranging from manufactured items of many types to detailed descriptions of warfare, burial, religious ceremony, and public meetings, and they contain many references showing some knowledge of surrounding lands, including two

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detailed accounts of the many different contingents making up the Greek and Trojan armies. All of this contributes to the exceptional vividness of the epics and the impression that they are describing a functioning society, but does it offer a picture consistent with any particular period? It is now generally admitted that it does not. As I have argued elsewhere, the material setting is best regarded as a mixture, that contains some undoubted Mycenaean features but shows a definite bias towards the Early  ron Age, and  includes a strong dash of the fantasies of unreal splendour and the supernatural typical of epic. I have discussed its features in detail elsewhere (cf. most recently Dickinson 2008, 2011, and 2017b, originally written before these but somewhat revised in published form), and here only wish to summarise salient features. Apart from some references to individual items, the presentation of Mycenae, Troy and a few others as important centres must go back to the Mycenaean period, and some other features are likely to, such as the use of chariots in warfare. But the accounts of warfare in the Iliad are best described as artful fictions that  do not stand up to close examination, including a mixture of  armour,  weapons  and  fighting  methods  appropriate  to  different periods (Dickinson 2017b, 12–13). The presentation of cremation as the typical burial rite has long been recognised as anachronistic and is undoubtedly odd, since in the Iron Age cremation was only practised commonly in certain Greek communities, and the type described, involving burial of a container holding the ashes under a mound, is particularly rare (Dickinson 2008, 193). he practice of animal sacrifice and burnt offering, typical of  public religious rites in the poems, does seem to have some Mycenaean parallels, but can still hardly be considered a typical Mycenaean rite. The gods in whose honour the rites are practised and who play such a major role in the action of the Iliad, belong to the familiar ‘Olympian’ pantheon almost  entirely   only  some  have  been  identified  so  far  in  Linear B documents, in which the prominence of Potnia, a name used only as a title in Homer, is the most obvious but not the only ‘non-Olympian’ feature (Dickinson 2017b, 16). Among the items mentioned that would suit an Iron Age date and are typical of Iron Age elite contexts are the ubiquitous copper/bronze tripods and the gold earrings and robes pinned by gold brooches (archaeologically termed fibulae)  worn by high-ranking women (Dickinson 2008, 193–194). Here, as often with items and features, the finding of a few  generally late and simple Mycenaean examples (e.g. the first  bronze brooches) is not enough to support identifying them as Mycenaean survivals in the poetic tradition; they are far more likely to have been brought into the tradition when they were well-known types of elite item. Finally, the rather hazy description of Odysseus’s palace, which contains more rooms than any known Iron Age building and evidence for an upper storey, has been likened to Mycenaean palaces, but has some un-Mycenaean features and lacks the references

that one might expect to the typical Mycenaean wall and floor frescoes ( ickinson 200 , 194). The general presentation of a dangerous and uncertain society, with only limited knowledge of the outside world, hardly fits what one would expect of the palatial period of  the fourteenth and thirteenth centuries, in which several parts of the Greek mainland were controlled by palaces that governed and exploited quite extensive territories, in which the number of farming settlements, many of them long-established, is the greatest recognisable archaeologically until Classical times. There is also a mass of evidence for lively trading contact between the Mycenaean world and the east and central Mediterranean, and there is some that indicates that there could be diplomatic contacts with Near Eastern powers. The best evidence for this in the case of Egypt dates before the thirteenth century, but in the case of the powers of Anatolia, especially the Hittites, it belongs mainly to the thirteenth century and relates to the state of Ahhiyawa, which was clearly based in the Aegean. As noted above, the ‘Ahhiyawa texts’, found at the Hittite capital, which include copies of diplomatic letters, mostly sent by Hittite kings to Ahhiyawan kings but one now recognised to be a reply from the latter, have been used increasingly to suggest a historical setting for the Trojan War. Ahhiyawa has been presented as a troublesome adversary of the Hittites, with expansive designs, but this reflects a very pro-Hittite view and the reality is much more  complex (Dickinson 2017a). In the famous ‘Tawagalawa letter’, the Hittite king admits fault in a dispute involving Wilusa, generally accepted to be the state ruled from Troy, which was resolved diplomatically, and his tone is extremely polite, even referring to the Ahhiyawan king as a ‘Great King’, his ‘brother’ and equal. There may well be special reasons for this, but the texts make it clear that Ahhiyawa was a considerable power in the Hittites’ eyes. Whether its centre was at Mycenae or Thebes (much the most likely choices), it certainly controlled islands off the Anatolian coast and, for a while at least, Miletus and neighbouring territory, and other texts show that it had alliances with west Anatolian kingdoms before the Hittites made themselves overlords of the whole region in the late fourteenth century. Later Greeks knew nothing of this. They did not know of the Hittites, nor of the west Anatolian kingdoms that were subject to them, of which Wilusa was apparently the least important and not altogether stable, not the great power that Troy is presented as in the Iliad. The ‘Trojan Catalogue’ of the forces of Troy and its allies relates almost entirely to historical times (cf. R utherford in Finkelberg 2011a,  90– 91).  Most  significantly  of  all,  later  Greeks  were unaware that there had been a power in the Aegean that could correspond with the great power of Anatolia on almost equal terms. It cannot be stated too often that, as is perfectly clear from Book I of the Iliad onwards, the Greek force gathered at Troy formed a purely temporary

16. The irrelevance of Greek ‘tradition’ confederacy, and thus provides no supporting evidence for theories that a ‘great kingdom’ of Mycenae dominated much if not all of the Mycenaean world. In fact, Greek tradition essentially preserved no information about the real setting in which Mycenae and the other palace centres were active. If this was the case, one might well wonder why it should be imagined that the Catalogue of Ships preserves a largely reliable picture of Mycenaean Greece, and thus provides support for the notion of a historical Trojan War, as many have argued more or less strongly (the fullest case remains that made in Hope Simpson and Lazenby 1970). This idea has had such a powerful effect that still, when some major new Mycenaean site is discovered in a region covered in the  Catalogue,  an  identification  with  a  site  named  in  the  Catalogue is often sought. Yet the theory acknowledges the possibility of interference with an original (the entry on Athens); requires special explanations for various problems (e.g. the subdivision of the Argolid); and fails to explain striking features like the heavy concentration on central and northern Greece, with the Boeotians (who should not even be there according to other traditions) given pride of place, for no clear reason. I have discussed these and other problems raised by the Catalogue in more detail elsewhere (Dickinson 2011). Here I will simply point out that it has many peculiarities which are very difficult to explain, especially in the absence of other  contemporary material, and that there are considerable methodological problems in the way that many of the Catalogue sites have been identified, especially now that Mycenaean  sites are so common in most regions of mainland Greece; for example, in line with comments above, it can be questioned  whether  reported  later  identifications  derive  in  any  way from real  tradition’.  here are also major difficulties in  reconciling the Catalogue’s picture with what we now know from archaeology in many regions of Mycenaean Greece, especially the most prominent. In particular, the virtually total mismatch between the local centres of administration for the state of Pylos named in the Linear B tablets and the places named in the (much smaller) realm allocated to Nestor in the Catalogue has never been satisfactorily explained. The omission of Midea, the third great fortress site of the Argolid, and Nauplia from the Argolid list when much less prominent sites are included is a further problem, apart from the totally unreal subdivision of the region, that shuts off Mycenae completely from the Aegean. Also, the importance given to Argos and Sparta, a general feature of  the  mythical  tradition,  surely  reflects  their  historical  importance as leading Peloponnesian states, for they are not very impressive as Mycenaean sites (indeed, Sparta has produced little of Mycenaean date). Thebes, certainly a great Mycenaean centre, is only vestigially present, which fits the  legend of its conquest before the Trojan War by the sons of the Seven Against Thebes (Iliad 4.404–408; Hammond 1987, 63), but not the reality now revealed by archaeology,

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that it survived as a palatial site into the final Late Helladic  IIIB phase like the other palaces. Attempted explanations of these and other problems by Hope Simpson and Lazenby involve the creation of further special hypotheses in order to retain the main one, a sign of theoretical weakness. In my opinion, the Catalogue is best considered a mixture of old and new whose origins are quite obscure, not reflecting  any Bronze Age or Iron Age phase satisfactorily, and certainly not a guide to political organisation in the Mycenaean palatial period. The suggestion that in its suggested political divisions the Catalogue may relate to the period of Mycenaean decline after the destruction of the palaces (Hope Simpson and Lazenby 1970, 162–164) does not resolve all the problems noted and creates others, but it does draw attention to the possibility that features of the ‘heroic age’ depicted in the Homeric  poems  and  the  legends  generally  could  reflect  conditions in the postpalatial period. At first sight this may  seem  tempting,  but  there  is  one  major  difficulty:  there  is  nothing in the traditions to suggest that the ‘heroic age’ was seen as one of decline from a greater past, let alone that it followed any kind of disaster, natural or man-made. At one time the Dorian Invasion was thought responsible for the destruction of the Mycenaean palaces, but there is nothing in the tradition to suggest that it caused such wholesale devastation, and Wace argued, in a general attempt to downplay the significance of the  ark Age’ and insist on  the continuous history of Greek culture (in the Introduction to Ventris and Chadwick 1973, xxxiii–xxxiv) that it involved only a political, not a cultural change. But in this he was misled by tradition, which did indeed suggest a gradual transition from the ‘heroic age’ proper through a time of lesser deeds such as the foundation of the Dorian states in the Peloponnese and the Ionian and Aeolian cities in the east Aegean, into an indeterminate period before historical times about which very little was known. Thucydides could find so little to say about this that he could merge the  onian  Migration, which supposedly followed the Dorian Invasion quite closely, with the historical colonisation movement, as facets of the same phenomenon (I.12; Warner 1972, 42–43). This only underlines how little the traditions told the historical Greeks about their real past. The explanation surely lies in the conditions of what used to be called the ‘Dark Age’. Wace’s attempt to argue this away on the grounds that it simply represents a shortage of information has been shown to be far too optimistic by the accumulation of archaeological evidence. The period of the destruction of the Mycenaean palaces and its aftermath has been described in some sources in far too dramatic, almost apocalyptic terms (cf. examples cited in Dickinson 2006, 59–60). The publications of Kaniewski and his team, best represented by Kaniewski et al. 2015, provide a notable new example, which shows no apparent knowledge of the extent to which theories suggesting social collapse and mass migration have

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been questioned, and in many cases abandoned (it may be noted that there is no support for mass migration into Greece in tradition). But there can be no doubt that following the apparently sudden destruction of the palaces and the level of social organisation that they represented, there was a serious decline in material culture and living conditions in the Aegean. Following this, there was a degree of recovery in some regions in the postpalatial period, but there is a general impression of widespread insecurity and instability, demonstrated in a readiness of people to move. Population seems to coalesce at certain sites, only to disappear again in a few generations, and although the greatest period of site abandonment seems to have been in the immediate aftermath of the destructions, the phenomenon continued, until the number of certainly occupied sites in mainland Greece and many of the islands (Crete seems to have been much less affected) dwindles to a very small number by the end of the twelfth century. In effect, we have to accept that for various reasons population becomes very hard to detect archaeologically; but there must have been more people than the evidence would suggest if taken completely at face value (for more extensive comment, see Dickinson 2006, ch. 2, also 242–248). Information is so scanty that it is dangerous even to speculate on the motivation for this pattern of continual mobility. One might well wonder whether some natural factor like plague or crop disease or drought was actively driving people away from parts of the Greek mainland, but no particularly strong positive evidence has yet been produced. Certainly, if there were ever movements on the scale of whole population groups, this would have been most easily accomplished if they were moving into semi-deserted territory. But the stories of the Dorian Invasion, Ionian Migration and similar movements simply cannot be taken at face value; they are surely intended to provide a suitably heroic foundation story for what may have been far less dramatic developments, that could well have involved the progressive blending of newcomers with local populations, Greek or non-Greek, and the eventual establishment of new social hierarchies. The very name of one of the original three Dorian tribes, Pamphyloi, ‘people of every tribe’, is an indication of the system’s artificiality, and Herodotus’s  listing of the many different groups claiming involvement in the ‘Ionian’ foundations, referred to above, hints that a pattern of continual mobility and readiness to abandon roots, old or new, might lie behind the development of many communities. Of course, there was continuity at a certain level. Arts such as metalworking, ship-building and, more surprisingly, chariot-building continued to be practised. Surviving communities would have continued to follow the traditional patterns of agriculture and stock-breeding – the notion that immigrant groups on the mainland may have practised nomadic pastoralism is without any valid

supporting evidence (Dickinson 2006, 98–102) – and raw materials in demand, such as metals, would have continued to be moved around by processes of local exchange. Some ritual sites that seem to have a regional function went on in use, or were founded, as at Kalapodi, Mount Lykaion in Arcadia and Olympia (founded at the end of the Bronze Age), when it is often barely possible to identify the populations that used them. But a situation in which communities might be continually coming into being, then failing, and new groupings might be formed but could dissolve again, was one that would militate against the preservation of any but the vaguest memories of the past. So here, perhaps, we can recognise the one thing that can be confirmed from Greek tradition – the serious  and long-lasting effects that the collapse of Mycenaean civilisation had on Greek development. Overall, ‘Greek tradition’ is more likely to represent how later Greeks wanted to imagine the past than to incorporate any accurate and detailed memories.

R e fe r e n c e s Blegen, C.W. (1975) Troy VII. In I. Edwards, C. Gadd, N. Hammond and E. Sollberger (eds) The Cambridge Ancient History. Volume II, Part 2, 161–164. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Burn, A.R . (1972) Herodotus, The Histories, revised edition of A. de Sélincourt’s translation. London, Penguin. Cartledge, P. (ed.) (1988) The Cambridge Illustrated History of Ancient Greece. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Cline, E.H. (2013) The Troj an War: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Dickinson, O. (2006) The Aegean from Bronze Age to Iron Age. Continuity and Change Between the Twelfth and Eighth Centuries BC. London, R outledge. Dickinson, O. (2008) Was there really a Trojan War? In C. Gallou, M. Georgiadis and G.M. Muskett (eds) DIOSKOUROI. Studies Presented to W.G. Cavanagh and C.B. Mee on the Anniversary of Their 30-year Joint Contribution to Aegean Archaeology, 189–197. Oxford, Archaeopress. Dickinson, O. (2011) Catalogue of Ships. In M. Finkelberg (ed.) The Homer Encyclopedia, 150–155. Chichester, Wiley-Blackwell. Dickinson O. (2017a) The use and abuse of the Ahhiyawa texts. Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 60(2), 4. Dickinson, O. (2017b) The will to believe: why Homer cannot be ‘true’ in any meaningful sense. In S. Sherratt and J. Bennet (eds) Archaeology and Homeric Epic, 10–19. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Evans, A.J. (1912) The Minoan and Mycenaean element in Hellenic life. Journal of Hellenic Studies 32, 277–297. Evans, A.J. (1921) The Palace of Minos at Knossos, Vol. I. London, Macmillan. Finkelberg, M. (ed.) (2011a) The Homer Encyclopedia. Chichester, Wiley-Blackwell. Finkelberg, M. (2011b) Trojan War. In M. Finkelberg (ed.) The Homer Encyclopedia, 892–895. Chichester, Wiley-Blackwell. Finley, M.I. (1964) I. The Trojan War. Journal of Hellenic Studies 84, 1–9.

16. The irrelevance of Greek ‘tradition’ Finley, M.I. (1977) The World of Odysseus, second edition. London, Chatto & Windus, Forsdyke, J. (1956) Greece before Homer. London, Max Parrish. Hall, J.M. (1997) Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Hall, J.M. (2002) Hellenicity. Between Ethnicity and Culture. Chicago, The University of Chicago Press. Hammond, M. (1987) Homer, The Iliad. Harmondsworth, Penguin. Hammond, N. (1975) The literary tradition for the migrations. In I. Edwards, C. Gadd, N. Hammond and E. Sollberger (eds) The Cambridge Ancient History, Vol. II, Part 2, 678–712. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Hope Simpson, R . and Lazenby, J.F. (1970) The Catalogue of the Ships in Homer’s Iliad. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Kaniewski, D., Guiot, J. and Van Campo, E. (2015) Drought and societal collapse 3200 years ago in the eastern Mediterranean: a review. Wiley Interdisciplinary Reviews: Climate Change. DOI:10.1002/wcc.345.

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Latacz, J. (2004) Troy and Homer: Towards a Solution of an Old Mystery. Translated by K. Windle and R . Ireland. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Lorimer, H. (1950) Homer and the Monuments. London, Macmillan. Morris, I. and Powell, B. (eds) (1997) A New Companion to Homer. Leiden, Brill. Nilsson, M.P. (1932) The Mycenaean Origin of Greek Mythology. Los Angeles, University of California Press. Thomas, R . (1989) Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Tsountas, C. and Manatt, J.L. (1897) The Mycenaean Age. London, Macmillan. Ventris, M. and Chadwick, J. (1973) Documents in Mycenaean Greek, second edition. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Wace, A.J.B. and Stubbings, F.H. (1962) A Companion to Homer. London, Macmillan. Warner, R . (1972) Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War. London, Penguin.

17 Continuity and change in religious practice from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age Susan Lupack

In the 1970s, the number of Early Iron Age sites that provided archaeological evidence for cult practice contrasted rather sharply with the far greater numbers of sites that were dated to the preceding Bronze Age and the succeeding Late Geometric and Archaic periods. It was, and is, also true that the people of the Early Iron Age had lost many of the characteristic traits that had distinguished the preceding advanced civilisation of the Mycenaeans, such as monumental architecture and written texts. Consequently, the work of scholars such as Snodgrass (1971, 275–285, 439–401), Desborough (1972, 278–284), and Coldstream (1977, 17, 317–321), which detailed the differences between the Mycenaean period and the Early Iron Age, were widely interpreted as indicating that the customs and traditions of the Mycenaeans had been entirely lost upon the collapse of the Bronze Age. In actuality, these scholars were more nuanced in their interpretations. Snodgrass (1971, 399), for instance, wrote that ‘we should not doubt the possibility’ of cult practices such as religious festivals ‘being transmitted through the dark age’. But such statements were lost in the general perception that the time period was practically devoid of evidence for religious practice, a view which resulted in the conclusion that there was a significant gulf between the  religions of the Mycenaeans and the Late Geometric society of the second half of the eighth century. This view has had a great and long-lasting impact on scholars’ understanding of religion in the Bronze Age, the Early Iron Age, and the Archaic/Classical periods. Still today,  prominent  scholars  in  the  field  of  Classical  Greek  religion are often unaware of the possible connections between the Mycenaean age and the time period that is their prime subject, and current theories have been built on decades-old information (see Kotsonas 2017, 58–59, for a

recent review). But in recent years, due in part to the growing number of Early Iron Age sites, and in part to scholars who are thinking in innovative ways about previously discovered sites (e.g. Wallace 2003), a reevaluation of the relationship between these time periods is now underway. Scholars of the Early Iron Age have been breaking down the ‘divide – the “ iron curtain” – between Aegean prehistory and Classical archaeology’ (Papadopoulos 2015, 181), with the result that the historical development between the Bronze Age and the historical periods is being seen as more of a continuum (see also Dickinson 2006, 116; Wallace, this volume). In this vein, I would like to bring to the fore the attributes of Mycenaean religion that seem to have been preserved through the Early Iron Age and resurface in historical Greek religion. I acknowledge that of course change must have occurred over the centuries, but I think it is worth focusing on the number of practices that do seem to constitute some degree of continuity between the Mycenaean and historical Greek religions. I actually think that in the case of religious practice, and perhaps also in some aspects of religious belief, there are connections between the two time periods that were more durable than those of the political realm. My reasoning behind this is that even where Mycenaean civilisation continued in a recognisable form into the Early Iron Age, as for example, at Tiryns, Midea, and Mitrou (Crielaard 2011, 89), by the tenth century these locations saw real change in the political landscape. For instance, at Tiryns, where continuity of Late Bronze Age ideology can be discerned in its re-use of the altar in the Great Court and the similar placement of a throne within the megaron structure of Building T (Maran 2006, 143), the authority wielded by the leaders seems to have been different from that of the Mycenaean wanaktes. Maran (2006, 142) states that,

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‘the abandonment of the ceremonial hearth of the Megaron suggests that the post-palatial social order provided that a person presided over gatherings, but that it did not belong to the duties of this person to perform ceremonies deriving from the hearth-wanax ideology.’ This makes sense: once the wanax and his officials no longer held their commanding  offices in the society’s structure, the political (and economic)  systems that had been put in place to support the palatial culture no longer functioned (Middleton 2017, 20). The loss of these palatial systems, in addition to whatever had caused the collapse, had a large effect on the local communities, or damoi, that had participated in them, and set in motion the societal and political changes that, in some places, seem to have elevated the local leaders, the basilees, to the head of their damoi (Antonaccio 2006; Crielaard 2011). But when it comes to religion, I think there is more reason to suspect that there was continuity from the Bronze Age. When considering the transition from the Late Bronze Age to the Early Iron Age, I think it is worth differentiating the types of changes that may have occurred in the religious realm from those that took place in the political sphere, rather than aligning the development of the two, as is sometimes done (e.g. R utherford 2015, 272). I say this because of two factors: the first is that not all religious practice in the Late  Bronze Age was overseen or directed by the palaces. In fact, I think that the majority of it was not overseen or even related to the palaces at all; rather, most religious practice in the Mycenaean world would have been conducted by and for local populations motivated by local concerns. One indication of this can be seen in the offering tablets found at Pylos and Knossos. Several series’ of Linear B tablets, including the Fr series of Pylos and the Fh, Fp, and Ga series of Knossos, record the religious offerings that the palace sent to various deities and shrines; the fact that the wanax sent offerings to all of these shrines shows that  he  was  careful  to  make  sure  he  fulfilled  his  religious  obligations. Yet, as Killen (1994) has shown in detail, when you trace the groupings of the toponyms recorded on these tablets, the scope of the palace’s religious obligations, in contrast with its economic interactions, seem for the most part (there are exceptions) not to have extended very far beyond the shrines and deities that inhabited the landscape fairly close to the palaces. Given the number of cult places recorded in the tablets, the Bronze Age landscape must have been filled with sacred places ( alaima 2009, 52 ), the  majority of which the palace not only had no control over, but most likely, had no dealings with at all. It is relevant here that Eder (2016, 184) discusses how many open-air Mycenaean shrines, such as those found on Mount Lykaion and Mount Hymettos, lack the elite goods that could have indicated patronage by the palace. In addition, I have proposed (Lupack 2006; 2008) that the shrines – irrespective of whether they were recorded as the recipients of palatial offerings – had economic resources of their own that enabled

them to act independently of the palace. This indicates that the religious leaders of each community held positions of authority that were rooted in local social networks, and which, therefore, would not have been lost with the palaces and their wanaktes. The second factor that I would like to posit is that the religion which was practiced in Mycenaean times was built upon a base Helladic religion that had existed prior to the rise of the wanax, and continued after his demise. To be sure, the tablets show that the wanax had a prime role to play within palatial religion (Palaima 1995; 2006): as we saw, the wanax ensured that offerings were sent to a wide range of deities and shrines within his realm, and archaeological evidence shows that rituals were conducted within his throne room. His administration also organised religious festivals over which he presided and at which at least two thousand people took part (Isaakidou et al. 2002; Stocker and Davis 2004). Indeed, it seems that the wanax used religion as a way to legitimise his position as leader of the realm.1 Logically, this would mean that aspects of Mycenaean cult that were closely associated with the wanax would have been lost once the palaces were destroyed, as the political structures of the palatial administration were, and this seems to have been the case. For instance, I have proposed that the offerings of perfumed oil that were sent to a wanax in the Pylos Fr tablets, were actually meant for an ancestral wanax who was viewed as the founder of the Mycenaean palatial system and was, therefore, worshipped as a deity (Lupack 2014; 2016). This cult would have served no purpose once the wanax was gone, which must have led to the abandonment of that particular practice. In the same way, the megaron with its oversised hearth as a focus of palatial cult was also abandoned, presumably because of its associations with the wanax. It should be recognised, though, that the underlying beliefs of both of these specific expressions of Mycenaean  cult were carried through the Early Iron Age into the historical periods: in the case of the ancestral wanax cult, it is the concept of ancestor or hero worship that was retained, and while the hearth was no longer associated with the wanax, it remained a sacred place in every home, and every state had its sacred hearth as the symbolic centre of the community (see Palaima 2016, 147). I would argue that these religious concepts were retained, despite their Bronze Age associations with the wanax, because they were part of Mycenaean religion prior to and apart from the institution of the wanax and his palatial administration. The wanax made use of these religious concepts, but he did not invent them (see e.g. Whittaker 2014, 94–98, on the Middle Helladic foundations of ancestor worship). Consequently, they survived his passing as well. There are actually numerous examples of Mycenaean cult practices that carry through to the historical time periods. Many characteristics of Mycenaean religion are indicative of

17. Continuity and change in religious practice from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age at least structural continuity with historical Greek religion as the very performance of ritual was quite similar. Offerings, for instance, were brought to sanctuaries by means of processions involving the community, as shown on frescoes from Pylos and Thebes. One of the festivals recorded on the tablets (KN Ga 1058 and Od 696) is te-o-po-ri-j a, or the Festival of the Bearing of the Gods, in which one can imagine that images of the deities were carried in such a procession. The various altars in Mycenaean shrines as well as the cult paraphernalia show that vegetal offerings, libations, and burned animal sacrifices were made, as is also attested  by textual evidence. For instance, the practice of burning offerings for a deity on a sacrificial altar is demonstrated by  PY Ea 102+ 107, which records the e-ka-ra, or eschara, of Dionysos (Melena 2000–2001; Palaima 2009, 527). Burned animal sacrifices, which have been erroneously proposed not  to have existed in the Bronze Age (e.g. Bergquist 1988), actually corresponded quite closely to those of Classical religion. To provide two examples, at Pylos several discrete deposits of burned cattle bones were found, consisting almost entirely of the leg bones and mandibles of large adults – likely bulls (Isaakidou et al. 2002, 88). Furthermore, these bones had been stripped of their meat prior to being burned. Thus the meat would have been consumed by the celebrants of the festival, while the particular bones were burned as offerings for the gods, a pattern which prefigures  historical cult practice. In addition, as with the thusia type of sacrifice, the animals’ meat was shared by the community  after the sacrifice at a feast. Both textual evidence, which  details the collection of the foodstuffs for festivals from different constituents of the community, and the material evidence, including the thousands of kylikes found in the palace’s pantries, attest to the communal event. A second example of burned animal sacrifice has been  found at the LH IIIB sanctuary at Ayios Konstantinos, Methana (Hamilakis and Konsolaki 2004; see p. 144 for other sites with evidence of burned animal sacrifice).  t is  worth pointing out that this sanctuary is not associated with any palatial centre, which indicates that such sacrifices were  a feature of Mycenaean religion across all levels of society. he type of sacrifice is also interesting: on and around the  hearth of the main shrine room, bones representing nearly all the parts of young and neonatal pigs were found, indicating that whole carcasses had been burned as offerings for the gods (Hamilakis and Konsolaki 2004). This provides evidence that the Mycenaeans also engaged in holocaust sacrifices, or sacrifices of which humans did not eat any part of. hat  makes  this  material  evidence  more  significant  is  that certain vocabulary having to do with sacrifice and other  customs familiar from historic religious practice are documented in the texts of the Mycenaeans. For instance, the root sphag-, which in historical Greek produces (among other related words) the verbs   (sphazo) and    (sphagiazomai), both of which mean ‘to slay a victim’ or

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to  sacrifice’,  is  attested  in  Linear  B  tablets  in  a  variety  of forms. For instance, on Knossian tablets (e.g. KN C 1561 and C(2) 941) sphag- appears in an adjectival form modifying sheep and goats that were being distinguished from others that were designated as ‘old’; it seems that the ‘old’ animals were being culled while those designated as sa-pa-ka-te-ri-j a were intended for sacrifice ( illen 199 ,  4,  9– 1).  he great importance of blood sacrifices among  the Mycenaeans must be reflected in the fact that the most  prominent sanctuary recorded on the Pylian tablets is pa-kij a-ne, or Sphagianes.  he significance of this sanctuary is  indicated by the number of valuable offerings (perfumed oil on the PY Fr tablets and gold vessels on PY Tn 316) that are sent to its deities by the palatial administration and by the fact that the wanax, or king of Pylos, is said to undergo an initiation at Sphagianes (Un 2). It is possible that one of the Pylians’ main festivals was called Sphagianes because on PY Fr 1224 an offering of perfumed oil is recorded as being sent in the month of Sphagianes (pa-ki-j a-ni-j o-j o me-no). It is worth noting here that the designation of a certain month for the sacrifice represents another similarity with historical  religions  –  offerings  and  sacrifices  were  made  according  to a religious calendar. Other month names are found on tablets that record offerings and religious festivals. It seems reasonable to understand the month names as reflecting the  significant  religious  festivals  that  took  place  within  them.  Hence it is a festival involving a blood sacrifice that would  have occurred in the month named on Fr 1224. Another pertinent attestation of sphag- is pa-ke-u or sphageus, a priest in charge of sacrifices, found on   Qa  1 0 .  he  Qa  series  is  also  interesting  because  it  records  the distribution of a number of animal hides, each specified  as a geras, to religious officials including priests (i-j e-re-u on Qa 1290 and 129 ), priestesses (i-j e-re-j a on Qa 12 9,  1300, and 1303), and a man named ka-e-se-u who is in the  service  of  the  goddess  otnia  (Qa  1299).  his  series  demonstrates that in Mycenaean times hides were already considered the appropriate payment reserved for religious officials, and that it was the term geras that was applied to this honorary gift. t may even be possible to find evidence for specific types  of sacrifice in the textual evidence.  eilhartner (2012, 2 0)  makes the case that the holocaust sacrifice called sphagia in historical times was practiced by Mycenaeans, and that it can be connected with preparations for military action, which was one of the historical contexts for this type of sacrifice.  Pylos tablet Cn 3 records single bulls that are being sent or  sacrificed  to  a  female  deity  by  groups  of  men  that  are  listed on another set of tablets within military contingents. Weilhartner argues that the tablet’s lack of any other foodstuffs  that  are  normally  recorded  for  communal  sacrifices  indicate that these bulls were not meant to be eaten, but rather  sacrificed  and  offered  whole  for  the  deity,  like  the  sphagia sacrifices.

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Weilhartner (2012, 224–225) has also proposed that another type of offering familiar from the historical period is represented in the Knossos Fs series. Each of the 18 Fs tablets records offerings that were sent to deities in relatively small amounts of a standard set of commodities, including barley,  figs,  olive  oil,  flour,  wine,  and  sometimes  honey.  These commodities were always listed in the same order and (nearly) always in the same amounts. Weilhartner argues that these collections of agricultural products were being sent to the sanctuaries as first fruits offerings. ther  religious  practices  and  vocabulary  can  also  find  resonances in historical times. The Festival of the New Wine (me-tu-wo ne-wo on Fr 1202), most likely celebrated the  same  event  as  the  first  day  of  the Anthesterion  –  the  opening of the wine jars. The re-ke-e-to-ro-e-ri-j o, or the Lekhestroterion, the Preparation of the Couch or Bed, on Fr 1217 and 343, was likely a festival that celebrated either a hieros gamos or a divine banquet, both of which were celebrated in historical Greek times. In addition to the i-j e-re-u, i-j e-re-j a, and sphageus, mentioned above, several other titles of religious officials found in the Linear B tablets  are retained in historical times. For instance, we see the female religious official ka-ra-wi-po-ro, or Keybearer, who stands in an authoritative position in relation to the wealth of shrines on PY Jn 829. This priestess is paralleled in historical times by the analogous Attic  , who also  bore a key as a mark of her authority (Connelly 2007, 92). The i-j e-ro-wo-ko,   (  Ep  1 . , Eb 159.A),  a sacrificing priest, is also attested in both Mycenaean and  Classical times. What is interesting from a social point of view is that it is predominantly within religious contexts that Mycenaean women are seen holding prestigious positions:  female  religious  officials  are  recorded  as  managing  workshops and the priestess of Sphagianes asserts her claim that a specific land-holding belongs to the deity, presumably  because such a status would mean a freedom from having to pay tax on the land. Priests are also seen in a wide variety of roles in society. Most likely the individuals holding priesthoods came from the elite families of Mycenaean society. Continuity is also seen in the realm of funerary ritual. R ystedt (1999), as well as others (e.g. Cavanagh and Mee 1995), have commented on the specific iconographic similarities between the images depicting funerary rituals on the Late Helladic larnakes from Tanagra and those on Geometric funerary vessels. After rejecting (Cavanagh and Mee 1995, 58) the reasons that have been proposed in the past to explain the close visual affinity of the mourning gestures,  ystedt (1999,  89) proposes that the images depicted ‘ritually encoded social habits’ that had been transmitted from the Bronze Age through the Dark Age into the Iron Age. She credits the endurance of the specific expression of funerary lament to the physicality of  their ritual expressions, and also to the idea that ‘the locus of the action was social’ and ‘communal’, and, therefore, ‘may well have remained the same, viz. the family/oikos, whatever

its exact constitution’ over the centuries (R ystedt 1999, 94). n this she is specifically contrasting the association of such  ritual with the social realm as opposed to ‘a political regime, the collapse of which might have caused its abolition’ (R ystedt 1999, 93), which aligns with my proposal that the religious traditions were predominantly held locally and by the people rather than by the state. R ystedt also points to iconographic evidence that the apobates competition – as part of a religious festival – is also depicted in both time periods. Finally, I should mention that Palaima (2009) has traced a fairly specific instance of continuity in the cult of  oseidon  based on a set of associations between the Linear B tablets (KN V 52) and the Homeric Hymns to Apollo and to Hermes. He proposes that these two sets of sources ‘are referring ultimately to similar cult beliefs, associations, and practices, and that these are similar because they survived from the Mycenaean palatial period into the historical period’ (Palaima 2009, 534). From this brief review of Mycenaean cult, it would seem that a good deal of the way the Mycenaeans practiced their cult would have been familiar to someone in the Archaic and Classical periods. Also, continuity in some rather particular religious practices can be discerned, for instance in the celebration of the Festival of the New Wine, and in the practice of hero worship. I mentioned above that the tablets provide evidence for a cult dedicated to the founding ancestral wanax of the Mycenaeans, which I take as an example of hero or ancestor worship. The archaeological complement to this textual evidence can be found in the restoration of Grave Circle A at Mycenae in the LH IIIB period (Dabney and Wright 1990; Lupack 2014). Hero worship, however, was not focused solely on the wanax. On our most elaborate religious tablet, PY Tn 316, we also have an offering for the Thrice Hero (ti-ri-se-ro-e), who appears again on Fr 1204. In addition to this, Lindblom and Ekroth have reexamined the two LH I shaft graves at Lerna and concluded that the evidence surrounding the exhumation of the bodies in LH IIIA indicates that they were heroised ten to twelve generations after their burial. They state that, ‘the concept and practice of hero cult of the historical periods should thus be added to the elements inherited from the Late Bronze Age.’ It is against this background that I would like to consider the fact that many of the deities’ names found on the Linear B tablets are the same as those in the Olympian pantheon, including Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Athena, Artemis, Ares, Dionysos, Hermes, and Hephaistos, and there are others that are seen in historical Greek, such as Eileithyia, Erinys, Enyalios, Paiawon, Anemoi, and Diwia or Dione. It is striking that such a large number of the important deities of Mycenaean times were not only retained, but that they also remained the most prominent in historical Greek religion. Nonetheless, I have heard it argued that the retention of deities’ names means little in terms of continuity of cult practice and belief. This argument implies that either the

17. Continuity and change in religious practice from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age manner in which the deities were worshipped changed or that the nature of the deities themselves changed. I think, given the number of incidents where continuity in practice is evident, the first possibility is not likely.  he question of  their nature changing requires more consideration. It is true that several of the names of deities found on the Linear B tablets are dropped entirely, particularly those that seem to have been originally derived from the Minoan pantheon, such as pi-pi-tu-na and pa-de, but also a few that were Greek in origin. For instance, the Mycenaeans worshipped a feminine form of Poseidon – po-si-da-e-j a, Posidaeia, who does not appear in the later pantheon. Developments of deities can also be detected, in that the names Enyalios and Paiawon, which in historical times are associated with Ares and Apollo, respectively, are recorded without reference to these deities; it may be that they were deities in their own right in Mycenaean times and only later associated with Ares and Apollo. Changes such as these are fairly natural. Cult would have responded to the dislocation and movement of the people – in new places, new foundation stories and myths would have been created that served to tie the people to their new homes. We have an example of this type of change within the Late Bronze Age when the Mycenaeans established their culture and religion at Knossos. In the offering tablets of Knossos we see the worship of many familiar deities, including Zeus, Hera, Dionysos, and the Lady of Athens, but notably the eus that was worshipped was specified as  eus of  ikte  – the local mountain. In addition, offerings were sent to a shrine of Daidalos and to the Lady of the Labyrinth. The Mycenaeans were effectively making the landscape their own by having their most powerful deities take up residence in the local sacred spaces (see Gulizio 2011). But, would we say that Diktaian Zeus was not the same as the Zeus worshipped at Pylos or Mycenae? Well, he is and he is not. This is the same situation that we see in historical times: Zeus of Nemea is different from Zeus of Olympia and is different from Zeus of Dodona – but they are all Zeus. This is an identity within diversity that did not bother the Greeks. I would argue that this principle worked over the centuries and that the Mycenaean versions of Zeus were also at root the same as the historical variants of Zeus – the basic nature of the god remained the same (see Shelmerdine 2016, on Poseidon). It is true that this involves the preservation of a deity’s nature over hundreds of years, but I think it is worth considering that it is not such an unreasonable proposition, particularly given that much cult was not controlled or overseen by the wanax, who was himself drawing upon religious traditions and beliefs to legitimise his rule that predated and, I would argue, outlasted Mycenaean palace society. Of course, it would be most reassuring if we could identify complementary archaeological evidence for the continuity that I think is indicated by the numerous

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correspondences between Mycenaean and historical cult. It remains true that few of the sanctuaries which are attested on the Linear B tablets for the Bronze Age have been identified  on the ground, and sanctuary sites in the Early Iron Age years remain low compared with the increase seen in the Late Geometric period, although the degree of difference is now nowhere near as extreme as it seemed in the 1970s (Kotsonas 2017, 59). Given these two limitations, and the movements of people that occurred after the collapse of the Bronze Age, it is no surprise that finding sites which were  inhabited, never mind which exhibit cult practice, across both periods is not an easy task. Nonetheless, the situation is not as dire as it was a few decades ago. The prime example of a site that was used continuously for cult purposes is Mount Lykaion, whose ash altar served the region from the LH IIIA period right through to Hellenistic times (R omano and Voyatzis 2014). Another well-documented example is provided by the sanctuary of Apollo at Kalapodi, whose ten temple phases begin in the Late Bronze Age and continue to the second century AD (Niemeier 2014). The evidence for Mycenaean use of the site on Mount Hymettos in Attica, where the worship of Zeus had been documented from Protogeometric times into late antiquity (Langdon 1976), has recently been reconsidered by R uppenstein (2011, 228), who asserts that the Mycenaean remains constitute cult material, thus providing us with another example of a site with continuous religious use. R uppenstein (2011, 230) also includes the cult site on Mount Parnes in this list. The most recent work at the Amyklaion south of Sparta demonstrates that the LH IIIB cult, represented by its wheel-made human and bull figures,  continues without a gap through the Protogeometric and Geometric periods (Demakopoulou 2015; Vlachou 2015). Vlachou (2015, 115) points to the ‘continuity in the ritual symbolism and use of’ kylikes at the Amyklaion and other sites in western Greece, including Olympia and Ithaka. At the Polis Cave on Ithaka, Morgan (1988, 315) records that ‘a small, possibly votive deposit of late Mycenaean and early Iron Age pottery preceded a sequence of bronze tripods related to cult activity’, leading her to say that it was ‘an established cult place through the earlier Iron Age and probably continued as such into the eighth century’. It is interesting to note, as Eder (forthcoming2) has, that the majority of the Mycenaean cult sites that exhibit continuity into the Iron Age, as well as those that are newly established in the postpalatial period, are open-air sites. The freedom of access afforded by such settings seems well-suited to the less hierarchical Early Iron Age communities. But there are also religious sites that were originally associated with settlements that show a continuous record of cult use. Eder considers Delphi to be such a site, as Mycenaean cult practice is demonstrated by its wheel-made bull figurines.  he first bronze tripods appear on the site in  the tenth century, and as Eder (forthcoming) states, ‘in the

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face of the continuity of the associated settlement, it does not appear too far-fetched to propose that a related cult site existed also in the eleventh century.’ Cosmopoulos (2014) has also contributed to the number of such sites exhibiting continuity with his careful reinvestigation of the cult site Megaron  B  at  Eleusis.  He  finds  that  Megaron  B  was  not  abandoned at the end of the IIIC period as has been proposed, but rather that it was in continuous use as a cult site into the Geometric period. Cosmopoulos also emphasises how the cultural memory of the place as sacred would have bestowed upon the site great significance to its inhabitants. Cosmopoulos makes a good point here not just in relation to Eleusis, but also in relation to the preservation of Mycenaean religion in general. No doubt Mycenaean Greek religion was not maintained simply by continuous cult practice at a number of sites. R ather, such continuity must have been fostered by the cultural memories of the people, which they carried with them from place to place. I have stressed that much of religious practice in Mycenaean times was local and not dominated by the palace – moving away from the palace-centred view of Mycenaean religion enriches not only our understanding of Late Bronze Age society but also our understanding of the potential paths along which religion developed in the succeeding time periods. The fundamental significance  of  the  religious  traditions  and  the  memories  associated with them would have served to preserve them, particularly through times of stress and upheaval. I think that Whitley (2009) is correct when he states that the accumulation of evidence in favour of some form of continuity has not really settled the matter, but rather that it ‘has changed the terms of the debate’. Certainly it is true that, as he says, continuity of practice cannot necessarily be equated with ‘identity of practice’, and this is especially true if one primarily considers the archaeological evidence. But when the archaeological evidence is considered alongside a detailed understanding of what the tablets can tell us, I think it is possible to talk of an identity of practice. And then of course the terms of the debate are changed again, because now  we  must  consider  more  specifically  what  changed  over time and why. It is important though to recognise the Mycenaeans as part of the continuum that led to the religion that we encounter in the historical periods. Doing so has the potential to open up new lines of investigation, as it may encourage us to look further back for evidence that can inform our interpretations of historical religious practice, and potentially also of belief.

Notes 1

I want to acknowledge here that the wanaktes were also utilizing Minoan iconography and belief, but the admixture of Minoan and Mycenaean religion is a subject for another work, and the basic argument that the foundation of Greek religion was Helladic and formed in the Bronze Age stands regardless.

2

I want to thank Birgitta Eder for generously sending this chapter to me before its publication.

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17. Continuity and change in religious practice from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age Isaakidou, V., Halstead, P., Davis, J.L. and Stocker, S.R . (2002) Burnt  animal  sacrifice  in  Late  Bronze Age  Greece:  new  evidence from the Mycenaean ‘Palace of Nestor,’ Pylos. Antiquity 76, 86–92. Killen, J.T. (1994) Piety begins at home: place-names on Knossos records of religious offerings. In P.H. Ilievski and I. Crepajac (eds) Tractata Mycenaea: Proceedings of the Eighth International Colloquium on Mycenaean Studies, Ohrid, 163–177. Skopje, Macedonian Academy of Sciences and Arts. Killen, J.T. (1996) Thebes sealings and Knossos tablets. In E. De Miro, L. Godart and A. Sacconi (eds) Atti e Memorie del Secondo Congresso Internazionale de Micenologia, 71–82. R ome, Gruppo editoriale internazionale. Kotsonas, A. (2017) Sanctuaries, temples and altars in the Early Iron Age: a chronological and regional accounting. In A. Mazarakis Ainian, A. Alexandridou and X. Charalambidou (eds) Regional Stories: Towards a New Perception of the Early Greek World, 55–66. Volos, University of Thessaly Press. Langdon, M. (1976) A Sanctuary of Zeus on Mount Hymettos. Princeton, American School of Classical Studies. Lindblom, M. and Ekroth, G. (2016) Heroes, ancestors, or just any old bones? Contextualizing the consecration of human remains from the Mycenaean shaft graves at Lerna in the Argolid. In E. Alram-Stern, F. Blakolmer, S. Deger-Jalkotzy, .  Laffineur,  and  J.  eilhartne  (eds)  Metaphysis: Ritual, Myth and Symbolism in the Aegean Bronze Age. Aegaeum 39, 235–243. Liè ge, Peeters. Lupack, S. (2006) Deities and religious personnel as collectors. In M. Perna (ed.) Fiscality in Mycenaean and Near Eastern Archives, 89–108. Paris, de Boccard. Lupack, S. (2008) The Role of the Religious Sector in the Economy of Late Bronze Age Mycenaean Greece. Oxford, Archaeopress. Lupack, S. (2014) Offerings for the wanax in the Fr tablets: ancestor worship and the maintenance of power in Mycenaean Greece. In D. Nakassis, J. Gulizio, and S. James (eds) Ke-rame-j a: Studies Presented to Cynthia Shelmerdine, 163–177. Philadelphia, INSTAP Academic Press. Lupack, S. (2016) Pu-ro, Pa-ki-j a-ne, and the worship of an ancestral wanax. In E. Alram-Stern, F. Blakolmer, S. Deger-Jalkotzy, .  Laffineur,  and  J.  eilhartner  (eds),  Metaphysis: Ritual, Myth and Symbolism in the Aegean Bronze Age. Aegaeum 39, 537–541. Liè ge, Peeters. Maran, J. (2006) Coming to terms with the past: ideology and power in Late Helladic IIIC. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 123–150. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Melena, J.L. (2000–2001) 24 joins and quasi-joins of fragments in the Linear B tablets from Pylos. Minos 35–36, 357–360. Middleton, G.D. (2017) Understanding Collapse: Ancient History and Modern Myths. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Morgan, C.A. (1988) Corinth, the Corinthian Gulf and western Greece during the eighth century BC. Annual of the British School at Athens 85, 313–338. Palaima, T.G. (1995) The nature of the Mycenaean wanax: non-Indo-European origins and priestly functions. In P. R ehak (ed.) The Role of the Ruler in the Prehistoric Aegean. Aegaeum 11, 119–139. Liè ge, Universite de Liè ge.

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Palaima, T.G. (2006) Wanaks and related power terms in Mycenaean and later Greek. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I. Lemos (eds) Ancient Greece: From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, 53–71. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Palaima, T.G. (2009) Continuity from the Mycenaean period in an historical Boeotian cult of Poseidon (and Erinys). In D. Danielidou (ed.) Doron: Timetikos Tomos gia ton Kathegete Spyro Iakovide, 527–536. Athens, Academy of Athens. Papadopoulos, J.K. (2014) Greece in the Early Iron Age: mobility, commodities, polities, and literacy. In A.B. Knapp and P. van Dommelen (eds) The Cambridge Prehistory of the Bronze and Iron Age Mediterranean, 178–195. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. R omano, D.G. and Voyatzis, M.E. (2014) Mt Lykaion Excavation and Survey Project, Part 1: the Upper Sanctuary. Hesperia 83, 569–652. R uppenstein, F. (2011) Early Helladic peak sanctuaries in Attica? In W. Gauss, M. Lindblom, R .A.K. Smith and J.C. Wright (eds) Our Cups Are Full: Pottery and Society in the Aegean Bronze Age, 227–230. Oxford, Archaeopress. R utherford, I. (2013) Mycenaean religion. In M. Salzman (ed.) The Cambridge History of Religions in the Ancient World, 256–279. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. R ystedt, E. (1999) No words, only pictures: iconography in the transition between the Bronze Age and Iron Age in Greece. Opuscula Atheniensia 24, 89–98. Shelmerdine, C.W. (2016) Poseidon, Pa-ki-j a-na and HorseTaming Nestor. In E. Alram-Stern, F. Blakolmer, S. DegerJalkotzy,  .  Laffineur  and  J.  eilhartner  (eds)  Metaphysis: Ritual, Myth and Symbolism in the Aegean Bronze Age. Aegaeum 39, 275–283. Liè ge, Peeters. Snodgrass, A.M. (1971) The Dark Age of Greece: An Archaeological Survey of the Eleventh to the Eighth Centuries BC. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Stocker, S. ., and  avis, J.L. (2004) Animal sacrifice, archives,  and feasting at the Palace of Nestor. In J.C. Wright (ed.) The Mycenaean Feast, 59–75. Princeton, American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Vlachou, V. (2015) The Spartan Amyklaion: the Iron Age pottery from the sanctuary. In A. Delivorrias and S. Vlizos (eds) Amykles Research Proj ect: Works 2005–2010, 113–124. Athens, Benaki Museum. Wallace, S.A. (2003) The perpetuated past – re-use and continuity in material culture as evidence for the growth of community identity structures in the Early Iron Age of Crete, 12th to 7th centuries BC. Annual of the British School at Athens 97, 251–277. Weilhartner, J. (2012) R eligious offerings in the Linear B tablets: an  attempt  at  their  classification  and  some  thoughts  about  their possible purpose. In C. Varias García (ed.) Faventia. Supplementa 1. Actas del Simposio Internacional: 55 Añ os de Micenología (1952–2007), 207–231. Whitley, J. (2009) The chimera of continuity: what would ‘continuity of cult’ actually demonstrate? In A.L. D’Agata and A. Van de Moortel (eds) Archaeologies of Cult: Essays on Ritual and Cult in Crete in Honor of Geraldine C. Gesell, 279–288. Princeton, American School of Classical Studies. Whittaker, H. (2014) Religion and Society in Middle Bronze Age Greece. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

18 LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant Penelope A. Mountj oy

LBA extended about  0 km inland, providing Miletos with  a  large  natural  harbour  (Br ckner  200 ).  roy  at  the  north  end of the Interface was originally coastal, but by the LBA, and  probably  much  earlier,  it  was  inland  behind  a  swamp.  hodes was a key port and, probably a trans-shipment centre,  connecting the Aegean to the Levant. At T r o y   imported  fine  ware  pottery  from  the  Greek  mainland was used as the fine ware component of its local  Anatolian  assemblage,  but  as  early  as  roy  d  (LH  A)  N A A   has  confirmed  its  local  production  (Mountjoy  and  Mommsen  200 ,  111–112,  11   fig.  12).  he  peak  of  LBA  rojan pottery production was in  roy  a (LH  B–LH  C  Early 1) ( ig. 1 .2). A local version of Mycenaean pottery was  produced comprising Mycenaean shapes and adapted local shapes, on which the main decoration was spiraliform.  his  pottery formed only a tiny part of the assemblage. P h a s e V I I a e n d e d w i t h a h o s t i l e d e s t r u c t i o n in early LH IIIC, that is after the LH  B destructions on the Greek mainland, since a  few LH  C pieces are present.  hese imports from mainland  Greece highlighted by N A A  (Mountjoy and Mommsen 200 ,  99  able 1 column  ther) suggest that the palatial collapse  did not affect trade across the Aegean. LH  C Early ( roy  b1) and LH  C Middle–Late ( roy  b2) are not well  represented, as most of Phase VIIb1 was removed by the buildings of  hase  b2 and the latter are badly preserved.  However, there is continuity in Troy VIIb1 pottery production and Handmade Burnished Ware appeared now, suggesting that newcomers joined the locals.

The two main nodes from which pottery styles spread eastwards in late LH IIIB and LH IIIC Early–Middle were the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface and Cyprus, both being influenced to some extent from Crete.  he two main  receiving nodes were Syria and Philistia, the latter particularly from Cyprus.  ue to constraints of space only a few  key  sites  from  the  different  areas  will  be  discussed  here.  Apart from an overview of the pottery, the aftermath of destructions at sites will also be considered.  eferences are  made in the text to  eutron Activation Analysis ( AA), a  chemical analysis of pottery to establish the chemical profile  of a site.  AA is important, as, once chemical profiles are  identified, movement of pottery can be traced between sites,  workshops  can  be  identified,  consumption  of  high-quality  pottery pinpointed and trade of different pottery shapes for their contents can be monitored.  he destructions and  AA  are highlighted in the text for ease of reference.

T h e E as t A e ge an

–W

e s t A n at ol i an

I n t e r f ac e

his area acted as a catalyst for economic and social exchange  as a result of its physical geography ( ig. 1 .1).  he juxtaposition of so many islands along the length of the land mass, which itself had communication via its river valleys to the land routes in its mountainous interior, gave rise to much interaction between the islands and the Anatolian coastal area, aided by the small coastal plains and natural anchorages present on both sides of the  nterface.  lourishing sea  trade  allowed  much  exchange  of  goods  and  ideas  (for  the  nterface  from  LB  –LH  C,  see  Mountjoy  199 ,  2015).  his exchange was driven by the activities of the two main  ports, that of Miletos in the centre and that of  hodes at the  south end.  he harbour at Miletos is now silted up (see map  Hawkins 199 , 2 –2 , fig. 10), but the Latmian Gulf in the 

2015a)

T h e I n t e r f ac e E as t A e ge an

k oi n e ( M ou

n t j o y 198,

This LH IIIC pottery koine stretched from Liman Tepe in the central  nterface just south of  zmir down to  os ( ig. 1 .1). 

1 0

Penelope A. Mountj oy

Fig. 18.1. The LH IIIC East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface.

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 1 1 The koine had a number of particular shapes and motifs, which  started  to  develop  in  late  LH  B.  hey  include  a  large ovoid piriform jar ( ig. 1 .1 .1), baseless flasks, based  mugs and kalathoi and the large amphoroid krater amongst others,  but  the  octopus  stirrup  jar  was  not  common  (see  Mountjoy  199 ).  he  krater  had  a  relatively  tall  neck  and  a huge bulging belly set on a tiny base ( ig. 1 . ).  t bears  no  relation  to  the  earlier  LH  A2– B  Greek  mainland  amphoroid kraters (for example,  ermeule and  arageorghis  19 2,  .1,  .1.1), but is close to Minoan examples, from  which it may have developed (for example,  ’Agata 2005,  11   figs  a–b). A  feature  of  these  nterface  kraters  is  that  the handle ring does not frame the handle, as on mainland examples (Mountjoy 19 , fig. 115), but has its back to the  handle and frames the decorative zone  the bands down the  edge of the handle continue onto the belly ending in large curving  tails  ( ig.  1 . .1–2)  on  the  Astypalian  examples,  but  on  the  Milesian  and  e irmentepe  vessels  the  bands  unite  below  the  handle  in  a  semi-circle loop  ( ig.  1 . .4).  This might suggest different workshops, a local Milesian one  and  island  ones,  either  on  Astypalaia  and or  on  os.  However,  the  vessel  from Astypalaia  ( ig.  1 . .1)  has  an  identical rim to that on the  e irmentepe vase ( ig. 1 . . ),  so it is likely that both types of vases were produced in the same workshop(s). Several of these kraters have been found in the latest level at U g a r i t  ( ig. 1 .4).  he distinctive handle banding  has not been shown in the drawing of the two complete examples.  n  ig. 1 .4.1 the area by the handle seems not  to be preserved  on  ig. 1 .4.  the handle has been shown  as unpainted, which would not have been the case  however,  the  large  sherd  from  Ugarit  ( ig.  1 .1 .4)  shows  all  the  handle bands running down into tails and also the semi-circle framing the decorative zone as on the examples ( ig. 1 . ).  his decorative syntax was also used on the ovoid piriform  jars ( ig. 1 .1 .1). Tall cylindrical s t a n d s were used to support the amphoroid kraters, and possibly other large vessels ( ig. 1 .5).  he  stand is found all down the  nterface from  roy to  hodes,  and has a long history at  roy.  he  rojan examples can be  fenestrated  ( ig.  1 .15.1)  (see  Mountjoy  201 a,  420–424  figs 15 –154).  he stand may have gone from the  nterface  to Afis ( ig. 1 .5.5) via Ugarit. In complete contrast to Troy, not the spiral, but the wavy line in several variations is overwhelmingly popular in the koine ( ig. 1 . .1–4).  his is a local  nterface motif,  which seems to have developed in the lower Interface from LB  –  Light-on- ark and  ark-on-Light vases (Mountjoy  199 , 41 fig.  . )  at  roy a type was also based on incised  wavy lines used on Grey and  an wares and imitated down  the  nterface as far as Miletos (Mountjoy 2015a, 45 fig.  ).  Another shape which appears in the Interface is the one-handled conical bowl  S 242 ( ig. 1 . .5–10).  t is common  at Bademgedi i  epe, a site resettled in early  C, after a 

possible hiatus, probably by people from the coastal area, since their pottery was a mixture of Aegean-style and local  traits  (Mountjoy  2015a,  – 5).  he  bowl  appears  there  with a low and a high base, the latter ( ig. 1 . . ) probably dating to  C Middle–Late.  t is also present at Liman  epe  and  on  Chios  and  hodes  (Mountjoy  1999,  hodes  no.  229).  he  origin  of  the  shape  is  unclear.  he  earliest  examples are found on Cyprus and date to Cyp  C Early 1  ( ig. 1 . .9).  he shape is common at  arsus ( ig. 1 .12.1),  where  most  of  the  unstratified  pottery  seems  to  be  C  Early.  t appears in the Cyclades and in greater numbers at  Lefkandi on Euboea in  hases 2a– .  t is not common on  the Greek mainland, but early examples are found at  iryns  in LH  C Early 2 ( odzuweit 200 ,  2 n.  , pl. 45. –15,  Stockhammer  200 ,  5 –5 ).  he  earliest  example,  from  Mycenae, dates to LH  B.  rench has suggested it derives  from the Cypriot milk bowl ( rench and  aylour 200 , 25).  Cyprus, at the moment, seems to be the source of the shape, but it is rare there.  t also appears in the east in the Amuq  at  Atchana  ( oehl  201 ,  29   figs  1 . .1–2)  and  ayinat  ( ig. 1 .1 . ) and in Syria at  as  bn Hani ( ig. 1 .14.2).  ( or discussion and further examples, see Mountjoy 2009,  292,  0 – 0  figs 10–12, 2015b, 4 –4 ).  he development  in the koine pottery from LH IIIB–IIIC suggests continuity in this area, at least until the destruction of Miletos. N A A demonstrates the importance of the Interface, high-lighting Cypriot and Levantine connections, by identifying exports  from  the  koine  in  those  areas  (for  example,  Mountjoy  et al. 201 ). R h o d e s  was not part of the koine. After LH  B, when,  similarly to other Lower Interface sites, it imported much Mycenaean pottery from the north-east Peloponnese, and had early koine vessels, such as the tall ovoid piriform jar, it deviated and developed a ceramic corpus with close  Minoan contacts, as particularly shown by octopus stirrup jars ( ig. 1 . .1). Motifs were based on those from imported  Minoan  stirrup  jars,  but  used  on  other  shapes  in  different  ways.  he main motifs are horns ( ig. 1 . ) (for a Minoan  imported  example,  see  Mountjoy  201 ,  5 9  fig.  4,  for  a  Minoan vase  anta and  ontopodi 2011, 1  fig. 9a) and  half-moon  spirals  ( ig.  1 . .2)  derived  from  Minoan  stirrup jar false mouths (Mountjoy 201 , especially 5 –5 0).  Most of the pottery is dated to LH IIIC Early–Middle, as there seems to be no development and there is no secure stratigraphic evidence.  he style probably began in LH  C  Early when it also began on Crete (see Hallager and Hallager  2000,  14   for  elaborate  decoration  on  kraters  and  stirrup  jars at  hania:  astelli from the beginning of LM  C).

T h e d ta e of of U gar i t

t h e d e s t r u c t i on

of

M i l e t os

an

d t h e f al l

t  is  generally  agreed  that  Miletos  is  Hittite  Millawanda.  The LH IIIB–IIIC Early pottery is found in Stratum VI,

1 2

ig fig

Penelope A. Mountj oy

Mount oy fig legen fig legen fig legen Mount oy

legen Ih fig



fig







fig





18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 1

ig

l

Mount oy

sty alaia fig

sty alaia fig

Mount oy

De ir ente e

fig

a ter eic ert

Penelope A. Mountj oy

1 4

ig

ter Courtois



which e n d e d w i t h a d e s t r u c t i o n at an unknown date, but the pottery suggests LH  C Early.  he amphoroid kraters  in the East Aegean koine at Miletos and Astypalaia (such as  eickert 195 , pl.  2 top right, Mountjoy 199 , 5  fig. 12.1)  have parallels in shape at Ugarit (Mallet and Matoian 2001,  1 5  bottom)  and  in  motifs,  such  as  whorl-shells  with  odd  heads ( ig. 1 . ) (Ugarit  on et al. 2000, figs 9. cat.  , 25  cat. 404). Stylistically the Ugarit kraters should be imports 

figs



fig



fig

from the koine, most probably from Miletos or  os.  his is  borne out by c h e m i c a l a n d p e t r o g r a p h i c a n a l y s i s of the amphoroid kraters, which suggested the  odecanese and or  south-west Anatolia (Courtois 19 , 151–152). The date of the fall of Ugarit has been much discussed, since the pottery in the destruction layer was thought to be LH  B, with just one or two elements, notably the decoration  on some of the amphoroid kraters, which might be LH IIIC

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 1 5

ig Mount oy fig l a a ter enturi fig cale :

fig

legen

Early.  he  d e s t r u c t i o n has been assigned variously to late LH  B, LH  C Early or LH  C Middle (see  arren and  Hankey  19 9,  159–1 2  for  an  overview).  However,  excavation and publication, particularly at Mycenae and Tiryns (e.g.  rench and Stockhammer 2009), in the last 25 years has  considerably increased our knowledge of LH  C pottery.  n  recent years a number of LH IIIC pieces have been recognised at Ugarit, three of which are stratified (Monchambert 

Mount oy



fig



fig

a ter en i



199 ,  45–4 ).  Unfortunately,  the  stratigraphy  is  somewhat  ambivalent.  here are two interpretations: 1) the destruction  of the upper layer represents the final destruction of Ugarit  and took place in LH  C  2) the upper layer could be reoccupation  after  the  final  destruction,  as  occurred  at  as  bn  Hani. However, since the fine quality of the building on the  north border does not suggest squatters, Monchambert opts  for  the  first  interpretation.  on,  however,  would  prefer  the 

1

Penelope A. Mountj oy

ig Mount oy fig fig Mount oy fig fig Mount oy and Mil urn fig cale :

fig fig

fig a ter Mangalo lu otru a Chios Mount oy fig ition



fig a ter Po ha

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 1

ig

Mount oy

fig

hodes

fig

hodes

cale :

1

Penelope A. Mountj oy

second  interpretation.  She  notes  that,  although  Ugarit  was  destroyed as an emporium and as a royal kingdom, it was not immediately deserted  structures were still standing and  squatters, presumably the former inhabitants, seem to have  lived in them, as there are changes, such as ovens put in front of stairs where upper storeys are uninhabitable, water troughs across doors and alterations to rooms ( on 1992, 11 –119   see  also  on  2000,  15,1 ).  She  points  out  that  under  these  circumstances it is not surprising to find some LH  C pottery  (per litteras 1 .2.200 ).   would  agree  with  on  that  the  upper  layer  has  reoccupation, but I would follow Monchambert in placing the destruction of the upper layer in LH IIIC, in LH IIIC Early 1 with the refined dating used today, and would follow  on that  the squatters are post destruction, as the alterations suggest.  The imported amphoroid kraters should be early LH IIIC and could not have been imported by squatters. A LH  C  destruction date would also explain the presence of the high  quality northern border building.  he LH  C destruction date  is borne out by archival evidence. As a result of new evidence  from  the  tablets  of  the  Urtenu  archive  the  date  of  the  final  destruction of Ugarit has been moved down.  he Egyptian  synchronisms to which the tablets give rise suggest that the reign of Ammurapi, the last king of Ugarit, was longer than had been supposed  this means that the absolute date of the  destruction of Ugarit, which had been placed in late LH IIIB at c. 119 –1191 BC (Singer 19 , 41 ), can be lowered.  on  has suggested that the Beya letter in the Urtenu archive could have been written between 119  and 1190 and the destruction would have taken place between 1195–11 5 ( on 1992,  120). Singer notes that the letter gives a terminus post quem  between 1194 BC and 11  BC for the destruction of Ugarit  (Singer  1999,  1 – 15)  and  the  defeat  of  the  Sea  eoples  by  ameses   in his eighth year a terminus ante quem. He  suggests a date for the destruction closer to the terminus post quem around 1190 11 5 BC (Singer 1999,  29– 0 and fn.  42 ),  11 5  being  the  latest  possible  date  ( ers co April 2011).  hus, in terms of pottery the final destruction c. 11 5  BC can be dated to LH  C Early 1. Since some pottery in the final destruction was imported  from Miletos, this date suggests a similar date of LH IIIC Early phase 1 for the Miletos destruction, which included this  pottery.  urthermore,  the  association  of  the  koine  pottery with Ugarit underlines the fact that the Interface was already producing patterned pottery at a time when LH  C  Early  on  the  Greek  mainland  was  a  linear  phase  (Mountjoy 19 , 1 4–1 5).  he influence will have come  from Crete, where pictorial style in particular was produced in LM IIIC Early, whereas on the mainland it appeared in LH  C  Middle.  he  patterned  imported  koine  kraters  in  early twelfth-century contexts at Ugarit show they existed  in LH  C Early, earlier than on the Greek mainland. My  earlier dating of vases decorated in the south-east Aegean pictorial style, including these kraters, to LH IIIC Middle in synchronisation with the peak of the pictorial style on the

Mycenaean mainland, with the proviso that the style might have already been produced in the East Aegean in LH IIIC Early (Mountjoy 1999, 50), can now be raised.   have  suggested  (Mountjoy  2004)  that  there  seems  to  have been a hiatus after the destruction of Miletos, which   put  early  in  the  twelfth  century  (2004,  199–200),  but  excavation  in  2004  has  revealed  a  Stratum    ( iemeier  2009),  which  shows  continuity  suggesting  the  inhabitants  returned after the destruction, which  iemeier also dates to  the early twelfth century.

C yp

r u s

uring  LH  B,  that  is  later  LC  C,  Cyprus  ( ig.  1 . ),  along with the Levant, was continuing to import fine decorated Mycenaean pottery, known as Levanto-Helladic.  t was  produced at workshops shown by N A A to be in the northeast  eloponnese  ( uckerman  et al.  2010   emakopoulou  et al. 201 ) and was mostly produced for export ( ig. 1 .9.1).  There was also a local Cypriot class of linear LevantoHelladic pottery consisting of variations on a type of small bowl  this class was particularly used in tombs ( ig. 1 .9.2).  Imported Pictorial Style amphoroid and ring-based kraters were also very popular. However, when troubles began on  the Greek mainland in mid–LH  B, the export of all this  pottery  gradually  tailed  off.  he  Cypriots  responded  by  producing their own version of the pictorial kraters, known as the  ude or  astoral Style, with the ring-based krater as  the  preferred  type  ( ig.  1 .9. ).  hey  also  produced  local  versions of several of the imported Levanto-Helladic shapes, as well as the so-called Simple Style pottery, that is small to medium-sized linear closed shapes, especially the stirrup jar,  decorated with the Minoan IIIB type of banding consisting of bands of equal width all down the vase ( ig. 1 .9.4).  AA  has  shown  that  they  were  particularly  produced  at  ition Hala Sultan  ekke for export to the Levant for the oil they  contained, a trade that may have been due to Egyptian demand (Mountjoy  and  Mommsen  2015,  4 9  and  notes  1 –1 ).  The fourth class of pottery, which now became prominent, was a group of bowls consisting of 14 different types with  different pedigrees, all with linear decoration except  ype 14  ( ig. 1 .9.5– ).  he 14 bowl types took over from the local  Levanto-Helladic group of small bowls and became hugely popular as tomb gifts.  hese four classes of pottery were the  decorated component of an assemblage of indigenous wares, such as  lain  hite  are,  hite Slip  are, Base  ing  are,  hite Shaved  are and  ed Lustrous  are (see Mountjoy  201 , Section  ,  1–142).  he Levanto-Helladic Mycenaean  copies, the  ude astoral Style and the Simple Style all died  out  in  Cyp  C  Early  1,  but  the  14  bowl  types  continued  into Cyp  C Middle. Late in Cyp IIIC Early 1 Aegean-style pottery began to be produced on Cyprus and became dominant in Cyp C  Early  2– C  Middle.  his  pottery  was  prominent  at  Mycenae and  iryns in LH  C Early 2 after an earthquake 

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 1 9

Fig. 18.8. Cyprus and the Levant.

destruction  at  the  end  of  LH  C  Early  1  ( rench  201 ,  45– 4 ).  his was the third earthquake to affect the area,  after  one  in  mid-LH  B  and  one  at  the  end  of  LH  B.  rench  suggests  the  third  gave  more  impetus  for  people  to move to Cyprus, to which they may have been going since  the  earlier  earthquakes,  drawn  there  by  the  history  of trade connections between Cyprus and the north-east

eloponnese. Aegean-style pottery on Cyprus was an amalgamation of Mycenaean shapes and motifs with elements of hite Slip,  ude astoral Style and Minoan motifs. There is little development in the pottery of Cyp IIIC Early 2– C Middle, apart from the appearance towards the end of  Cyp  C Early 2 of pleonastic decoration with its enthusiastic use of filling motifs ( ig. 1 .10.1– ).  hroughout Cyp 

1 0

ig fig

Penelope A. Mountj oy

Mount oy fig Pyla: erghi fig n o i fig ou lia: Mantissa fig ala ultan e e cale :

yrenia fig

Dothan

fig

n o i



18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 181

ig Mount oy fig fig inda cale :

inda

fig

ition

fig

ala ultan e e

fig

n o i



1 2

Penelope A. Mountj oy

IIIC Early–Middle some motifs were favoured at particular sites, such as joining semi-circles attached to deep bowl rims  at Enkomi or antithetic streamers on deep bowls at Sinda ( ig.  1 .10.4–5).  t  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  many  sites  ended in Cyp  C Early 1–2, either by destruction or abandonment  only the four main sites of Enkomi,  ition, Sinda  and Hala Sultan Tekke survived into Cyp IIIC Middle, and the two last did not survive it.  he characteristic shapes are  those of the Greek mainland, but the range of vessels is not  so wide.  he commonest shape is the deep bowl, followed  by the Bowl  ype 10, ring-based krater and jug hydria  the  strainer jug and stirrup jar are relatively common. Carinated  kraters appeared in Cyp  C Early 2 only at the four main  sites, suggesting that they appeared late in IIIC Early when other sites no longer survived (see Mountjoy 2015b, 545–54 ,  201 , 9 2–9 , 105 –105  for extended discussion).  ictorial  decoration appeared in all these phases ( ig. 1 .1 ).

T h e d e s t r u c t i on s fo E n k mo i L e ev l I I I B E ra l y a n d L e ev l I I I B L at e . T h e m i s r e da i n g fo t h e s t r at i gr pa h y Enkomi L e v e l I I B and L e v e l I I I A in Area III and Area I of  ikaios’  excavations  ( ikaios  19 9–19 1)  b o t h e n d e d w i t h a d e s t r u c t i o n .  he latter destruction included the ashlar  building in Area   this occurred as Cyp  C Middle pottery  was appearing.  ebuilding seems to have begun at once for  Level  B,  which  ikaios  divided  into  B(1)  and  B(2)  (called by myself Level  B Early and Level  B Late) based  on architectural changes in some rooms and a change in the pottery, in which the Aegean-style LH IIIC Middle pottery of  B(1) was replaced by the  avy Line  hase of  B(2).  ikaios thought new people had carried out the changes to the  architecture and the pottery, which ended Level  B(1) and  which were clear in Area I, where there was a completely new arrangement of rooms for Level  B(2), but he could find no  evidence of a Level  B(1) destruction. Level  B(2) ended in  a destruction on  loor   in both Area   and Area  . However,  that in Area   seemed to be due to an earthquake, as people  were caught in collapsing buildings, including in the cult area, where ritual was taking place, and that in Area III due to a hostile attack, as evidenced by piles of ammunition.  ikaios  opted for a hostile destruction in both areas. He had not realised  that the upper layers of Area III had been cultivated away and that the destruction on the top layer was not the Wavy Line Level IIIB Late destruction but the Aegean-style Level IIIB Early  destruction  (see  Mountjoy  2005a,  149  able  ).  his  realignment allows a hostile destruction in IIIC Middle for loor   Area   and an earthquake destruction in  C Late– Submycenaean for  loor   Area   at the peak of the  avy Line  hase (see Mountjoy 2005a, 12 –155 for a detailed analysis   see also Mountjoy 201 , 145, 1 4–4 9 for the stratigraphy).  In Aegean terminology Level IIIB Early can be correlated in ceramic terms with LH  C Middle  hase 1 ( eveloped) and 

part of LH  C Middle phase 2 (Advanced), while Level  B  Late correlates to LH  C Late–Submycenaean.

T h e W vya L i n e P h as e an d P r ot -o Wh i t e P ai n t e d W ar e : t h e p r ob l e m fo c on t e m p or na e i t y Confusion has arisen over two LC IIIB classes of pottery, the so-called  Granary Class’ or  avy Line  hase and the  roto- hite  ainted  are ( ), which was also decorated  with wavy line.

Wav y L ine P hase After the hostile destruction at Enkomi at the end of Level IIIB Early new pottery shapes appeared mostly decorated with a new  syntax  comprising  single  or  reduplicated  parallel  flowing  wavy lines ( ig. 1 .11.1), although other motifs also appeared  (Mountjoy 201 , figs 5 , 540, 544 top row, 545).  he patterned  deep bowls of the preceding phase now had a low to high conical base and were often monochrome with reserved areas ( ig.  1 .11.2).  hese  vases  were  assigned  by  ikaios  to  the  Granary’ Class ( ikaios 19 9, 2 2), as the syntax corresponded  to that of  urumark’s  C1c definition of the style ( urumark  1944, 21 ).  he name describes pottery found in the destruction  of the Granary at Mycenae, which occurred in LH  C Middle  (Advanced)   however,  the  wavy  line  style  is  found  a o e the destruction, in the upper level of the Granary and dates to LH  C Late ( ig. 1 .11. ) ( ace 1921–192 ,  – 1). The wavy line pottery has a completely different fabric from that of the LC  A pottery.  t is soft with impurities  and very often has a greenish surface with matt black paint or a white surface with matt orange paint. Just one or two  pieces are hard-fired and would fulfil the definition of    (see below).

P roto- White P ainted Ware Gjerstad  introduced  this  name  for  a  class  of  pottery  falling  between the end of Aegean-style pottery and the appearance of  in CG   (Gjerstad 1944,  – ). Although also decorated  with wavy line ( ig. 1 .11.5) the ware is hard fired in contrast  to  the  soft  fired  avy  Line  Style  are  and  also  has  better  levigated clay  the paint is usually matt red-brown. Although  Gjerstad classed   as contemporary with Submycenaean  and  Subminoan  (Gjerstad  1944,  5),  urumark  (1944,  24 )  saw the class as comprising two phases, the earlier being contemporary  with  C1c  (LH  C  Late)  and  the  later  with  C2  (Submycenaean).  either  scholar  mentioned  the  wavy  line  decoration  in  their  1944  definitions  of  this  class.  However, after his excavations at Sinda,  urumark appears to  have made Wavy Line Phase pottery contemporary with early  ( urumark 19 5, 11  n.  ), because he did not have it  at Sinda, which ended in what is today called IIIC Middle, whereas  ikaios had it in later contexts at Enkomi.  ikaios  accepted this definition ( urumark 19 5, 114), but later decided  to assign wavy line pottery as local Mycenaean IIIC in his

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 1

ig n o i

Mount oy fig n o i Mount oy fig rgolid

fig n o i cale :

fig

n o i

fig

n o i

fig



Penelope A. Mountj oy

1 4

Levels  B Late and  C ( ikaios 19 9, 494–495), based on  the fact that there were later shapes in Gjerstad’s definition of   (Gjerstad 1944, 92 fig. 5), which were not present in his  excavation. He thought that   came after his Level  C  and that he had a gap between the end of Level IIIC and the CG presence at the site ( ikaios 19 9, 494). wo conflicting views have arisen as a result of  ikaios’  decision.  akovou  thought  that    postdated  avy  Line  hase and that Sols  –  in the Sanctuary of the  ngot God in  Quarter 5E continued in use after the rest of the settlement at  Enkomi had been abandoned, since PWP pottery is present on Sols  –  ( acovou 19 ,  ), but not in Area   (Quarter 4 )  and Area    (Quarter  1 )  excavated  by  ikaios  ( ikaios  19 9–19 1).  She  assigned  Sols  –   in  the  Shrine  of  the  ngot God to the earliest part of LC B ( akovou 19 , 1).  n  the  other  hand,  ling  thought  that  there  were  parallels  in the shapes and motifs of the Sols III–I pottery to that of the rest of the site and that, therefore, there was an overlap, whether   was present or not ( ling 19 9, 1 4). n fact, hard fired   pottery has been found together  with  avy Line  hase pottery in the destruction in  oom 12  on  loor   of  ikaios’ Area   excavation and in  oom 1   on  loor   ( ig. 1 .11.4) (Mountjoy 201 , Enkomi nos 5 1,  5 9,  5) and the soft fired pottery used for the  avy Line  Phase has been found with PWP on Sol III in the Shrine of  the  ngot  God  ( ig.  1 .11. )  (Mountjoy  201 b,  201 )  making it clear that the two types were synchronous, at least until Enkomi Level  C  loor  .  here is no development  in the pottery of Level  B Late and Level  C.  t is also  clear that the Sol    ngot God and the  loor   Horned God  were in use, buried by an earthquake and re-instated at the  same time (Mountjoy 201 b).

T h e or i gi n s of

t h e W avy

L i n e P h as e p ot t e r y

he term LC  B is used on Cyprus for the phase equivalent  to LH  C Late and Submycenaean ( str m 19 2,  0,  2   akovou 19 , 1).  t is generally taken to begin in the equivalent  of  later  LH  C  Middle.  akovou  suggests  a  duration  of c. 1125 – c. 1050 BC, allowing three generations, or c.  5  years, for the life of the phase ( akovou 19 , 1).  he question  arises as to the origin of the Wavy Line Phase, since the shapes and the distinctive multiple parallel wavy lines were new to the island (it is unclear at  ition if the style appeared after a  destruction).  here are some close wavy line parallels from the  Mycenaean mainland ( ig. 1 .11. ) dating to LH  C Late,  but, although single wavy lines are common there, multiple parallel  wavy  lines  are  rare  (for  an  overview  see  Mountjoy  2009, 291–292,  05 fig. 9).  n the Aegean and the  nterface  the situation is the same. Also, although the mainland parallels  are LH  C Late, on Cyprus the style appears in the equivalent of LH  C Middle.  nly at  iryns have some examples  been found stratified in LH  C Middle (Stockhammer 2009,  49– 50,  5  fig. 4), but the accompanying deep bowls with  high conical bases, such as ( ig. 1 .11.2), are not present. At 

the moment there is not enough evidence to clarify the origins of the style (Mountjoy 201 b, 411–412).

C ilic ia Tarsus Tarsus was a deltaic harbour town, which is now c. 15 km  inland  (Blue  199   ner  et al.  2005).  t  has  unstratified  locally made IIIC Early–Middle Aegean-style pottery in LB b levels, apparently a squatter habitation (Goldman 195 ,  5 –59), above a LB  a b u r n t d e s t r u c t i o n . Goldman notes  that the destruction debris was so deep that it was simply levelled to make a surface for rebuilding, which she thought was  done  by  the  destroyers.  hether  this  was  so  or  not,  the appellation squatters is odd, at least for the first levels,  considering that the occupants were skilled in making their own Aegean-style pottery and also imported fine table ware  particularly  from  ouklia.  here  are  a  number  of  badly  preserved floor levels. The pottery comprises the usual settlement assemblage with more open than closed shapes.  he range of shapes is  not large.  he deep bowl is the commonest open shape, most  often with spiraliform decoration, ( ig. 1 .12.2–5) followed  by the one-handled conical bowl  S 242 ( ig. 1 .12.1) and  then the shallow angular bowl  S 295 ( ig. 1 .12. ). N A A has shown that all three shapes were locally produced at arsus.  t has also highlighted 1  imports of fine decorated  ware from Cyprus, most from  ouklia, but also a few from  Hala Sultan  ekke, Enkomi and Sinda  single imports from  eos and  os show  nterface connections (Mountjoy et al.  201 ).  here  is  also  nterface  and  Cypriot  influence  on  motifs used at  arsus. Unpainted shapes were also locally  produced ( ig. 1 .12. –9), particularly shallow angular bowls  (Mountjoy 2005).

T h e A m u q Several sites in the Amuq plain are relevant to this study.  hey  include  ell  Atchana,  ell  ayinat,  ell  Judaidah,  Chatal H y k and Sabuniye, but unfortunately, apart from  ell  ayinat and the early excavations at Atchana, the late  thirteenth–twelfth century pottery is mostly unpublished.  hase    is  the  relevant  phase  in  the Amuq  for Aegeanstyle  C pottery. Sabuniye on the  rontes seems to have  been the port for Atchana and then for  ayinat (Janeway  201 ,  4). A recent study ( oehl 201 ) of the imported Mycenaean  pottery from A t c h a n a , ancient Alalakh, a tell site situated on the south edge of the Amuq plain close to the  rontes,  has determined that, contrary to what has long been thought, almost no LH  B is present ( oehl 201 ).  erhaps a sherd  from an imported Levanto-Helladic large piriform jar  S  ,  with the pot-mark common on the handles of these vessels, is  the  latest  LH  B  piece  ( oolley  1955,  pl.  C . A 209 A).  he sherd has the decorative zone framed 

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 1 5

ig fig

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with  rows  of  joining  semi-circles,  which  is  a  hallmark  of  mid-LH  B (Mountjoy 19 , 121, 124 fig. 149). Another  Levanto-Helladic shape, a chalice, ( oehl 2005, pl.  C a),  should  also  be  LH  B.  he  settlement  ended  with  the  d e s t r u c t i o n o f L e v e l I , which was ascribed by Woolley to the Sea  eoples. However, the Mycenaean pottery seems not  to be this late.  here was a short settlement, called Level 0,  before the site was abandoned.  ottery ascribed to LH  C  Middle 1 has been found in the recent excavations ( oehl  201 ).  he appearance of the one-handled conical bowl,  S  242, is of particular interest ( oehl 201 , 29  fig. 1 . .1–2).  oehl suggests Aegean migrants came from Euboea or the  Cyclades ( oehl 201 , 2 4).  his settlement seems to have 

fig



fig



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lasted only one phase after which a move may have been made to  ayinat. Excavations at T e l l T a y i n a t  since 2004 in  ields 1, 2,   have revealed the lower strata at this site.  he  ron  A  pottery from  ield 1 has been studied in detail (Janeway  201 ).  he pottery dates from late  C Middle, or  C  Late,  and  continues  through  Submycenaean.  he  deep  bowl  was  a  common  shape.  Many  examples  have  short  stubby handles, with almost all the handle often being attached to the side of the bowl ( ig. 1 .1 .1–2) (Janeway  201 , pl. 1. , 11).  avy line is one of the motifs used on  this shape ( ig. 1 .1 .1–2).  ne of the most interesting  vessels in the assemblage is the one-handled conical

Penelope A. Mountj oy

1

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bowl  S  242  ( ig.  1 .1 . ),  particularly  as  it  has  the  same  stubby  handle  as  on  the  deep  bowls.  t  is  unclear  how  well  represented  the  shape  is  in  the  assemblage.  he krater, which appears in a range of shapes and sizes,  has motifs, including stacked zigzag (called  verlapping  Multiple  iagonal Strokes ( M S) at  or), which combine Aegean and Levantine to form a local style.  nly a  few examples of the Aegean-type cooking pot are present  (Janeway 201 , pl. 24.1–4). Janeway suggests that new  people came to the Amuq at the same time as they may

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have  come  to  or,  as  a  result  of  troubles  on  Cyprus  (Janeway 201 , 119).

S ry i a ell fis This tell site in north-west Syria has Phase Vb as the last LB level.  t ended with a b u r n t d e s t r u c t i o n in the early twelfth century.  t  was  followed  by  a  transitional  phase,  hase  Va, with  new  constructions  and  the  first  LH  C  pottery. 

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 1 A deep bowl with antithetic spirals with loops drooping down  to  the  bellybands  ( ig.  1 .14.1)  is  very  similar  to  one  from  ell  weini  ( ig.  1 .14. ),  which  has  the  same  unusual  drooping  loops.  hase  c–b  had  Aegean-style  pottery, especially deep bowls and shallow angular bowls, together with local pottery with the cross-hatched triangles so  common  in  this  area  ( enturi  200 ,  2   fig.  5 ,  29  fig. 5 ).  he first corpus of this local pottery was found in  the  Hama  necropolis  ( iis  194 ).  enturi  notes  (2010,  5)  that there is a similar transition from antithetic spiral in Va (c.  11 0–1120,  Janeway  201 ,  able  on  21)  to  wavy  line  in    ( ig.  1 .1 .4–5)  (c.  1120–1050  BC  Janeway  201 ,  able on 21) as at  bn Hani and  ayinat.  he monochrome  deep bowl with reserved base and band on lower body and reserved interior rim band and circle on the base, which appears in Lefkandi  hase 2a ( opham and Milburn 19 1,  40), is also present ( ig. 1 .1 . ).  eep bowls, first with  antithetic spirals and then with wavy lines, are a northern characteristic appearing in Cilicia, the Amuq,  bn Hani, and  Afis, but not at  azel and Hama.  he decorated pottery at  Afis  is  indeed  characteristic  of  the  north-Levantine  E A.  he use of the LB cooking pot continued. A  syntax  at Afis  new  in  the  Levant  is  the  use  of  long  handle tails ( hase  a  enturi 200 ,  4  fig.  5.10) similar to those of the  nterface  these are also found at Hama  ( ig.  1 .1 .5),  and  in  the Amuq  and  Cilicia  (see  below).  Stands with ridges may also have come from the Interface ( ig. 1 .5).  enturi notes the  nterface parallels and suggests  that new people may have interacted with the locals resulting in new pottery types. He suggests some of the new people  came from the  nterface ( enturi 2010, 9). as el assit north of  as Shamra Ugarit has a similar  history  to  as  bn  Hani  with  a  d e s t r u c t i o n at the end of the LBA and re-occupation, but the stratigraphy is not good with the result that not much pottery can be securely dated to the E A (du  i d 200 , 1 –1 9).

as I n ani his settlement on the Syrian coast just south of  as Shamra Ugarit had an E A reoccupation above the LBA remains.  t  is u n c l e a r i f i t r e s u l t e d f r o m a d e s t r u c t i o n .  he site has  three architectural phases:  hase   c. 1200–1150 BC,  hase  II c. 1150–1050  BC,  hase    c.  1050–950  BC  (du  i d  2011,  219–220). Aegean-style  pottery  appears  in  the  E A,  but LBA Levantine derived shapes, especially for storage and transport, also made up the assemblage. LBA motifs also  continued in use in the E A.  eep bowls, kraters and shallow  angular bowls are the most popular shapes in Phase I and II (du  i d 200 , 1 0). Spirals were the most popular motif in  Phase I, but were replaced by wavy lines in Phase II, as at ayinat and Afis (see above)  n this phase the shallow angular  bowl was also replaced by convex bowls.  he one-handled  conical bowl  S 242 ( ig. 1 .14.2) also appeared now.

he  appearance  of  the  Aegean-style  cooking  jug  in  Cyprus and the south Levant is an argument for the Philistine arrival, but this jug is rare at Hani and in the north Levant.  Indeed, in the central and north Levant LBA cooking traditions continue with no dietary change implying that there was no new ethnic group ( u  i d 2011, 22 ).

R as S hamra/ U garit ( see abov e) Tell Tweini his site, situated on the Syrian plain close to the coast (1.5  km  inland),  was  part  of  the  kingdom  of  Ugarit,  probably  the port of Gibala (Bretschneider and  an Lerberghe 200 ,  1– 2). T h e l a s t L B A p h a s e , P h a s e 7 B , u n d e r w e n t a b u r n t d e s t r u c t i o n , P h a s e 7 A , when IIIC Early pottery was being produced  there.  he  presence  of  arrow  heads  suggests  a  h o s t i l e d e s t r u c t i o n .  his has been linked to the Sea  eoples  ( aniewski et al. 2011).  he few pieces of pottery illustrated  include imported LH IIIB, Handmade Burnished Ware and Aegean-style  C  deep  bowls  ( aniewski  et al.  2011,    fig.  A–C).  he  deep  bowl  ( ig.  1 .14. )  has  antithetic  spirals with loops reaching to the belly band in similar way to a vessel from  el Afis ( ig. 1 .14.1), but differs from the  Afis vessel in having a central triglyph between the spirals.  The IIIC pottery continued in Iron Age I, but differed from its predecessor (Jung 201 , 51).

ell a el This former coastal site lies in the south Syrian Akar plain, the  tell  rising  20–25  m  above  the  plain.  t  is  thought  to  be  ancient  Sumur  (Simyra),  the  capital  of  the  kingdom  of  Amurru.  Excavation  has  revealed  a  large  habitation  area,  Area  , and a large temple complex, Area  . Although the  site imported much Mycenaean pottery, it comprises less than  10    of  the  assemblage  at  azel,  since  Syrian  pots,  mostly unpainted, had the same functions as the Mycenaean ones. N A A has shown that much pottery, both Mycenaean and Levanto-Helladic, was imported from the north-east eloponnese from LH  A2 to mid-LH  B.

PHasE 4 (arEa iV lEVEl 5 uPPEr floor, arEa ii lEVEl 6 final). latE lH iiiB–Early lH iiic) There were very few Mycenaean imports in this phase, possibly as a result of troubles on the Greek mainland, but  perhaps also due to the Sausgamuwa Treaty between the Hittite  ing  udhaliya   and the  ing of Amurru preventing  trade with Assyria via the port of  azel. Mycenaean pottery  was locally produced, that is Aegean-style pottery, including unpainted wares, was made at  azel before the first destruction at the beginning of  C (Jung 200 , 5 ).  he pottery  has a smaller shape range than at Tarsus and formed only a small percentage of the assemblage. However, a large amount  of unpainted Mycenaean shapes was now produced (Jung 

Penelope A. Mountj oy

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18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 1 9

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200 ,  191,192  fig.  14).  he  commonest  unpainted  shape  was the carinated kylix  S 2  ( ig. 1 .14.4), as also on the  Greek mainland (Jung 200 , 5 2)  the deep bowl was also  popular ( ig. 1 .14.5).  he commonest decorated shape is  the deep bowl  it does not have the LH  C monochrome  interior found on the Greek mainland. Jung notes that only  the  triglyph,  wavy  line  and  zigzag  were  used  on  it.  he  spiral, usually a common motif on this shape, is not present, although it is common at  as  bn Hani and  arsus and on  Cyprus (Jung 200 , 5 0  hase 4). However, this may be a  chronological factor in that the IIIC pottery in these places is  post  the  destructions.  his  phase  ended  with  a  b u r n t d e s t r u c t i o n ,  which  is  attributed  to  the  Sea  eoples.  Jung  links the pottery to the Aegean (201 , 50).

PHasE 5 (arEa iV lEVEls 4–3, arEa ii lEVEl 5) he site was abandoned after the  hase 4 destruction, but  soon resettled (Badre 200 , 94).  his phase also ended with  a b u r n t d e s t r u c t i o n .  he  local  Mycenaean  pottery,  such  as the linear and patterned deep bowl and the unpainted deep bowl and carinated kylix, continued  the linear shallow  angular  bowl  S  295  was  now  more  common.  he  Simple Style stirrup jar was still present ( ig. 1 .14. ). A  typical  deep  bowl  type,  which  appeared  in  hase  4,  has  long  diagonal  splashes  in  the  inner  rim  ( ig.  1 .14. ). A  small krater has an unusual fringed triglyph ( ig. 1 .14. ).  he  amphoroid  krater  with  the  multiple  stacked  zigzag,  called  M S by Gilboa (see below), is present, but only  a few strokes overlap (Badre et al. 2005,  0 fig. 5.1).  he  Aegean-style cooking jug  S  5 with flat base is present,  but rare, as the Levantine rounded base type continued in use (Jung 200 , 201–202). N A A has high-lighted Interface Aegean-style imports to azel  from  Bademgedi i  epe,  Miletos  and  roy  ( rojan  Grey  are) and Cypriot imports from Enkomi,  ition Hala  Sultan  ekke  and  ouklia  (Badre et al.  2005   Jung  200   Mountjoy et al. 201 ).

a a his settlement on the  rontes has no Aegean-style pottery,  although  long  handle  tails  did  appear  here.  ew  people  arrived in Hama in  hase  2 bringing cremation burials, iron  implements and new pottery, but pottery also continued from hases G and H suggesting that the local population was still  there.  n the citadel the  hase  2 walls were constructed in  the same way as those of the previous LBA  hase G, also  suggesting  continuity.  hase  2  pottery  was  found  on  the  citadel ( ugmann 195 ) and also in the cremation cemetery  south  of  the  citadel  ( iis  194 ).  A  recent  re-examination  has  dated  2  from  c.  11 0  BC,  equating  it  roughly  with  ameses    ear    ( enturi  200 ,  2 –29)   2  ended  with  a d e s t r u c t i o n now dated c.  10 5 1050  BC  ( enturi  200 ,  2 ).  he  re-examination  has  shown  that  G1  is  in  fact  part  of  2 ( enturi 200 , 2 ).

N ro t h C an el Dor

an

or  was  the  main  port  on  the  Carmel  Coast.  Gilboa  has  suggested that the settlements north of the  arkon river, such  as  or,  ell  eisan,  yre and Sarepta belonged in terms of  ceramics  and  commerce  to  southern  hoenicia  adjacent  to  the north (Gilboa 2005,  ).  hus,  or is associated with the  Akko plain and the Carmel coast rather than with Philistia in the south.  here is a gap at  or between the end of the  LBA,  when  or  was  apparently  very  small  (Gilboa  2015,  250),  and  the  start  of  the  E A,  so  there  is  no  evidence  for  the equivalent of the  hilistine Monochrome phase.  he E A  begins in the  hilistine Bichrome phase, when  or became  a large fortified city, and had six horizons of which the first,  r1a early, is most relevant here.  t dates from c. 1140 (Gilboa  2015, 250), and ends with a destruction, but there seems to  be  continuity  after  the  destruction.  eep  bowls  known  as  orthern  Skyphoi  ( ig.  1 .15.1)  are  present,  especially  in  the  r1a  horizon,  and  continue  in  smaller  numbers  a  little  later (Gilboa 2005, 1 ).  n  r1a there were also many stirrup  jars and  orthern Skyphoi at  ell  eisan,  yre and Sarepta,  there being more  orthern Skyphoi at  eisan ( ig. 1 .15.2)  than at  or (Gilboa 2005, 12).  hey were crudely made with  linear or spiraliform decoration or left unpainted.  etrography  has shown that most were locally produced. Amphoroid kraters were one of the few painted shapes at or, sometimes with the motif called  M S ( verlapping  Multiple  iagonal Strokes) ( verlapping Multiple  iagonal  Strokes) by Gilboa ( ig. 1 .15. ).  t is suggested that Cypriot  immigrants arrived there during the transition on Cyprus from LC  A to LC  B.  his is demonstrated by Cypriot  influence on the local pottery, such as the commercial containers, which had a blend of Canaanite and Cypriot traits (Gilboa 200 , 211)  moreover, restudy of Amuq Aegean-style  material at different sites also appears to show that it is the result of an influx of people rather than the result of trade, as  after the influx there was little evidence of more exchange.  or and  yre had close contact with Cyprus. Janeway has  noted  that  M S  was  used  especially  for  the  amphoroid  krater  in  the  north  Levant,  for  example  at  Ugarit  and  its  former  lands  (Janeway  201 ,  9).  t  is  also  found  in  E A  levels at  azel (Badre et al. 2005, fig. 5). he suggestion (Gilboa 200 , 21 ) that the large size of  or in the E A was due to people coming from Cyprus at  the  transition  from  LC  A  to  LC  B  is  difficult  as  this  occurred c.  1125  BC,  whereas  c.  1140  BC  is  suggested  for  new  arrivals  at  or. Almost  all  the  Cypriot  C  sites  ended  in  Cyp  C  Early,  during  the  gap  at  or.  Shortly  after the beginning of Cyp IIIC Middle Enkomi Level IIIA and Sinda Phase II were destroyed c. 1150–1140 BC.  his  is  the  time  which  coincides  with  or  r1a,  when  the  city  expanded as new people arrived.  t is possible that people  migrated now.  nly Enkomi, Sinda,  ition and Hala Sultan 

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 191

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ekke  continued  into  Cyp  C  Middle.  Sinda  and  Hala  Sultan  ekke ended towards the end of the phase. Cyp  C  Middle at Enkomi ended with the Level IIIB Early hostile destruction, after which new people using Wavy Line Phase pottery were present  at  ition the same change happened,  but  evidence  is  lacking  as  material  of  loor    and  loor    is  found  together.  t  may  be  that  more  settlers  came  to  or at the time of the Enkomi Level  B Early destruction.

P h ilis tia he five cities of the  hilistine  entapolis are located in the  southern Levant, Ashdod, Gaza and Ashkelon on the coast, and  Ekron and Gath in the inner coastal plain.  hilistine levels have  been reached at Ashdod, Ashkelon and Ekron ( el Miqne)   Gath ( el es-Safi) is currently being excavated  excavations at  Gaza in 1922 uncovered architecture that may be  hilistine.  Ekron was settled by the Philistines after the destruction of the small LB  Stratum   settlement. Ashdod was under  Egyptian rule and had a fortified Egyptian residence.  he LBA  Level   had a burnt destruction with Stratum  b, the first  hilistine habitation, overlying the debris.  he stratigraphy at  Ashdod is not good.  he Canaanite LBA city of Ashkelon was  also under Egyptian rule.  he  hilistine  hase 20 habitation  was built over the LBA  hase 21 Egyptian remains, but there  is  no  evidence  of  destruction,  at  least  in  Grid  ,  the  only  area excavated with this stratigraphy. uring  C  Early,  groups  of  people  with  new  cultural  elements came to  hilistia.  here is little evidence for this  earliest  phase  due  to  a  lack  of  excavation  of  the  relevant  levels  at  the  cities  of  the  entapolis. At Ashkelon  in  C  Early 1  hase 20B there is evidence for a linear phase of  Aegean-style pottery ( ig. 1 .1 . ) together with Canaanite  pottery suggesting the arrival of newcomers. At Ekron the  phase could be present in very thin early levels in  ield  E  9 1  ccupation, 9C Construction and 9C  ccupation, but  the amount of pottery is too small to be sure, especially as in the next thin level, 9B4, patterned Aegean-style pottery  is already present (Mountjoy 201 , 1101). n  C  Early  2,  Ashkelon  hase  20A,  Ashdod  Level    and  Ekron  Level  ,  patterned Aegean-style  pottery  was produced at all three sites ( ig. 1 .1 ). As mentioned  above, it appeared at Ekron in  ield  E in almost the lowest  hilistine  construction  phase,  hase  9B4,  suggesting  that  Ekron may have been settled a little later than the coastal sites of Ashkelon and Ashdod. However, Ekron is a large  site, so there may be better evidence of the earliest phase in unexcavated areas.  eople from south-west Anatolia may  also have arrived now. he  texts  show  that  groups  of  people  from  south-west  Anatolia came to  hilistia (Singer 19 , 2 9–250).  his possibility is supported by a ceramic link between the Interface and  Ekron,  where  one  or  more  Ekron  B  C  Early  2  workshops painted distinctive double-stemmed spirals on

kraters  ( ig.  1 .15. )  (Mountjoy  201 ,  1104–1105).  At  this time in early IIIC this spiral type seems only to be found in the southern  nterface ( ig. 1 .15.4–5) in the  C  Early–Middle  ceramic  koine,  the  East  Aegean  koine.  t  occurs, for example, on  os, and Chios, and at Miletus (see  Mountjoy 2010, 1–  for full discussion) and Bademgedi i  epe (Mountjoy 201 c,  5 – 5  figs 1.1, 1.2). An example  on an amphoroid krater at Ugarit may be a Milesian export  (Mountjoy 2015a,  4,  9 fig. 20. ). he  appearance  of  the  C  Early  2  pottery  at  coastal  Ashkelon and Ashdod is not accompanied by new cultural elements suggesting it resulted from trade rather than from the arrival of new people.  evertheless, the predominance  of the Aegean-style pottery in Philistia suggests that the connection must have been important. Most Philistine shapes and motifs are Cypriot derived with  some  motifs  coming  to  Cyprus  from  Crete   there  seems  to  be  little  direct  input  from  the Aegean. As  noted  above  rench  has  suggested  ( rench  201 ,  45– 4 )  that  features of the earliest Aegean-style pottery went to Cyprus via people going there after several earthquakes ending with  that of LH  C Early 1.  nce introduced to Cyprus the pottery amalgamated with motifs from local types.  his local  Aegean-style pottery then travelled on to Philistia, where it was imitated.  he port of Ashkelon has the closest  hilistine  parallels to the Cypriot pottery, but unfortunately only a very small  area  of  this  phase,  hase  20A,  has  been  excavated.  he deep bowl was the commonest shape ( ig. 1 .1 . –4,  )   the  krater  ( ig.  1 .1 .1–2)  and  the  shallow  angular  bowl ( ig. 1 .1 .5) were also common, but the kylix was  exceedingly rare ( ig. 1 .1 . ). After the destructions on Cyprus of Enkomi,  ition and  Hala Sultan Tekke and the abandonment of Sinda in IIIC Middle, Wavy Line Style pottery replaced Aegean-style pottery.  n  hilistia  Bichrome  potEarly,  a  derivative  of  Aegean-style pottery, had replaced the Aegean-style  it used  a  small  range  of  hilistine  1  motifs.  Since  no  new  motifs  were  coming  from  Cyprus  it  seems  Cypriot  influence  on  Philistine pottery disappeared together with trade in ceramics.  t is rather surprising that the wavy line decoration and  shapes  were  not  adopted   it  could  be  because  the  shapes  did not fit with the range used in south Canaan or it could  be because new people were establishing themselves on Cyprus with different contacts (see Gilboa 200 , 2 –2 4  for a possible connection with  or).

C e r am i c i n t e r c on n e c t i on s f r om t h e I n t e r f ac e t o t h e L e van t Handle Tails intErfacE – amuq – syria (fiG. 18.17) The Interface antithetic tails below the handles on the amphoroid kraters ( ig. 1 . ) also appear on other  nterface 

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 19

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fig os Mount oy fig a ter iis fig Mount oy

Mount oy fig

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 195 IIIC Early and Middle shapes, such as the large piriform jar ( ig. 1 .1 .1) (Mountjoy 199 , 55 fig. 10), the amphora  ( ig. 1 .1 .2– ), the belly-handled amphora (Mountjoy 1999,  alymnos no. 1 ), hydria (1999, Chios no.  ), collar-necked  jar  (1999,  alymnos  no.  14),  and  cup  (1999,  alymnos  no. 2 ), as well as on many  oan amphoroid kraters (1999,  os nos.  5, 101, 105, 111).  he syntax travelled eastwards,  probably via the  nterface exports to Ugarit ( ig. 1 .1 .4).  Long pendent tails are found in  hase   and   in the Amuq  plain. Handles at  ayinat often have the decoration continuing below the handle as antithetic tails or spirals, such as on a neck-handled amphora ( ig. 1 .1 . ). At Catal H y k they  appear on a similar amphora ( enturi 200 , 11  fig. 2 .1 )  and on an amphoroid krater ( ig. 1 .1 . )  further inland at  Afis they appear on another neck-handled amphora ( enturi  199 , 141 fig. 4.5).  urther south in Syria a jar from Hama  has two vertical shoulder handles with antithetic tails below them  ( ig.  1 .1 .5)  very  similar  to  the  ayinat  amphora  ( ig. 1 .1 . ).  he motif also appears at  arsus in LB  b  levels  (Goldman  195 ,  22   fig.  91.1 52).  he  syntax  of  the tails seems not to go further south than Hama. The Interface long antithetic tails below handles are not found on the Greek mainland or in the Aegean.  he mainland  has single or antithetic hooks below the handle particularly from LH IIIC Middle onwards, but single hooks are more common than antithetic ones (Mountjoy 1999, Attica single  no. 415 jug, antithetic no. 42  hydria, antithetic with multiple  coils  hydriae  nos  4 –4 4).  n  axos  there  can  be  single  hooks  (1999  jug  no.  2 )  or  antithetic  hooks  (1999  amphora no. 20). The motif appears in the Interface in early LH IIIC and continues  until  LH  C  Middle.  Lack  of  later  stratified  deposits make it unclear how late the motif was in use there.  ts floruit in the Levant seems to be later, that is in  LH  C MMiddlee–Late equivalent to Amuq  hases  – .  Venturi has suggested people came from the Interface to the Amuq and Syria (2010, 9), Janeway has newcomers to  the same area, possibly contemporary with those coming to or (201 , 119), where Gilboa suggests newcomers came  from Cyprus (200 , 21 ). Janeway has noted that in  C the amphoroid krater is  only found in Cyprus and the north Levant including the Amuq  (Janeway  201 ,  4).  o  this  area  can  be  added  the  East Aegean– est Anatolian  nterface.

P ictorial S tyle intErfacE – tarsus – cyPrus – amuq – syria – lEBanon – nortH canaan – PHilistia (fiG. 18.18) Pictorial motifs were used in IIIC Early–Middle on Aegeanstyle pottery.  he south  nterLate koine developed the production of Pictorial Style in early IIIC as a result of its close connections  to  Crete,  where  the  style  was  in  vogue.  N A A has shown that pictorial pottery was produced on  os and at  Bademgedi i  epe and exported from  os to Bademgedi i 

epe  ( ig.  1 .1 .1  AA  Group  osA)  and  arsus,  and  probably to Miletos, which may well also have produced its own pictorial pottery.  t was particularly used on kraters. A  rare pictorial krater of Anatolian shape at Troy, assigned by N A A to the local Troy B group, also has a Cretan connection with many parallels to a larnax from Episkopi in south  Crete ( ig. 1 .2.4) (Mountjoy 2005b).  urther  AA analysis  of more Interface sites with Aegean-style pottery may well reveal other sources.  he bird was by far the most popular  motif, with fish ( ig. 1 .2.2) as the next most popular, but  a long way behind.  he goat makes several appearances, as  hunting scenes were in vogue.  ther motifs appear once or  twice,  such  as  lion  ( roy),  man  ( roy,  Bademgedi i  epe,  os,  ine  epecik),  ship  (Bademgedi i  epe),  stag  ( ine  epecik) and dolphin (Miletos). Unpublished material from  ine  epecik may well increase this list. Cyprus has much less pictorial pottery than the  nterface.  t  is  found  island-wide.  ictorial  motifs  appear  already  in  Cyp  C Early 1, earlier than on the Greek mainland, but  the  influence  of  the  dying  ude astoral  Style  will  have  contributed to it, as is well illustrated by a strainer jug from  ouklia with bulls of  astoral type together with birds of  Aegean type (Mountjoy 201 ,  2  fig. 40 . 1).  here may  well also be influence from Crete, which produced  ictorial  Style in early LM  C.  ictorial decoration was used particularly  on  deep  bowls,  kraters,  strainer  jugs  and  stirrup  jars. Most of this pottery is from Enkomi, as it is the most  extensively excavated site.  ther sites with pictorial pottery  include Hala Sultan  ekke, Sinda,  ition, Apliki,  ouklia,  Alassa and Athienou. Bird is again the most popular motif  at the Cyp C sites ( ig. 1 .1 .4).  ish is not common and  other  motifs  are  rare   they  include  goat,  man,  ship,  stag,  turtle, horse, boar, bull, and snake.  he Levantine ibex in  Silhouette Style appears at Hala Sultan  ekke ( ig. 1 .1 . )  together with deer in similar style. n Cilicia,  arsus has Aegean-style imports from  ouklia  and  its  own  local  Aegean-style  birds  and  fish,  as  shown  by  AA  ( ig.  1 .1 .5  AA  Group  arsA)  (Mountjoy  et al.  201 ).  urther  east  round  the  coast  the  Amuq,  Syria,  Lebanon and north Canaan have the Levantine Silhouette Style  with  ibex,  deer  ( ig.  1 .1 . ),  bird  ( ig.  1 .1 . )  and fish. At Ugarit there is a mixture of imported  nterface  types, such as an amphoroid krater with men, horses, goat and  dolphin  ( ig.  1 .4.1),  and  local  types   at  ell  azel  and  Hama  silhouette  types  of  ibex,  deer  ( ig.  1 .1 . ),  bird  ( ig.  1 .1 . )  and  fish  appear,  as  also  in  Canaan  at  Bethshean, Lachish and  ara, to name a few sites. In Philistia, the two types of pictorial motifs, the Aegean-style and the Silhouette Style, are both present.  he  Aegean-style is quite rare.  he bird is the best represented  ( ig. 1 .1 . ), with one or two fish, a ship and a man and  dolphin.  he Canaanite silhouette ibex ( ig. 1 .1 .9) may  be the commonest motif in this style. The fact that IIIC pottery was already being locally produced in the Interface, at Troy and Miletos, and in Syria, at

1050

1060

1070

1080

1090

1100

1110

1120

1130

1140

1150

1160

1170

1180 1175

Submycenaean

LHIIIC Late

Destruction

LHIIIC Middle 2 (Advanced)

LHIIIC Middle 1 (Developed)

Destruction LHIIIC Early 2

Destruction LHIIIC Early 1

1190

1185

LHIIIB2 Late

1200

Argolid

Troy VIIa, Miletos VI destroyed Bademgedigi Tepe new settlers

Interface

Enkomi Level IIIB Late Destruction Level IIIC

Wavy Line Phase

Enkomi Level IIIB Early Destr,Sinda III Abandoned LC IIIB

Enkomi Level IIIA, Sinda II Destruction

Aegean-style IIIC appears

LC IIC Enkomi Level IIB, Sinda I Destruction LC IIIA Kalavasos Abandoned

Kition Floor II

Wavy Line Phase

Hala Sultan Tekke Destr/Abandoned Kition Destruction

Maa Abandoned

New settlers Aegean-style Atchana Chatal Tayinat Wavy Line Phase

Amuq

Afis IV Ras el-Bassit Phase II Wavy Line Phase

Afis Vb Destruction Aegean-style Afis Va Ras el-Bassit Phase I

Ugarit Destr.

Aegean-style Tweini LB IIA Destruction

Aegean-style Kazel Phase 4 Destr. Abandoned Phase 5 Destruction

Syria

Hama New settlers

n o er ie o the destructions and their results Cilicia

Tarsus LB IIa Destr. LB IIb New settlers Aegean-style IIIC appears

a le

Abandonment/Destr. Kokkinokremos, Alassa, Kourion, Toumba, Myrtou, Apliki. Aegean-style IIIC appears AthieniouAbandoned

Cyprus

Dor New settlers Northern skyphoi New settlers?

NorthCanaan

Dates Kitchen 1987

Rameses IV-VI 1136

1153

Rameses III

1184 1176 Year 8

Egypt 1213-1203 Mereneptah 1194 Siptah 1188

Philistia

New settlers 20B 20B Silo, U558 20B floors

Ashkelon 22 Egyptian silos, fortification wall 21

VC-VA

VIB-A

Transitional Phil 1/ Phil 2 Bichrome

18

19

9B4 Floors kept clean 20A VIIA 9B4 Occupation During 9B3-9A 19 1135 Egyptian withdrawal

1175 Destruction New settlers VIIB VIIB 9D-C Linear VIIB-VIIA 9B4 construction

VIII

Ekron Field I IX

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 19 weini and  azel, when they were destroyed, emphasises  that these destructions in the east were slightly later than those on the Mycenaean mainland.

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. opanias (eds)  I Indigenous Culture Migration Integration on the egean Islands estern natolia during the ate ron e ge arly Iron ges,  – 0.  stanbul,  o   University  ress. Mountjoy,  .A.  (2015b)  he  north-east  eloponnese  and  the  ear  East:  ceramic  evidence  for  contacts  in  LH  .  n A-L.  Schallin and  .  ournavitou (eds) Mycenaeans to Date: he Archaeology of the NE Peloponnese – Current Concepts and e Directions, 5 –554. Stockholm, Elanders Sverige AB. Mountjoy,  .A.  (201 a)  roy I Middle I ate and II he Mycenaean Pottery. Bonn, Habelt. Mountjoy,  .A.  (201 b)  Enkomi  Level  B:  loor    and  Sol  .  he  deposition  of  the  gods.  e ort o the De art ent o nti uities o Cy rus 2011–2012,  9 –414. Mountjoy,  .A. (201 c)  he Sea  eoples: a view from the pottery.  n  .  ischer and  . B rger (eds)  ea Peo les o Date e esearch on rans or ations in the astern Mediterranean in the th th Centuries C ,  55– .  ienna, Austrian  Academy of Sciences. Mountjoy,  .A. (201 ) Decorated Pottery in Cy rus and Philistia in the th Century C: Cy riot IIIC and Philistine IIIC Vienna, sterreichische Akademie der  issenschaften. Mountjoy,  .A.  and  Mommsen,  H.  (200 )  eutron  Activation  Analysis  of  Mycenaean  pottery  from  roy.  tudia roica  1 ,  9 –12 . Mountjoy,  .A.  and  Mommsen,  H.  (2015)  eutron  Activation  Analysis of Aegean-style IIIC pottery from 11 Cypriot and various  ear Eastern sites. Egypt and Levant 25, 421–50 . Mountjoy,  .A.,  Mommsen,  H.  and  zyar,  A.  (201 )  eutron  Activation Analysis of Aegean-style IIIC pottery from the Goldman excavations at  arsus-G zl kule.  natolian tudies 5 , 1–24. iemeier,  - . (2009) Milet und  arien vom  eolithikum bis zu  den  unklen Jahrhunderten’.  n  .  umshied (ed.) Die arer und die Anderen. Bonn, Habelt. ner,  E.,  Hocao lu,  B.  and  Uncu,  L.  (2005)  alaeographical  surveys around the mound of G zl kule ( arsus).  n A.  zyar  (ed.)  arsus G l le Interdisci linary esearch , 9– 2.  stanbul, Ege  ay nlar . odzuweit,  C.  (200 )  tudien ur t y enischen era i iryns I iesbaden,  eichert. opham,  M. .  and  Milburn,  E.  (19 1)  he  Late  Helladic  C  pottery  of  eropolis  (Lefkandi),  a  summary.  Annual of the ritish chool at thens  ,  – 52. iis,  .J.  (194 )  a a ouilles et echerches de la ondation Carls erg .  II.3 es Ci eti res Cr ation.  Copenhague,  ondation Carlsberg. Sharon,  . and Gilboa, A. (201 )  he S L town:  or in the Early  ron Age.  n A.  illebrew and G. Lehmann (eds) The Philistines and other ea Peo les in e t and rchaeology,  5 9–4 .  Atlanta, Society of Biblical Literature. Singer,  . (19 )  ating the end of the Hittite Empire. Hethitica , 41 –421. Singer,  .  (19 )  he  origin  of  the  Sea  eoples  and  their  settlement on the coast of Canaan.  n M. Heltzer and E. Lipinski,  (eds)  ociety and cono y in the astern Mediterranean c C  2 9–250. Leuven,  eeters.

18. LH IIIC pottery and destruction in the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface, Cilicia, Cyprus and coastal Levant 199 Singer,  .  (1999)  A  political  history  of  Ugarit.  n  .  atson  and  .  yatt  (eds)  and oo o garitic tudies,  0 – 2.  Leiden, Brill. Stockhammer,  .  (200 )  ontinuitat und andel Die era i der ach alast eit aus der nterstadt on iryns.  h  thesis,  University of Heidelberg. Stockhammer,  .  (2009)  ew  evidence  of  LH  C  Late  pottery  from  iryns.  n  S.  eger-  Jalkotzy  and A.  B chle  (eds)  The ynchronisation o Ci ilisations in the astern Mediterranean in the econd Milleniu C LH IIIC Chronology and ynchronis s III IIIC ate and the ransition to the Early Iron Age, 2 – 4 .  ienna,  sterreichische Akademie  der  issenschaften. enturi,  . (199 )  he Late Bronze   and Early  ron   levels.  n  S.M.  Cecchini  and  S.  Mazzoni  (eds)  el fis iria ca i sull acro oli ca ations on the cro olis, 12 –1 2.  isa, Edizioni E S. enturi,  . (200 )  a iria nell et delle tras or a ioni Bologna, CLUEB. enturi,  . (2010) Cultural breakdown or evolution   he impact  of  changes  in  12th-century  BC  ell  Afis.  n  . enturi  (ed.)  ocieties in ransition: olutionary Processes in the orthern

e ant et een ate ron e ge II and arly Iron ge, 1–2 .  Bologna, CLUEB. ermeule, E. . and  arageorghis,  . (19 2) Mycenaean Pictorial ase Painting  Cambridge, Harvard University  ress. ace,  A.J.B.  (1921–192 )  he  Granary.  nnual o the ritish chool at thens 25,  – 1. arren,  . and Hankey,  . (19 9)  egean ron e ge Chronology Bristol, Bristol Classical  ress. eickert,  C.  (195 )  ie Ausgrabungen  beim Athena- empel  in  Milet 1955. Istan uler Miteilungen , 102–1 2. oolley, L.C. (1955)  lala h n ccount o the ca ations at ell tchana in the atay .  London,  he  Society  of Antiquaries of London. on, M. (1992)  he end of the kingdom of Ugarit.  n  .A.  ard  and M. S, Joukowsky (eds)  he Crisis ears: The 12th Century C ro eyond the Danu e to the igris, 111–122.  ubuque,  endall Hunt. on, M.,  arageorghis,  . and Hirschfeld,  . (2000) C ra i ues yc niennes as ha ra ugarit III,  aris, E C-A . uckerman, S., Ben-Shlomo,  ., Mountjoy,  .A. and Mommsen,  H.  (2010)  A  provenance  study  of  Mycenaean  pottery  from  northern  srael.  ournal o rchaeological cience , 409–41 .

19 The changing economy Sarah C. Murray

I n t r od

u c t i on

: t h e s t u d y of

t h e c h an

gi n g e c on

om

y

R econstructing elements of the economy must be central to understanding of what life was like in the Aegean around the turn of the first millennium BC. As Horden and  urcell  emphasised in The Corrupting Sea (2000), much of the mobility and connectivity that seems to have characterised life in the ancient Mediterranean grew from the diverse nature of its micro-ecologies, and the concomitant need for local communities to conduct economic exchange in order to mitigate risk (Horden and  urcell 2000, 1 5–2 0).  Moreover, scholarly discourses around innovation, hybridity, peer polity interaction, among other subspecialties, often point toward the fact that economic interaction among and within regions was a major driver of developments in cultures and institutions ( athje 19 1   ka and  usimba 200 ,  52– 5 ).  herefore, it is essential that our reconstruction of  developments in the period under study in this volume grow from a reasonable assessment of the nature of production, exchange, and consumption. However,  the  study  of  economic  systems  presents  prehistorians with a series of nontrivial methodological challenges.  n the absence of much textual documentation, it is  necessary to use material proxies to reconstruct the nature, intensity, and organisation of the economy.  etermining the  best proxies to use, and assessing the appropriate degree to which these proxies should be lent credence, is not a straightforward process. Complications include but are not limited  to those arising from the contingent and patchy nature of the archaeological record and the unevenness with which areas within sites and across regions and from different time periods have been explored through fieldwork (Murray  201 ,  1 0–159).  hese  issues  are  compounded  when  the  aim is to understand change over a relatively long period of

time, such as that spanning the Bronze to  ron Age transition in the Aegean.  n this chapter,   consider what we can  discern about the development of the prehistoric economy in the Aegean during the transition between the end of the Bronze Age  and  beginning  of  the  ron Age,  despite  these  substantial difficulties. n  the  past  several  decades,  careful  study  of  archaeological evidence for the economy in Greek prehistory has proven an important conduit for the revision of a number of old ideas about early Greece that precluded rather than encouraged a clear historical understanding of the period around 1200 BC.  hese revisions have corrected erroneous  ideas resulting from two aspects of the way the period used to be studied.  irst, the twentieth century narrative about the  evolution of the Greek economy from the Bronze to the  ron  Age was too heavily influenced by the interpretation of texts.  Second, the extant lines of periodisation have encouraged scholars  to  draw  a  line  of  development  between  LH  C  and  rotogeometric,  despite  the  fact  that  many  structural  differences  between  the  Bronze  and  ron  Age  economies  are already apparent in the archaeological record of the twelfth century. The seductive power of the written word has had a dramatic impact on the study of the Bronze Age Early  ron  Age  economy.  he  Mycenaean  Linear  B  texts  document  transactions and economic relationships between and among palatial  officials  and  other  members  of  the  community.  The interpretation of the implications of these texts for the economy as a whole has varied over time, but they seem to represent a system of exploitation mobilisation whereby  the palaces extracted labour and goods from members of the community and leveraged those resources to generate political prestige through self-aggrandising displays of

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value-added goods and communal feasts (Halstead 1992).  The texts, while obviously important in a limited way for understanding a particular sector of the Bronze Age economy, do not necessarily serve as a good guide to the Bronze  Age Aegean economy overall.  ecent work has emphasised  instead the marginal importance of the palatial institutions in most parts of Greece, end even in the regions where they seem to have had some sort of local economic influence (de  idio  2001   Galaty  and  arkinson  200   akassis  2010   akassis 201   arkinson,  akassis and Galaty 201 ). By  the same token, the economy of the postpalatial period has too often been read backwards in time from the world described  in  Homer’s  epics  (written  down  in  the  eighth  century or later) which are not obviously relevant to the twelfth and eleventh centuries (e.g. Mazarakis-Ainian 200   Morris 200 , 2 1–2 5). Another area in which our understanding of the economy of  this  period  has  evolved  concerns  how  the  Bronze Age  relates  to  the  ron Age  in  terms  of  its  periodisation.  he  old story told of progress from the strong-state extractive regimes of the palatial Bronze Age to the simple, oikos-centered economy of the  ron Age, with a  twilight’ of dying  Mycenaean civilisation inserted in the middle, during the twelfth century (e.g.  inley 195   illen 200 ). However, a  variety of quantitative and qualitative indicators suggest that much of the restructuring and reorganisation of the economy that ultimately left its mark on institutions emergent in the Archaic and Classical periods occurred in the twelfth century,  rather  than  during  the  subsequent  ron Age  (Murray  201 , 2 –244).  his should, therefore, no longer be seen as  a twilight followed by a revival.  nstead, the twelfth century  must be read contiguously with evidence from the  ron Age,  not as an esoteric dead end of Mycenaean traditions, if we are to understand the early history of the Greek economy.  This is an important area of research with much to offer both historians and prehistorians of the Aegean.

T h e d om e s t i c e c on mo y na d t h e o r gan i s at i on fo p r od u c t i on   begin  with  the  question  of  production.  he  core  of  the  Aegean economy in prehistory was always likely to have been connected to agricultural production. Although the palatial  institutions of the Late Bronze Age may have had some minor  impact on the organisation of agricultural production in the few regions in which such institutions were operational, it seems apparent that the basic unit of agricultural production and land ownership in the Mycenaean period would have been  the  household  (Halstead  19   2014   urbach  201 ,  0).  he discussion of agriculture and productive regimes  in the postpalatial period was once dominated by the notion that a significant decrease in population and the absence of  institutionally organised production or taxation led to a shift from large-scale agriculture organised around monocultures

and  estates  to  dispersed  herding  (Snodgrass  19 0   andy  199 ). However, this narrative has been discredited as highly  dependent on an over interpretation of marginally relevant textual evidence and a few scraps of archaeological evidence that cannot bear the weight of the interpretation (Cherry 19   roll  2000   almer  2001).  here  is  good  reason  to  accept  the notion that, although changing institutional structures may have impacted economic functioning on some level after the end of the palatial regimes, strategies of food production and sustenance did not change in dramatic ways between the thirteenth and eleventh centuries BC ( oxhall  1995   oxhall 2014). onetheless, it stands to reason that if we accept a relatively dramatic reduction in the overall population dwelling in  the  Aegean  after  around  1200  BC,  we  might  expect  a change in the calculus of production strategies among individual households and communities.  s there reason to  reconstruct demographic change along these lines after the thirteenth century? The question of change in demography in the Aegean after the demise of palatial sites is not settled and has been controversial, with estimates ranging from an extraordinarily dramatic fall in population to very little demographic  change  whatsoever  ( esborough  19 2,  1   Snodgrass 19 1,  5  Morris 200 , 2 5   ickinson 200 ,  4 ).  econstructing  the  number  of  people  living  in  the  Aegean at any given time in antiquity is famously difficult,  even for periods when significant quantities of documentary  evidence exist, and the task is especially tall for a time of limited textual evidence and a relatively vestigial archaeological record.  t is, therefore, unlikely that we will ever be  able  to  reconstruct  the  size,  let  alone  the  structure,  of  the  twelfth century population with a great deal of accuracy or precision. However, my own quantitative efforts in this  regard suggest that it is not unreasonable to reconstruct a decrease in population in the central and southern Greek mainland  of  something  in  the  order  of  50   between  the  thirteenth and twelfth centuries, with a small population experiencing steady, natural growth after that, leading to a population level approaching that of the palatial period by  the  eighth  century  BC  (Murray  201 ,  210–2 ).  he  situation  seems  quite  different  on  Crete,  in  the  islands,  and in Thessaly and points north, where populations look to  have  been  more  stable  ( allace  2010   allace  201 ,  – 4  Murray 201 a,  – 4, fig. 2).  he notion that some  decline in population must have occurred is supported by the evidence for some roughly simultaneous immigration of Aegean peoples in  taly, Cyprus, Anatolia, and the Syroalestinian littoral (see review in  napp and Manning 201 ,  1 –1 4). n  the  context  of  a  reduced  supply  of  local  labour,  onlan’s demographic explanation of the economic world  presented  in  Homeric  poetry,  where  labour  is  dear  and  land  cheap  ( onlan  199   onlan  and  homas  199 ),  remains powerful as a frame through which to envision

19. The changing economy the dynamics of agricultural calculus in the twelfth and eleventh century Aegean, although the wisdom of  reading’  ron Age economies off of the ideological and ahistorical  Homeric epics has rightly been questioned (Morris 19   van  ees  1999   Crielaard  1999).  t  is  surely  correct,  in  principal, to conjecture that when labour is hard to come by and land plentiful, it might make sense for families to invest more time and resources in herding, which requires less per capita input of labour than agriculture. Still, the  meat-heavy diets of Homer’s heroes should by no means  be retrojected onto people living in the Aegean in the twelfth  and  eleventh  centuries,  since  the  Homeric  diet  appears to have been deeply ideological and unlikely to pertain to reality in any period (Sherratt 2004).  n general,  the lack of archaeological evidence for rural sites from the thirteenth through eleventh centuries hinders the development of a granular understanding of agrarian change over the period in question, but on balance it seems unlikely that the basic building blocks of subsistence agriculture would have changed dramatically due to the elimination of the minimally invasive and regionally situated palatial institutions ( urbach 201 ,  ). Although climate change did not play a role in the influential discussions about the changing economy in the twentieth century, new scientific research has made it apparent  that the question of climate change is probably relevant to any changes in the twelfth century economy.  ecent efforts  to reconstruct the palaeoclimate in the Mediterranean around the turn of the first millennium highlight the likelihood that  some regions probably experienced a period of increased aridity around the time that the palatial institutions crumbled  ( rake  2012   aniewski  et al.  2015   aniewski  and  an Campo 2015   aniewski and  an Campo 201 ).  n the  Aegean, the most detailed investigation of the impact of climate change on local economies comes from Messenia, where a collaboration between archaeologists at  ylos and  palaeoclimate researchers has produced a relatively clear body of evidence showing how a change in climate would have made farming in the region much more difficult around  1200 BC ( atrantsiotis et al. 2015   inn  et al. 201 ).  he  descent of drier weather and a concomitant sharpening of the edge of agrarian uncertainty in the Aegean might make sense of both a suggested move from agricultural cultivation and towards herding and a regional pattern whereby wetter, northern areas of the Aegean were not impacted as  much  as  drier,  southern  ones.  et  it  is  clear  that  occupants of the Aegean were not merely passive victims of climatological  fluctuations  at  the  end  of  the  Bronze Age.  Active responses to changes in the productive capacity of  the  economy  included  migration,  but  E A  Greece  was  by no means uninhabited, and individuals and institutions evolved new systems to accommodate what may have been new ecological realities ( eiberg and  inn  201 ).  hese 

20

evolutions included changes in the organisation and aims of the productive economy beyond agriculture. Like the agricultural economy, the craft economy in the Aegean underwent apparent evolutions between the thirteenth  and  eleventh  centuries.  hile  the  degree  to  which  production was centralised around palatial institutions in the Bronze Age seems to have varied by craft, it is undeniable that at least some productive activity was organised in large-scale industrial contexts in the palatial Late Bronze  Age  ( illen  19 4   akassis,  Galaty,  and  arkinson  2011,  1 1).  he  production  of  high-value  prestige  goods  made  of ivory, glass, semi-precious stones, and faience may have taken place largely within the bounds of palatially controlled workshops ( outsaki 2001).  ndependent workshops were likely to have played an important role in the industrial  economy  as  well.  he  ylian  Linear  B  Jn  texts  dealing  with  bronze  indicate  that  although  the  palace  had  an interest in metallurgical production, that interest was limited to the allocation and collection of raw materials and finished goods, rather than control or administration of the  workshops ( illen 19   akassis 201 , 1 0).  onetheless,  we should not underestimate the degree to which the palaces were engines of demand that provided the impetus for production  at  scale  in  many  regions  of  Late  Bronze Age  Greece. A  number  of  large  and  seemingly  industrial  scale  productive centres have been identified in the archaeological  record from the fourteenth and thirteenth centuries, and it is likely that productive activity at this scale would not have been sustainable without the consumer demand palatial economies stood for (e.g.  Mycenae:  ournavitou  1995   Berbati:  kerstrom 19   oros- atsambas:  imopoulouethemiotaki 2004). Changes  in  the  archaeological  record  related  to  craft  economies attest to the impact that political and demographic changes of the twelfth century had on production.  Many categories of craft cease to appear in the archaeological record altogether, and it seems reasonable to conclude that  their  production  was  simply  deemed  superfluous  and  lacking utility in the postpalatial world ( utter 1992,  2).  The repertoire of goods produced in the twelfth and eleventh centuries is mostly limited to metal objects, ceramics, and textiles ( onlan 199 ,  51  Crielaard 2011, 95–9 ).  hus far  there is no evidence that specialised items like glass were produced whatsoever in the twelfth and eleventh century Aegean ( ightingale 200 ,  – 9). Moreover, a quantitative  study of the distribution of evidence for production during the thirteenth through eleventh centuries suggests that craft production may have become more dispersed during this time, a pattern consistent with a notional reversion to local or household scale industry from a scenario in which largescale concentrated industrial centres were present (if not the norm) (Murray 201 b). Another aspect of production that has been extensively discussed  in  scholarship  is  specialisation.  he  movement 

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away from workshop-scale production to household-level production is often conflated with a de-professionalisation  or de-skilling of craft workers (e.g.  urbach 201 ,  0). But  a  lack  of  specialist’  workshops  does  not  imply  humble’  crafting traditions, or even production that necessarily remained  small  in  scale.  Given  the  scarcity  of  evidence  for craft or industrial sites for the twelfth century, the best method for approaching the nature of production during this period may come from the ethnographic record. A study of  households in Melanesia demonstrated that outputs could be both technically impressive and enormously large even when production was organised at the domestic level (Spielmann 2002, 19 ).  omen in potting communities on Buka and in  apua  ew Guinea could produce over 100 surplus vessels  for the purpose of exchange each year (Specht 19 2  Allen  19 4,  422).  e  might  reconstruct  a  similar  scenario  in  postpalatial Greece, with certain communities specialising in particular crafts, but production remaining tied to the individual household – many small-scale societies are characterised by this sort of arrangement, and the strong local traditions in regions of the Aegean during the postpalatial period suggest something similar may have been taking place in the E A economy ( etrequin et al. 199  Spielmann  2000   arren 19 9).  n sum, it is clear that in the context of  preindustrial or simple societies, almost all workers engaged in a variety of productive activities. Although they were not  necessarily specialists, they still manufactured goods with expertise and those goods were concomitantly sophisticated artisanal products. dentifiable  sites  of  concentrated  industrial  production,  such as the ceramicists quarter in the Athenian agora ( apadopoulos  200 ),  gradually  begin  to  reappear  in  the  archaeological  record  during  the  rotogeometric  period,  suggesting that the return of a more industrial, centralised mode of production was not an immediate development following the palatial collapse.  he long-term nature of this  development is also evident in the gradual appearance of more standardised products including ceramics and textiles (Gleba 201 , 121 ). However, again at least in part due to  the unforthcoming nature of the archaeological record for this period, our understanding of the precise cadence and underlying causes of these developments remains relatively coarse-grained.

D i s t r i b u t i on na d c i r c u l at i on a n d e xc h an ge s ys t e m s

of

god

s

While the archaeological evidence suggests that the scale of economic production is likely to have decreased in the twelfth and eleventh centuries, it is evident that people within the Aegean continued to participate in sufficiently complex  productive economies to make exchange among and within communities a likely outcome.  he raw quantitative counts  of mobile material culture, i.e. recognisable imported or

exported exotica appearing in the archaeological record outside of the place of manufacture, from the twelfth and eleventh centuries are smaller than those of preceding and following periods, but this need not imply a simultaneous decline in the intensity or degree of connectivity between regions.  nstead, as   have argued at length elsewhere, these  data seem related to a decline in population.  here were probably fewer people living in the Aegean during the transition between the Bronze and  ron Ages, so we should expect to  see fewer artefacts attesting to exchange relationships in the archaeological record from this period as well (Murray 201 ). We should, therefore, set aside the outdated and no longer tenable notion that the Aegean was  more isolated’  during the twelfth century than it was during the thirteenth.  onetheless,  a  demographic  decline  at  scale  must  have  altered the calculus and organisation of exchange, and so  institutional  evolution  is  to  be  expected.  he  normal  tendency to strongly contrast a palace-led, state-organised system of local and long-distance movement of goods in the Late Bronze Age with  informal’, merchant- and individual-led trade in the postpalatial period has been influential and  goes some way in explaining the archaeological evidence (Liverani  19 ,  9– 0   Sherratt  and  Sherratt  1991).  he  Amarna  letters  describing  royal  exchanges  among  ear  Eastern potentates and the spectacular Uluburun shipwreck  containing a supposedly royal cargo shows clearly that some trade was directed to and from political leaders in the Bronze Age (Cline 2009   ulak 2010), while cargoes of  shipwrecks from around 1200 BC at Cape Gelidonya and  oint  ria  have  suggested  opportunistic  cabotage  instead  ( helps et al. 1999  Bass 2010). However, a static model of  state-dominated or directed palatial-era trade in the eastern Mediterranean has begun to be picked apart and replaced with a far more complex reconstruction of a trade system comprising communities of entrepreneurial individuals who benefited from the demand generated by palatial economies  while not being formally controlled or constrained by palatial institutions (e.g. Monroe 2009  Garfinkle 2012).  n  this regard a merchant-driven, entrepreneurially-directed postpalatial economy may not have been drastically different in kind than what came before or after, although the disappearance  of  certain  technologies’  from  the  material  record, for example stamps and sealings that could have been used to legitimise trade by proxy at a distance, suggests that there must have been a structural change in the agency by which goods were moved about in the absence of strong state institutions in the twelfth century (Murray 201 , 2 5). As  artaron  (201 )  has  pointed  out,  the  discussion  of  exchange in the Bronze and  ron Age Aegean has focused  overwhelmingly on long-distance exchange, often to the exclusion  of  careful  study  of  local  networks  and  small  worlds’ of interaction (see also Sherratt and Sherratt 199 ).  he  small  world’  approach  has  begun  to  bear  fruit  both  in  artaron’s work and in the form of a focus on regional 

19. The changing economy developments and networks (e.g.  nodell  201   ramerHajos 201 ), and we can look forward to more insight into  localised networks of exchange as this sort of work progresses.  et it remains important to assess the evolution of  long-distance exchange networks.  his is especially evident  when  we  confront  the  question  of  metals  and  metallurgy.  The Aegean is not particularly rich in any number of mineral resources that seem to have been central to the ancient economy.  hile  copper  deposits  are  present  at  Lavrio  in  Attica  and  in  some  Cycladic  islands,  tin  is  not  available  in the Aegean, so all tin bronze present in the region must  by definition require long-distance importation of material,  perhaps  from  the  aurus  mountains  ( ener  2000   ayafa  2000,  10– 2 ).  uring the Bronze Age, bronze artefacts are  concentrated at palatial sites ( ayafa 2000) and it has been  surmised that access to tin bronze artefacts, especially weapons, constituted an important mechanism for the reification  of  distinction  between  palatial  groups  and  outsiders.  he  quantity of bronze objects known from deposits dated to the  Early  ron Age is dramatically diminished from quantities  known from palatial-era deposits, from over  ,000 objects  in the  B period to less than half that number in the  C  period  (Murray  201 ,  1 ).  ron-making  technology  was  apparently introduced to or developed in Greece around the same time, with the first iron artefacts appearing in meaningful quantities in the twelfth century (e.g., at  erati ( omb    akovidis 19 9, 2 9  19 0b, pl.  2g   omb 2   akovidis  19 9, 1  19 0a, pl.  a   aldbaum 19 ,  1).  ecent evidence suggests that there were major supply-side changes in the provisioning of copper at this time, including a shift from Cyprus to the southern  egev desert as the dominant  source of ore ( iderlen et al. 201 ), but important and still  largely unanswered questions revolve around the motivation and meaning of these developments and their relationship to exchange networks.  ere palatial institutions responsible  for mobilising copper and tin into the Aegean, with the result  that  their  disappearance  led  to  a  disastrous  bronze  shortage  (Snodgrass  19 1,  24 –249)   id  long-distance  communication  with  Cyprus  facilitate  the  introduction  of  iron-producing technology   id the local presence of ready  iron ore deposits in the Aegean impact economic geography? However we wish to answer these questions, the impact of  metallurgical supply, demand, and innovation seems central to the attempts of archaeologists to understand the changing postpalatial economy of the Aegean. emand  for  metal  products  has,  likewise,  occupied  a  central role in the reconstruction of economic consumption.  A  hunger’  for  metals,  both  Snodgrass’  working  metals’ of iron and bronze and precious metals like gold,  has often been seen as a core factor driving Aegean economic, political, and social developments (e.g.  ristiansen  and  Suchowska- ucke  2015,  1).  istilling  causes  for  Aegean mobility and hierarchy down to such a simple mechanism is reductive, but it may be reasonable to

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consider the possibility that the utility of metals was inseparable from their limited availability (either because of  resource  scarcity  (bronze)  or  the  complicated  nature  of productive processes (iron)) and their concomitant potential to create and reinforce social difference.  n this  regard, it is interesting to observe dramatic changes in the consumption of metals after c. 1200 BC.  hile valuable  metals are highly concentrated in palatial sites in the thirteenth century, in the postpalatial period they are more dispersed over a larger percentage of known sites and seem to be concentrated in new regions (Murray 201 , 1 –1 2).  This may suggest that the distribution of wealth and economic  inequality  were  in  flux  during  this  period.  Such  a  change in the distribution of wealth may be related to the release of limitations on access, changes in opportunities to participate in trade and exchange, or an alternative political model emphasising a multi-cephalic leadership structure.  n  this  regard,  we  may  see  some  evidence  for  the  positive’ nature of collapse, in which the dissolution  of strong states cleared the way for a greater distribution of access to prosperity among those surviving the events precipitating the crisis (e.g. Morris 200 , 59).

C on

c l u s i on

s

n this brief chapter,   have tried to summarise some of the  main lines of development in the Aegean economy in the twelfth century and afterwards.  hile some of these developments, such as a decrease in economic complexity and minor changes in the organisation of agricultural regimes seem likely to have been generally operative on the mainland, on Crete, and in the islands, much of the story of economic  development should be nuanced with an understanding of regional variation.  he demographic decline that   reconstruct  for much of the mainland, for example, does not seem to have been a factor on Crete, and both Crete and the islands in the  eastern Aegean seem to have retained robust contacts with Anatolia and Cyprus while the volume of exogenous goods  circulating on the mainland underwent a considerable decline.  A benefit of the current volume is that readers will be able to  investigate important aspects of variability in change in the Aegean  during  the  Bronze ron Age  transition  through  the  study of individual chapters.  or a period as tumultuous and  dynamic as this, micro- and macro-level analysis will always be in some degree of tension, and the changing economy is no exception to this rule.

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arkinson,  .A.,  akassis,  .  and  Galaty,  M.  (201 )  orum:  crafts, specialists, and markets in Mycenaean Greece. American Journal of Archaeology 11 , 41 –459. etrequin,  .,  Jeudy,  .  and  Jeunesse,  C.  (199 )  eolithic  quarries, the exchange of axes, and social control in the southern osges.  n C. Scarre and  . Healy (eds) Trade and Exchange in Prehistoric Europe, 45– 0.  xford,  xbow Books. helps,  ., Lolos,  . and  ichos,  . (1999) The Point Iria Wreck: Interconnections in the Mediterranean ca. 1200 BC. Athens, Hellenic  nstitute of Marine Archaeology. ulak, C. (2010) Uluburun Shipwreck.  n E. Cline (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean (ca. 3000–1000 BC), 2– .  xford,  xford University  ress. athje,  . (19 1)  he origin and development of Lowland Classic  Maya civilization, American Antiquity , 2 5–2 5. utter, J.B. (1992) Cultural novelties in the post-palatial Aegean  world: indices of vitality or decline   n .A.  ard and M.S.  Joukowsky (eds) The Crisis Y ears: The 12th Century BC: From Beyond the Danube to the Tigris,  1– .  ubuque,  endall Hunt. Sherratt, A. and Sherratt, S. (199 ) Small worlds: interaction and  identity  in  the  ancient  Mediterranean.  n  E.H.  Cline  and  .  Harris-Cline  (eds) The Aegean and the Orient in the Second Millennium. Aegaeum 18,  29– 4 . Li ge, Universit  de Li ge. Sherratt, A. and Sherratt, S. (1991)  rom luxuries to commodities:  the nature of the Mediterranean Bronze Age.  n  . Gale (ed.)  Bronze Age Trade in the Mediterranean,  51– .  Jonsered,  .  str m  rlag. Sherratt,  S.  (2004)  easting  in  Homeric  Epic.  Hesperia (2),  01– . Snodgrass, A.M. (19 0) Archaic Greece: The Age of Experiment.  Berkeley, University of California  ress. Snodgrass, A.M. (19 1) The Dark Age in Greece: An Archaeological Survey of the Eleventh to the Eighth Centuries BC. Edinburgh,  Edinburgh University  ress. Specht, J. (19 2)  he  ottery  ndustry of Buka  sland,  apua  ew  Guinea.  Archaeology and Physical Anthropology of Oceania , 125–144. Spielmann,  .  (2002)  easting,  craft  specialization,  and  the  ritual  mode  of  production  in  small-scale  societies.  American Anthropologist 104(1), 195–20 . Spielmann,  .  (2000)  Gender  and  exchange  in  the  prehistoric  southwest.  n  . Crown (ed.) Women and Men in the Prehispanic Southwest,  45– . Santa  e, School of American  esearch  ress. andy,  . .  (199 )  Warriors into Traders: The Power of the Market in Early Greece. Berkeley,  University  of  California  ress. artaron,  . . (201 ) Maritime Networks in the Mycenaean World. Cambridge, Cambridge University  ress. ournavitou,  .  (1995)  The Ivory Houses at Mycenae. Athens, British School at Athens. van  ees,  H.  (1999)  ntroduction:  Homer  and  Early  Greece.  n  . de Jong (ed.) Homer: Critical Assessments, 1– 2. London,  outledge. outsaki,  S.  (2001)  Economic  control,  power,  and  prestige:  the  archaeological  evidence.  n  S.  outsaki  and  J.  illen  (eds)  Economy and Politics in the Mycenaean Palace States, 195– 21 . Cambridge, Cambridge  hilological Society.

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aldbaum,  J.  (19 )  From Bronze to Iron. The Transition from the Bronze Age to the Iron Age in the Eastern Mediterranean.  Jonsered,    stroms  orlag. allace,  S.  (201 )  he  classic  crisis   Some  features  of  current  crisis narratives for the Aegean Late Bronze–Early  ron Age.  n  . Cunningham and J.  riessen (eds) Crisis to Collapse: The Archaeology of Social Breakdown,  5– 5. Louvain-la- euve,  University of Louvain. allace,  S.  (2010)  Ancient Crete: From Successful Collapse to Democracy’s Alternatives, Twelfth to Fifth Centuries BC. Cambridge, Cambridge University  ress. arren, A.H. (19 9)  onque: a glaze pottery industry. El Palacio ,  –42.

eiberg,  E.  and  inn ,  M.  (201 )  esilience  and  persistence  of  ancient societies in the face of climate change: a case study from  the  Late  Bronze Age  eloponnese.  World Archaeology : 10.10 0 004 24 .201 .15150 5 ener,  .  (2000) The Domestication of Metals: The Rise of Complex Metal Industries in Anatolia. Leiden, Brill. urbach,  J.  (201 )  Les hommes, la terre et la dette en Grè ce, c. 1400–500 a.C. Bordeaux,  essac. urbach, J. (201 ) Aegean economies from Bronze Age to  ron  Age:  some  lines  of  development,  1 th– th  centuries  BC.  n  J.C.  Moreno  Garc a  (ed.)  Dynamics of Production in the Ancient Near East, 1300–500 BC,  5 – .  xford,  xbow  Books.

20 Late palatial versus early postpalatial Mycenaean pottery (c. 1250–1150 BC): ceramic change during an episode of cultural collapse and regeneration Jeremy B. Rutter

hroughout the Aegean Bronze Age, pottery from stratified  excavation contexts serves as the chief artefactual category for establishing chronology, albeit in relative rather than absolute terms. It may also be used in a variety of different ways as an indicator of socio-economic change. Thanks to a long-established taxonomy of the ceramic containers produced on the Greek mainland as well as many Aegean and Ionian islands during the Late Bronze Age or Mycenaean era (c. 1700/1600–1050 BC), the morphological and decorative ranges of Mycenaean pottery through multiple phases of development are well-documented, even if those stages are undeniably better represented, more fully published, and hence better understood in some areas of the Mycenaean Aegean than in others (Furumark 1941; Mountjoy 1986, 1993, 1999; summary in R utter 2010). Pottery assemblages stylistically so closely related to that of the heartland of Mycenaean culture in the southern and central Greek mainland as to merit being considered as regional variants were eventually produced in southern Italy, Macedonia, Cyprus, and the Levantine coast from south-eastern Turkey (Cilicia) to southern Israel (Philistia), so such pottery cannot even be considered an exclusively Aegean artefact category during the palatial (c. 1400–1200 BC) and postpalatial (c. 1200–1050 BC) phases of Mycenaean culture’s historical development. Over the past four decades, a continuous stream of publications detailing excavated settlement sequences has resulted in an ever more finely tuned relative chronology.  or  those ceramic phases that are universally recognised as contemporary with the floruits of literate palatial administrations  at major sites in the Argolid (Mycenae, Tiryns, and probably Midea), Messenia (Pylos), Laconia (Ayios Vasileios), Boeotia (Thebes and perhaps Orchomenos), and south-eastern Thessaly (Dimini, Volos-Palaia), the Late Helladic

[ abbreviated LH, an alternative term for Mycenaean] IIIA2 period (c. 1360–1300 BC) has been subdivided into three sub-phases (Vitale 2011), while the subsequent LH IIIB period (c. 1300–1200/1190 BC) has been broken down into  as  many  as  five  (up  to  three  sub-phases  of  LH  B1  followed by two sub-phases of LH IIIB2: Mountjoy 1999, 17 table I; Thomas 2005; Vitale 2006; Stockhammer 2008, 1 – ,  figs  –4).  ollowing  the  ceramically  synchronous  destruction horizon attested at all three palatial sites in the Argolid at the end of LH IIIB2 (Demakopoulou 2003; French and Stockhammer 2009; Kardamaki 2015), the LH IIIC period (c. 1200/1190–1050/1020 BC), during which neither literacy in the form of Linear B nor palatial architectural complexes survived anywhere in the Mycenaean world and which has, therefore, been termed ‘postpalatial’, features five or six generally agreed upon sub-phases, or seven if a  Submycenaean sub-phase is accepted as a distinct settlement horizon (contra R utter 1978; Lis 2009b; Papadopoulos 2011). Even though by no means all of these sub-phases are of equivalent duration, their sheer number indicates that closed ceramic deposits of moderate or greater size, whether consisting of complete vessels, entirely of sherd material, or some mixture of the two, can presently be dated within twenty- to thirty-year intervals. Moreover, while this degree of chronological precision used to be achievable only at major sites within a relatively restricted range of locales in southern and central mainland Greece, comparatively recent scholarship has extended this capability to many more regions and to a much broader array of site types, especially small to medium-sized settlements (Mountjoy 1999). Thus, for example, the most fully documented single-household ceramic assemblage of the exceptionally well-attested LH IIIB1 phase comes not from a palatial site such as Mycenae

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Fig. 20.1. Incised handmade and burnished (1-3) and wheel-made and painted (7) carinated cups of LH IIIC Early date from Greek sites j uxtaposed with their suspected Terramare models (4-6, 8) of Recent Bronze Age 2 date from Italian sites. 1: Lefkandi, LH IIIC phase 1a a ter ettelli fig : : olos Pali a ter ung l : ettelli fig : : ora ou CP IIIC hase a ter utter ill : ico ertile Par a ecent ron e ge a ter ettelli fig : Cardarelli fig : : ragola Ca ania a ter Cardarelli fig : : Ca de Cessi a ioneta Manto a a ter Cardarelli fig : : iryns o er o n IIIC arly a ter toc ha er l : : uingento Par a a ter Cardarelli fig :

ate alatial ersus early ost alatial Mycenaean ottery c or Tiryns, but rather from the hamlet of Tsoungiza, from the fill of a pit that has been cogently argued to represent  just two to three decades’ worth of a single household’s accumulated garbage (Thomas 2005). Thanks to such improvements in both chronological precision and narrower definitions of regional ceramic preferences, the findings of  intensive surface surveys undertaken since 1980 have the potential to yield far more informative patterns of settlement at broader half-century intervals prior to and following the collapse of the palatial centres, although this potential has yet to be realised. Over much the same time frame, the expanded application of both petrographic and chemical analyses to the fired clay bodies of ceramic containers from all periods of  Aegean prehistory has vastly enhanced the study of pottery provenience and hence of ceramic exchange (for the period before the mid-1980s, see Jones 1986). With regard to the period of primary interest here (c. 1250–1150/1125 BC), the principal targets of scholarly investigation have been fine decorated Mycenaean tablewares (e.g. Mommsen 2003; French and Tomlinson 2013), especially those found outside of Greece (e.g. Mountjoy and Mommsen 2001, 2006, 2015; Badre et al. 2005; Jung 2006b, 2015; Boileau 2016; Jung et al. 2015, 2017), and transport stirrup jars (Haskell et al. 2011; Day et al. 2011; Ben-Shlomo et al. 2011; Kardamaki et al. 2016). Another mode of ceramic analysis that has attracted increasing interest from Aegean Bronze Age scholars during just the past decade involves more detailed studies of ceramic production methods following the chaî ne opératoire (or sequence of application) approach that in theory will permit the identification of distinctive potting  traditions by way of criteria that go well beyond standard morphological and decorative (so-called typo-stylistic) variables (R oux and Courty 1992; Choleva 2012; 2015; Boileau 2016, 119–121). Proponents of this novel analytical methodology argue that it has the potential to allow the activities of particular potting groups or even individuals to be tracked if, once schooled in a particular tradition as apprentices, they should move to new locations (e.g. Lis, R ü ckl, and Choleva 2015; Lis 2016; 2018). Since the Mycenaean postpalatial era, especially during its earlier stages, is recognised as having been one of exceptionally high demographic mobility throughout the eastern Mediterranean, a circumstance that resulted inter alia in Mycenaeanising decorated and even plain pottery being produced across a much wider area than during palatial times, the combination of technological criteria with chemical  and  mineralogical  evidence  for  the  identification  of  extra-Aegean regional production centres in a significantly  expanded ‘world of Mycenaean ceramics’ will clearly be of increasing value in the near future (see already Badre et al. 2005; Jung 2006b, 2015; Mountjoy and Mommsen 2015; Kiriatzi and Andreou 2016; Boileau 2016).

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Yet another important development in recent scholarship on later Mycenaean pottery is a greater focus on ceramic classes that have traditionally attracted little attention compared to decorated tablewares. Plain tablewares, transport and storage vessels of various kinds, and cooking pots were all included by  urumark in his ground-breaking classification of Mycenaean ceramics over 75 years ago, but these functional categories have typically been undervalued if not altogether ignored in the definition of chronologically  and  especially  regionally  specific  assemblages.  A  heightened sensitivity to ceramic functionality, especially in the evaluation of substantial closed deposits (e.g. Tournavitou 1992; Thomas 2005; Hruby 2006, 2010; Stockhammer 2008; Kaza-Papageorgiou et al. 2011; Kaza-Papageorgiou and Kardamaki 2012, 2014; Kardamaki 2015; Van Damme 2017b), is becoming standard. Thus the vast stores of unpainted tablewares recovered in the destruction level of the palace at Pylos have become a major focus of interest for the study of Mycenaean feasting events (Hruby 2006), as have plain cooking pots (Lis 2008a, 2008b) and plain shapes employed for industrial purposes (Lis 2016; 2018, 143–144). Transport vessels of both plain and simply decorated varieties are analysed for what they have to say about trade in the substances they contained (Haskell et al. 2011; Day et al. 2011; Pratt 2016; Demesticha and Knapp 2016; Knapp and Demesticha 2016). Cooking pottery is at last being explored in greater detail for what it may reveal about both cuisine and regional cultural identities (Hruby and  rusty  201   Lis  2015,  201 ).  etailed,  site-specific  analyses have examined diachronic change in Mycenaean culinary practices as well as in the output of industrial producers of cooking pottery for exchange (Lis 2012; Gauss et al. 2017; Gulizio and Shelmerdine 2017). Extremely large storage containers, quite often decorated if they are kiln-fired  pithoi but usually left altogether plain in the cases of terracotta vats and tubs (or the unfired bins of straw-tempered  clay known as kotselles), are the latest functional category of clay containers to be rewarded with the careful study they deserve (Evely et al. 2006, 148–150, 166, 207–214; Lis and ckl 2011   an  amme 201 b,  – , figs  .2– .4).  he  identification of mobile potters may even prove to be simpler  through the careful analysis of plain pottery than through that of decorated tablewares (Lis, R ü ckl, and Choleva 2015; Lis 2016; 2018). With such developments in the recent study of Mycenaean pottery in mind, let us briefly survey the three to four generations from the latest stage of the palatial era through the initial half of the postpalatial period in three roughly equivalent temporal intervals (Mountjoy 1999, 39 table II; Manning 2010, 23 table 2.2; Van Damme 2017a, 175 table 1). The goal of this review is to establish a sequence of significant shifts  in the production and consumption of Mycenaean ceramics in their western Aegean homeland during a particularly striking episode of societal change encompassing the rapid

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collapse of all known Mycenaean palatial administrations and the first few generations thereafter.

L at e H e l l ad

i c I I I B 2 ( c. 1230–/

1 190

B C )

(Vitale 2006, 200–201, tables 2–3; Stockhammer 200 , fig. 4   rench and Stockhammer 2009, 1 2–1 ,  tables 3–4): The last generation of the palatial era seems to witness the end of the remarkably uniform repertoire of patterned and linear painted ornament applied to Mycenaean tablewares that has been christened the koiné style. The ceramic hallmarks of the LH IIIB2 sub-phase appear to be restricted regionally to the Argolid, some areas along the Corinthian Gulf to the west (Phocis, and perhaps Achaea), and some portions of central Greece to the north (Boeotia, western Attica), but not to have inspired much in the way of imitation in the southern Peloponnese, Thessaly, or either the Aegean or Ionian islands (Mountjoy 2999, 34–36; R utter 2010, 419–420). At the same time, the amount of decorated pottery exported from the Argolid in large quantities for over a century to a wide swath of Levantine coastal sites as well as locales throughout the Aegean declines precipitously, and Levantine imitations of varying quality and differing shape assortments soon begin to supplant their former mainland Greek models. These changes may be connected with a sudden but thus far unexplained collapse of north-eastern Peloponnesian production centres such as that excavated at Berbati (Åkerström 1987; Schallin 1997), possibly related to the destruction of nearby second-order centres such as Zygouries (Thomas 2005). R oughly contemporary is the appearance in small quantities at a few Peloponnesian palatial centres of a class of dark-surfaced, handmade, and burnished pottery (hereafter, HMB ) in a range of shapes that find their closest parallels  in southern and central Italy and that have been argued to be products of an intrusive population element from that region that may be connected with certain metallurgical novelties introduced at the same time (Jung 2006a, 21–47, 255–256, pl. 2  201 , 2 –29  Lis 2009a, 151–15  Group  , fig. 1 :1   2018, 138; Stockhammer 2008, 283–285; 2011, 228–229; Molloy 2016).

L at e H e l l ad

ic I I I C

E ar l y ( c. 120/

1 190–

150

B C )

( itale 200 , 201 table   Stockhammer 200 , fig. 4   an  Damme 2017a, 175 table 1) The publication of numerous carefully excavated settlement contexts containing large amounts of early postpalatial pottery during the past decade has enormously enriched our appreciation of ceramic developments immediately following the Peloponnesian palatial destructions in the Argolid (Mycenae, Tiryns, Midea) and Messenia (Pylos) and the possibly just slightly later ones in central Greece (Thebes,

Dimini). The sources of these contexts are quite evenly divided between central Greece (Kontopigadho [ Attica] , Eleon [ Boeotia] , Mitrou and Kynos [ Locris] ) and the northern Peloponnese (Tiryns [ Argolid] , Aigeira [ Achaea] ), as well as between sites of different sizes, most of them conveniently summarised in a recent dissertation on the household archaeology of the LH IIIC period (Van Damme 2017b, 146–350). hese publications broadly confirm the major changes in the  nature of postpalatial clay containers documented at Lefkandi during excavations of the 1960s but not presented in detail until 2006 (Evely et al. 2006, 135–255). Although the numbers of different shapes being produced and consumed remain roughly the same immediately following the palatial destructions, the percentage of pattern-decorated tableware declines noticeably in favour of purely linear or solidly coated decoration. The enormous quantities of fine plain tableware stockpiled at palatial ( ylos, Mycenae,  Thebes, etc.) and even some second-order sites (e.g. Zygouries) and utilised for large-scale feasting events hosted by palatial elites, or for industrial activities arguably managed by those elites in the cases of Zygouries (Thomas 1992, 268–300) and Pylos (Lis 2016; 2018, 143–145), disappear. Plain drinking sets certainly continue to be produced during LH IIIC Early, but in numbers suitable for household-based rather than community-wide events (Stockhammer 2011; Van Damme 2017b, 157–217, 224–269, 403–405). Patterndecorated small to medium-sized closed shapes (stirrup jars, amphoriskoi) continue to be produced in some numbers, especially for funerary use to judge from the large numbers of such vessels recovered from the chamber tomb cemeteries at Perati (Attica) and numerous locales in western Achaea. But at small sites these handsomely decorated vessels often appear to be imported rather than locally made. Other kinds of specialty wares employed for discrete and distinct shape ranges (e.g. the ‘Fine R eddish-brown Handmade’ or ‘rotbrauner Hartware’ found in considerable quantities at Aigeira and Kontopigadho: Deger-Jalkotzy and AlramStern  19 5,  411–412,  fig.  14:1   eger-Jalkotzy  200 ,  5 ,  4, fig. 2:14–15   aza- apageorgiou et al. 2011, 215, 251, fig.  1 :112–11   utter  n.d.  a )  are  also  recognisable  as  major trade-wares whose places of production have yet to be determined. The cooking pottery produced for export on Aegina continues to be popular for a short while even after the Argive palatial destructions (Lindblom 2001, 134–135), possibly for the simple reason that its insular manufacturing locale had remained unscathed by the destruction horizons so numerous on the adjacent mainland. But there is also evidence at this time for the migration of some Aeginetan potters to new off-island production centres to ply their trade, perhaps to replace local potters who had fallen victim to such destructions or had emigrated in fear of them (Lis, R ü ckl, and Choleva 2015). Until its own destruction in LH IIIC Early, Kontopigadho was clearly a centre of specialty ceramic production (Gilstrap et al. 2016), as well

ate alatial ersus early ost alatial Mycenaean ottery c as a consumer of the output of other specialty producers. In other words, there is plentiful evidence for ceramic exchange during these troubled decades. In addition, there is some evidence for the occasional production of markedly sub-standard terracotta containers by (novice?) potters who seem to be experimenting with unfamiliar materials (e.g. the Soft, Medium  ine  ale Handmade class identified in LH  IIIC Phase 2 strata at Aigeira: R utter n.d. [ a] ). Thus both pots and potters are demonstrably on the move in substantial numbers during the initial stage of LH IIIC Early (e.g. utter 200 ), a finding that is hardly surprising in view of the  social upheaval and greatly expanded population mobility of the times (Kiriatzi and Andreou 2016; Middleton 2018, esp. 134–136). Additional evidence for potters on the move during the decades immediately following the palatial destructions takes the form of impressive increases in the quantities of HMBW recovered from numerous Peloponnesian (Aigeira, Korakou, Menelaion, Mycenae, Teichos Dymaion, Tiryns) but noticeably fewer central Greek (Dimini, Eleon, Lefkandi) centres, just three yielding significant comparanda  on Crete (Chania, Thronos Kephala, and Knossos), and none at all in the Cyclades or  odecanese (Lis 2009a, fig. 1 .2,  table 18.1, Group I; D’Agata et al. 2012, 29 , fig. 1  Jung  201 , 2 –29, fig. 2). As already noted, the vast majority of  such pottery has been shown on both morphological and decorative grounds to be closely related to south and central Italian models. Wherever such vessels have been found in significant numbers in the eastern Mediterranean and have  been subjected to petrographic or chemical analyses, they have been identified as local products (Jung 200 , 24  201 ,  27; Stockhammer 2008, 285 n. 1003; Boileau et al. 2010; D’Agata et al. 2012, 296 and n. 5; Boileau 2016: 121–126; Gkazis et al. 2019). They were, therefore, apparently not traded  or  exchanged  to  any  significant  degree.  Although  routinely found in domestic contexts together with standard Mycenaean  wheel-finished  tablewares,  they  appear  never  to have been deposited in Mycenaean tombs. At some sites (especially Tiryns), they were produced in an astonishingly broad range of shapes, including a number of traditional Mycenaean types (Kilian 2007, 52), but at most sites where they have been found in quantities exceeding 30–40 published examples the shape range is relatively narrow, with an emphasis on cups (especially carinated cups with a single high-swung handle, only exceptionally decorated with shallowly impressed, rectilinear ornament: Figs 1:1–3, 2; Popham, Evely, and Sackett 2006, 125 P78 bis, pl. 49:1 = Bettelli 2009, 114, fig. 12:  Jung 200 ,  – , pl. 1 :     Bettelli 2009, 114, fig. 12:1   utter 19 5, 20–21 no.  , ill.  , pls 1–2, figs  – ), wide-mouthed jars featuring various  schemes of plain plastic or plastic-and-impressed décor, and typically plain narrow-necked jars (Jung 2006a, 21–47; omanos 2011,  , 12–41, 4 –49, figs 2.1, 2. ). Most recent  studies of this material have concluded that it represents

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in situ ceramic production at major postpalatial sites by an intrusive population element originating in the central Mediterranean that became much more noticeable in the half-century following the palatial collapses than during the generation immediately preceding those (contra Molloy 2016, 363–365, 367, 370–371). Careful analysis of the full range of this technologically simpler ceramic category, however, has distinguished sub-classes within it that do not conform to the broad-brush outline just presented. For example, Lis has drawn attention to cooking pots and storage vessels at the central Greek sites of Mitrou, Kalapodi, Frantzis, and Pefkakia as well as the Peloponnesian sites of Chania and Pylos that have no Italian connections, that appear to have functioned in ways quite distinct from typical HMBW, and that he, therefore, considers to be better described as ‘Handmade Domestic Pottery’ (2009a, 154–159, Group ,  figs  1 .1,  1 . :1– ,  1 .4,  1 .   201 ,  1 9–145).  he  HMBW recovered in substantial quantities throughout the LH IIIC sequence at the eastern Achaean site of Aigeira is morphologically very restricted (just three shapes: a jug, a shoulder-handled amphora, and a dipper or ladle), decoratively altogether plain, and likewise lacking any Italian connections (Jung 2006a, 43–46; Lis 2018, 139; R utter n.d. [ a] ). On the other hand, the HMBW material from the west Cretan site of Chania, first appearing in small quantities in  the local LM IIIB1 phase but becoming far more abundant in the subsequent LM IIIB2 settlement, is very similar in its shape range to that from the north-eastern Peloponnesian and east-central Greek sites with its Italian connections. Contextual studies of how the Italianising HMBW found on Crete and the southern and central Greek mainland was distributed within Mycenaean and Minoan settlements are still quite rare (Stockhammer 2008, 286–294; 2011, 228–236; Bettelli 2009; D’Agata 2012 et al., 299–307; Jung 2017, 27), but more may be anticipated in the near future as further progress is made on the publication of relevant contexts from sites such as Tiryns, Lefkandi, Eleon, Dimini (AdrymiSismani 2013; 2014), and Teichos Dymaion (Gkazis et al. 2019). The suggestion that the migrant Italian producers of this pottery were largely if not entirely females (Stockhammer 2008, 285 n. 1004) who may have been attached to upper-echelon Mycenaean households in the early postpalatial era as craftswomen working with textiles (Van Damme 2017b, 406–407) is reasonable enough, but is arguably premature in view of how much is certainly known at this point. Numerous other suggestions have been made for the status of the HMBW makers (Stockhammer 2008, 285 n. 1005; D’Agata et al. 2012, 298), but these likewise fail to be compelling in view of the still limited contextual evidence available. R eviewing the intrusive Italianising component in LH IIIC Early pottery assemblages is a prerequisite for appreciating the significance of the wheel-finished and carinated cup  S  240’s appearance as the principal diagnostic for the ceramic phase known as LH IIIC Early 2 (or simply LH IIIC phase 2),

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the second identifiable stage of postpalatial ceramic production on the Greek mainland (Deger-Jalkotzy 1982; Popham, Schofield and Sherratt 200 , 1 , 1 2  Stockhammer 200 ,  57–60, 131–132, 182, 206–207, 227; R utter n.d. [ a] ). This LH IIIC shape is distinguished by a single high-swung vertical strap handle rising well above the rim, an angular body profile that is concave above the carination, and either a ring  or hollowed raised base (Furumark 1941, 55, 625, form 40, shape 240, nos  –5  Mountjoy 19 , 14 , fig. 1 5  1999, 15   n. 816, 170 and ns 899–903 no. 359, 186 no. 434, 230 and ns 1214–1215 nos 1 2–1 4,  1  n. 4 4,  14 no.  1, figs 4 ,  56, 74, 274). During LH IIIC Early 2 and Middle 1, this shape is invariably either solidly painted except for the reserved underside of the base or else solidly coated inside and from the rim down to just below the carination on the exterior. At sites that have yielded substantial numbers of this shape, it appears to have been produced in two sizes, one small with a capacity of c. 0.20–0.25 litre and one much larger that was capable of holding a little over a litre of liquid (Stockhammer 200 , 1 1–1 2 and ns 5 0–5 1, fig.  2c). All specialists agree  that this wheel-fashioned and painted shape is an imitation of the Italianising HMBW carinated cup that makes its initial appearance at sites such as Korakou and Dimini already in LH IIIC Early 1 (R utter 1975, 20–21 no. 7, 29 n. 58, 32 and ns  2–   opham, Schofield and Sherratt 200 , 1 , 1 2  

Kilian 2007, 53; Stockhammer 2008, 268–272; Bettelli 2009, 116 and n. 24). Thanks to the full publication of important contexts from Chania, Tiryns, Lefkandi, and Dimini over the past fifteen years, it is now possible to assess the significance  of the painted Mycenaean version of the carinated cup in a far more nuanced way than was possible half a century ago when its connection with the HMB  version was first recognised by the excavators of Lefkandi. Thus Stockhammer (200 , 2 , fig.  2c) has provided some compelling reasons  why the wheel-fashioned and solidly coated FS 240 cups supplanted their dark-surfaced, handmade and burnished models by appealing to their immigrant consumers’ preference for more dependably coloured, thinner-walled, and hence lighter drinking cups, in addition to making clear that earlier FS 240s are predominantly of the larger size and thus closer to their Italianising models. Extraordinarily, a couple of sherds likely to belong to a single example of a wheel-fashioned and linearly decorated FS 240 even exhibit a shallowly incised wavy line (Fig. 20.1:7; Stockhammer 2008, I, 132; II, 18 nos 218–219, pl. 12) that is reminiscent of the occasional decoration of HMBW carinated cups from Greece with such incised ornament and even has a good parallel in an Italian impasto carinated cup from Q uingento near Parma (Fig. 20.1:8). Stockhammer has likewise shown how the consumption of the painted FS 240s correlates very closely in spatial terms with the usage of HMBW pottery in Tiryns’ Lower  own  orth-east  (Stockhammer  200 ,  2 ,  figs  ,  9  2011, 2 4, figs 11–12), and also how the dramatic fall-off  in the frequency of FS 240s in the ensuing second phase of LH IIIC Early 2 occupation in this area is almost certainly due to the ethnic difference between the elite occupants of R oom 8/00 and the immigrant users of carinated cups. In the third phase of occupation here, datable to LH IIIC Middle 1, differences observed in the spatial distributions of wheelmade Mycenaean cooking pottery versus HMBW cooking equipment indicate that the postulated ethnic differentiation observed in the first and second phases persisted even later,  although at this point in time not being demonstrable in terms of intrasite carinated cup distributions (Stockhammer 2008, 2 –2 9  2011, 2 4–2 , fig. 1 ).  he immigrants’ preference  for large carinated cups capable of holding a litre or more may explain why they avoided using plain or decorated Mycenaean ladles (FS 236) or semi-globular cups (FS 215), even though the basic functionality of such Mycenaean cup forms and that of the new FS 240 cups was much the same. Mycenaean ladles typically held even less liquid than the smaller size of carinated cup (Stockhammer 2008, 130–131). The immigrants were clearly used to drinking more out of their favourite drinking vessels. They were also in the habit of dipping their high-handled cups directly into the wide-mouthed jars (also described as olle, situlas, or buckets) that evidently contained their favourite beverages, as a recovered set of cup and jar from a LM  B2 floor deposit at Chania shows (Hallager and  Hallager 200 ,    1– 10 2,  9  1– 0941, 25 , 2 , fig. 1 : 

ate alatial ersus early ost alatial Mycenaean ottery c M, O, pls 84–85, 101d–e; Bettelli 2009, 96). Volumes for such jars have yet to be published, for the simple reason that comparatively few of them can be fully restored, so it is not yet possible to compare these volumes with those of typical Mycenaean kraters in use during LH IIIC Early, whether of the stemmed variety with vertical handles (FS 9–10) or of the ring-based type with horizontal handles (FS 281–282). On the assumption that it is valid to interpret painted, wheel-finished Mycenaean carinated cups ( S 240) as imitations of Italianising HMBW carinated cups designed to appeal to Italian immigrants into southern Greece during LH IIIC Early, a few additional observations about the distribution of FS 240 cups are worth noting. Like Italianising HMBW vessels of all kinds, they are not found in tombs, so that the spatial segregation of these cups in a settlement context such as the Lower Town North-east at Tiryns is echoed in their complete absence from major LH IIIC cemeteries.  robably even more significant is the total absence  to date of FS 240 cups from the southern and western Peloponnese (Laconia, Messenia, and Elis) as well as from much of central Greece (Phocis, western Boeotia, Thessaly). Common enough at Lefkandi (west-central Euboea) and at Eleon (eastern Boeotia) (Van Damme 2017a, 177 P0246, fig.  2),  they  are  extremely  rare  in  Attica  where,  even  in  the enormous LH  C fills of the Acropolis  ountain, they  are represented by just a handful of sherds (Broneer 1939, 402, fig.  5a–f   an  amme, pers. comm. 12-5-201 ). As  a proxy for the presence of Italian immigrants in central and southern Greek settlements of the early postpalatial era, wheel-fashioned carinated cups may prove to be more useful even than Italianising HMBW pottery itself. Notwithstanding the common imitation in wheel-fashioned and painted tableware of HMBW carinated cups in at least some parts of the western Aegean, surveys of the evidence for HMBW pottery at the various sites on the Greek mainland where it has been documented in postpalatial contexts make very clear how much that evidence can vary both typologically and quantitatively from site to site (Jung 2006, 177–210; Kilian 2007, 56–66; Lis 2009; Bettelli 2009; Catling 2009, 380–383). One site that has always stood out from the rest is the single location on Crete where locally made Italianising HMBW pottery has been reported in quantity, namely Chania. Small amounts of HMBW appear initially in contexts dated to the local LM IIIB1 phase, and much larger amounts are reported in the ensuing LH IIIB2 phase following a burnt destruction (Hallager and Hallager 2003, 253–254, pls 84–85; Jung 2006, 181–185, 208–210; Bettelli 2009, 95–99; D’Agata et al. 2012, 299– 05, figs 4–5, tables  – ).  hat has made  Chania exceptional is arguably not so much the nature or frequency of the HMBW pottery in question as the seemingly earlier date of its introduction into the locally produced ceramic repertoire in comparison to the appearance of similar material in the Peloponnese and central Greece. A recent review of the ceramic evidence from Chania has resulted in

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the conclusion that the phase termed LM IIIB2 at the site is, in fact, either partially or wholly contemporary with LH IIIC Early on the Greek mainland, as long ago suspected by Jung (2006, 181–185; R utter n.d. [ b] ). Moreover, the distinctive band cups that are one of the major diagnostics in the local painted tableware of LM IIIB2 Chania (Hallager and Hallager 200 , 201–202, pls 4 ,  ) have been identified as the local  Minoan equivalent of Mycenaean FS 240 cups, that is, local adaptations of HMBW carinated cups (D’Agata et al. 2012, 05, fig.  B   utter 2012,  4– 5, figs  .1 –1 ) that are also  imitated more rarely in both plain (Hallager and Hallager 2003, 157, 204, 236, pls 69: 80-P0457/1440, 129d:7) as well as pattern-decorated versions (Hallager and Hallager 2003, 151, 164, 212, 261, pls 47: 80-P0724/0774, 53: 01-P0101, 122f:4, 130e:3). The consequence of this revisionist dating of LM IIIB2 Chania with reference to the Mycenaean ceramic sequence is to conclude that the history of Italianising HMBW at Chania is not only similar to, but also contemporary with, that attested at Tiryns, Mycenae, Midea, and possibly other sites in the north-east Peloponnese. Aside from Italianising HMBW and its variable impact on regional Mycenaean ceramic assemblages, another major change in clay containers of the early postpalatial period involves storage vessels, especially those used to hold dry goods as opposed to liquids. Van Damme has recently drawn attention to the significant shift in storage practices at the  household level that occurred in the immediate aftermath of the palatial destructions at a substantial number of central Greek and north-east Peloponnesian sites, both palatial and non-palatial (2017b, 146–306). In this connection he has highlighted the significance of unfired clay bins (kotselles) that are a strikingly novel feature of early postpalatial residential architecture, in addition to surveying the contemporary evidence for large ceramic containers of various kinds that were fired (pithoi, vats, bathtubs), in an effort to determine the range of household storage capacities and establish how these may have changed once palatial establishments no longer existed on the mainland (2017b, 365–382). The important role played by kotselles and the evidence they provide for the comparative well-being of LH IIIC Early households (Van Damme 2017b, 374–376 table 6.2) represent major additions to a better understanding of postpalatial mainland economies in regions where both established (e.g. Lefkandi, Eleon, Mycenae, Tiryns) and newly founded (e.g. Aigeira) settlements of this period have been extensively investigated (Van Damme 2017b, 424–432).

L a t e H e l l a d i c I I I C M i d d l e 1 ( c. 1 1 5 0 – 1 1 3 0 / 1 1 2 0 B C ) (Stockhammer 200 , fig. 4   an  amme 201 a, 1 5  table 1) The initial sub-phase of LH IIIC Middle constitutes a relatively brief interlude between the two much more richly

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attested sub-phases termed LH IIIC Early 2 and Middle 2 (Mountjoy 1999, 47–48; 2007; Stockhammer 2008, 58 n. 309, 60–62), the second of which witnesses a striking but short-lived artistic renaissance that features surprisingly novel iconographic developments (Crouwel 2006; 2007; Dakoronia 2006; R utter 2014). Thus LH IIIC Middle 1 may be viewed as a relatively quiet and uneventful interval following an initial half-century of major adjustments to a non-palatial socio-political environment during which the standard of living may have stayed much the same for most households, even though there appears to have been plenty of relatively large-scale movement of population groups accompanied by a drastic change in overall settlement pattern. There is insufficient  space  here  to  discuss  the  numerous  significant  changes of the ensuing LH IIIC Middle 2 sub-phase and the rapid decline that followed in LH IIIC Late, but these belong to what amounts to a second and far more serious demographic and economic collapse that characterises the very end of recognisably Mycenaean material culture at the close of the Aegean Late Bronze Age.

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I would like to express my gratitude to Bartek Lis for a very careful reading of an earlier version of this paper and for many useful suggestions for improvement, and also to Guy D. Middleton for multiple helpful responses to my appeals for guidance as to the range of the subject matter. Such flaws  as may remain are entirely my responsibility. Special thanks to Tina R oss for the layout of the line drawings in Fig. 20.1.

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nd o the ron e ge in the astern Mediterranean, 152–163. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Lis, B. (2009b) The sequence of Late Bronze/Early Iron Age pottery from central Greek settlements – a fresh look at old and new evidence. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and A.E. Bä chle (eds) LH IIIC Chronology and ynchronis s III: LH IIIC Late and the Transition to the Early Iron Age, 203–234. Vienna, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Lis, B. (2015) From cooking pots to cuisine. Limitations and perspectives of a ceramic-based approach. In M. Spataro and A. Villing (eds) Ceramics, Cuisine and Culture: The Archaeology and cience o Coo ing Pottery in the ncient Mediterranean World, 104–114. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Lis, B. (2016) A foreign potter in the Pylian Kingdom? A reanalysis of the ceramic assemblage of R oom 60 in the Palace of Nestor at Pylos. Hesperia 85, 491–536. Lis, B. (2017) Foodways in Early Mycenaean Greece: innovative cooking sets and social hierarchy at Mitrou and other settlements on the Greek mainland. American Journal of Archaeology 121, 183–217. Lis, B. (2018) Handmade pottery groups in mainland Greece during the 13th and 12th c. BC as a sign of economic crisis? In I. Caloi and C. Langohr (eds) Technology in Crisis: Technological Changes in Cera ic Production during Periods o rou le. Aegis 16, 137–147. Louvain-la-Neuve, Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Lis, B., R ü ckl, S. and Choleva, M. (2015) Mobility in the Bronze Age Aegean. The case of Aeginetan potters. In W. Gauss, G. Klebinder-Gauss and C. von R ü den (eds) he Distri ution o echnical no ledge in the Production o ncient Mediterranean Pottery, 63–75. Vienna, Österreichisches Archä ologisches Institut in Wien. Manning. S.W. (2010) Chronology and terminology. In E.H. Cline (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean ca C , 11–28. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Middleton, G.D. (2018) Should I stay or should I go? Mycenaeans, migration, and mobility in the Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age eastern Mediterranean. Journal of Greek Archaeology 3, 115–143. Molloy, B.P.C. (2016) Nought may endure but mutability: eclectic encounters and material change in the 13th to 11th centuries BC Aegean. In B.P.C. Molloy (ed.) Of Odysseys and Oddities: cales and Modes o Interaction et een Prehistoric egean ocieties and heir eigh ours, 343–383. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Mommsen, H. (2003) Attic pottery production, imports, and exports during the Mycenaean period by Neutron Activation Analysis. Mediterranean rchaeology and rchaeo etry 3, 13–30. Mommsen, H., Mountjoy, P. and Özyar, A. (2011) Provenance determination of Mycenaean IIIC vessels from the 1934–1939 excavations at Tarsus-Gözlü kule by Neutron Activation Analysis. Archaeometry 53, 900–915. Mountjoy. P.A. (1986) Mycenaean Decorated Pottery: Guide to Identification. Göteborg, Paul Åströms Förlag. Mountjoy, P.A. (1993) Mycenaean Pottery: n Introduction. Oxford, Oxford University Committee for Archaeology. Mountjoy, P.A. (1999) egional Mycenaean Decorated Pottery. R ahden, Leidorf.

Mountjoy,  .A.  (200 )  A  definition  of  LH  C  Middle.  n  S.  Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) LH IIIC Chronology and ynchronis s II: IIIC Middle, 221–242. Vienna, Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Mountjoy, P.A. and Mommsen, H. (2001) Mycenaean pottery from Q antir-Piramesse, Egypt. nnual o the ritish chool at Athens 96, 123–155. Mountjoy, P.A. and Mommsen, H. (2006) Neutron Activation Analysis of Mycenaean pottery from Troia (1988–2003 Excavations). tudia roica 16, 97–123. Mountjoy, P.A. and Mommsen, H. (2015) Neutron Activation Analysis of Aegean-style IIIC pottery from 11 Cypriot and various Near Eastern sites. gy ten und e ante 25, 421–508. Papadopoulos, J.K., Damiata, B.N. and Marston, J.M. (2011) Once more with feeling: Jeremy R utter’s plea for the abandonment of the term Submycenaean revisited. In W. Gauss, M. Lindblom, R .A.K. Smith and J.C. Wright (eds) Our Cups Are ull: Pottery and ociety in the egean ron e ge, 187–202. Oxford, Archaeopress. Popham, M., Evely, D. and Sackett, H. (2006) The site and its excavation. In D. Evely (ed.) e andi I : The Bronze Age. he ate elladic IIIC ettle ent at ero olis, 1–136. London, British School at Athens. opham, M., Schofield, E. and Sherratt, S. (200 )  he pottery.  n  D. Evely (ed.) e andi I : The Bronze Age. The Late Helladic IIIC ettle ent at ero olis, 137–231. London, British School at Athens. Pratt, C.E. (2016) The rise and fall of the Transport Stirrup Jar in the Late Bronze Age Aegean. American Journal of Archaeology 120, 27–66. R omanos, C.L. (2011) Handmade Burnished Ware in Late Bronze ge Greece and Its Ma ers. PhD dissertation, University of Birmingham. R utter, J.B. (1975) Ceramic evidence for northern intruders in southern Greece at the beginning of the Late Helladic IIIC period. American Journal of Archaeology 79, 17–32. R utter, J.B. (1978) A plea for the abandonment of the term ‘Submycenaean’, e le ni ersity egean y osiu 3, 58–65. R utter, J.B. (2003) The nature and potential significance of Minoan features in the earliest Late Helladic IIIC ceramic assemblages of the central and southern Greek mainland. In S. Deger-Jalkotzy and M. Zavadil (eds) LH IIIC Chronology and ynchronis s, 193–216. Vienna, Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. R utter, J.B. (2010) Mycenaean pottery. In E.H. Cline (ed.) The ord and oo o the ron e ge egean ca BC), 415–429. Oxford, Oxford University Press. R utter, J.B. (2012) Migrant drinking assemblages in Aegean Bronze Age settings. In J. Maran and P.W. Stockhammer (eds) Materiality and ocial Practice rans or ati e Ca acities o Intercultural Encounters, 73–88. Oxford, Oxbow Books. R utter, J.B. (2014) R eading post-palatial Mycenaean iconography: some lessons from Lefkandi. In Y. Galanakis, T. Wilkinson and J. Bennet (eds) Athrymata: Critical Essays on the Archaeology o the astern Mediterranean in onour o usan herratt, 197–205. Oxford, Archaeopress. R utter n.d. [ a] Ceramic surprises at Late Helladic IIIC Aigeira. In D. Smith, W. Cavanagh, J. Bennet and A. Papadopoulos (eds)

ate alatial ersus early ost alatial Mycenaean ottery c he ider Island o Pelo s: tudies in egean Prehistoric Pottery in Me ory o Pro Chris Mee. Oxford, Archaeopress. R utter n.d. [ b] Late Minoan IIIB ceramic regionalism and chronological correlations with Late Helladic IIIB-C phases on the Greek mainland. In R . Jung and E. Kardamaki (eds) ynchroni ing the Destructions o the Mycenaean Palaces. Vienna, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Schallin, A-L. (1997) The Late Bronze Age potter’s workshop at Mastos in the Berbati Valley. In C. Gillis, C. R isberg and B. Sjöberg (eds) rade and Production in Pre onetary Greece: Production and the Cra ts an, 73–88, Jonsered, Paul Åströms Förlag. Stockhammer, P.W. (2008) ontinuit t und andel: Die era i der ach alast eit aus der unterstadt on iryns. PhD thesis, R uprecht-Karls-Universitä t Heidelberg. Thomas, P.M. (1992) III : Pottery ro soungi a and ygouries PhD dissertation, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Thomas, P.M. (2005) A deposit of Late Helladic IIIB:1 pottery from Tsoungiza. Hesperia 74, 451–573.

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Tournavitou, I. (1992) Practical use and social function: a neglected aspect of Mycenaean pottery. nnual o the ritish chool at Athens 87, 181–210. Van Damme, T. (2017a) Euboean connections with eastern Boeotia: ceramics and synchronisms between Lefkandi and ancient Eleon. In Z. Tankosic, F. Mavridis and M. Kosma (eds) An Island between Two Worlds: The Archaeology of Euboea from Prehistoric to y antine i es, 171–182. Athens, Norwegian Institute at Athens. Van Damme, T.M. (2017b) i e a ter the Palaces: ousehold rchaeology roach to Mainland Greece during ate Helladic IIIC. PhD dissertation, University of California at Los Angeles. Vitale, S. (2006) The LH IIIB – LH IIIC transition on the Mycenaean mainland: ceramic phases and terminology. Hesperia 75, 177–204. Vitale, S. (2011) The Late Helladic IIIA2 pottery from Mitrou and its implications for the chronology of the Mycenaean mainland. In W. Gauss, M. Lindblom, R .A.K. Smith and J.C. Wright (eds) ur Cu s re ull: Pottery and ociety in the egean ron e Age, 331–344. Oxford, Archaeopress.

21 Beyond the Aegean: consideration of the LBA collapse in the eastern Mediterranean Eric H. Cline

A provocative study appeared in April 2018, published in the Bulletin of the Seismological Society of America (Hinzen et al. 2018). Co-authored by Joseph Maran, director of the Tiryns excavations, and geophysicist Klaus-G. Hinzen, along with a team of seismologists and other scientists, it called into question a hypothesis first promulgated by  laus  Kilian, the previous excavator of Tiryns, that earthquakes had played a major role in the destructions of Tiryns, Midea, Mycenae, and other sites in the Argolid at the end of the Late Bronze Age (see Kilian 1980, 1996; Nur and Cline 2000, 2001; Vanschoonwinkel 2002; Nur and Burgess 2008; Cline 2014). he team sought to first test and then publish data suggesting that many of the elements attributed to earthquakes by Kilian were not necessarily so. Within days, journalists published stories in various media outlets, including Ha’aretz in Israel and Tornos News in Greece, touting the results and circulating earlier hypotheses that the cities had been destroyed either because of internal revolt or external invaders (Bohstrom 2018; Anonymous 2018). The new study is not going to end the debates about what  caused  the  final  destruction  of  sites  in  the  Argolid,  that much is certain. Undoubtedly a future team will come up  with  yet  another  set  of  findings  regarding  the  possible  or probable seismic activity in the Argolid towards the end of the Late Bronze Age; it is already still clear that there was such activity at other times, e.g. earlier in the thirteenth century BC (Stiros and Jones 1996). One thing that everyone still presumably agrees upon is that many of the cities in the Argolid were eventually destroyed, for some reason or another (and probably a multitude of reasons – see Cline 2014), and that the Bronze Age did come to an end sometime after 1200 BC. The same

holds true for the rest of the Mediterranean area and across the Near East; there is no question that life as they knew it underwent a drastic change between 1200 and 1000 BC. The causes are still debated, but include famine, drought, earthquakes, invaders, and internal rebellions, or all of the above. The following is a very brief summary and review of the evidence for some of these destructions at this time in the eastern Mediterranean (see previously Cline 2014, from which the following is derived and in which full references may be found; also now Knapp and Manning 2016).

D e s t r u c t i on

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First and foremost, we should reiterate that there are numerous destructions in the eastern Mediterranean in the years around 1200 BC – far more than at any other time in the Late Bronze Age. It is clear that something unusual took place. Until relatively recently, the Sea Peoples, as recorded in Egyptian inscriptions during their incursions in 1207 and 1177 BC, were usually blamed, but now a more complicated picture is beginning to emerge. For example, in northern Syria, Ugarit was violently destroyed during the reign of King Ammurapi, most likely between 1190 and 1185 BC. The excavators report ‘collapsed walls, burnt pisé plaster, and heaps of ashes’, with a destruction level that reached two metres high in places. They suggest that the destruction was caused by enemy attack and that there was violent fighting in the city, including  street  fighting,  which  is  indicated  by  the  presence  of  numerous arrowheads dispersed throughout the destroyed or abandoned ruins’, as well as the fact that the inhabitants fled in haste and did not return ( on 1992, 111, 11 , 120   see also Singer 1999, 730; Bell 2006, 12, 101–102).

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The site of Emar in inland Syria, with which Ugarit was in contact, was also destroyed at approximately the same time, in 1185 BC, although it is not clear who caused the destruction. Tablets found there refer to unnamed ‘hordes’ as  various  scholars  have  noted  ( on  1992:  11   Caubet  1992, 129; McClellan 1992, 165–167; Drews 1993, 15, 17; Singer 2000, 25). R as Bassit, located on the northern border of Ugarit, was also destroyed at approximately this same time. The excavators believe it was an outpost of Ugarit and state that by approximately 1200 BC it was ‘partly evacuated, partly abandoned, then set on fire, just like the other sites  of the region’ (Courbin 1990, quoted in Caubet 1992, 127; see also Lagarce and Lagarce 1978). A similar situation has been described at R as Ibn Hani, on the coast just to the south of Ugarit, which is thought to have been a secondary residence of the Ugaritic kings during the thirteenth century. The excavators and others envision this site as having been evacuated shortly before the destruction of Ugarit and then destroyed by the Sea Peoples, though that remains a matter of discussion (Bounni, Lagarce, and Saliby 1976; Bounni, Lagarce, and Saliby 1978, cited by Caubet 1992, 124). At Tell Tweini, site of the Late Bronze Age harbour town of Gibala within the kingdom of Ugarit, located about 30 kilometres south of the modern city of Lattakia, the site was abandoned after a ‘severe destruction’ at the end of the Late Bronze Age. According to the excavators, ‘The destruction layer contains remains of conflicts (bronze arrowheads scattered around the town, fallen walls, burnt houses), ash from the conflagration of houses, and chronologically well-constrained ceramic assemblages fragmented by the collapse of the town’ (see Kaniewski et al.  2011,  1  and  fig.  2   see  also previously Maqdissi et al. 2008; Bretschneider and Van Lerberghe 2008, 2011; Vansteenhuyse 2010; Bretschneider, Van Vyve, and Jans 2011). Farther to the south, Tell Kazel, which was located in the region of Amurru, and which may have been the site of ancient Sumur, the capital city of that kingdom, was also destroyed at the end of the Late Bronze Age (see Badre 2003; also Badre et al. 2005; Badre 2006, 2011; Jung 2009; Jung 2010, 177–178). During this same period, a number of cities and towns were destroyed in southern Syria and Canaan. In the destruction level at the small site of Deir ‘Alla in Jordan, a vase was found with the cartouche of the Egyptian queen Twosret, widow of Pharaoh Seti II, who is known to have ruled from 1187 to 1185 BC. Thus, the destruction can probably be dated to shortly after this time. The same holds true for the site of Akko, in what is now modern Israel, where a similar scarab of Twosret was found in the destruction debris (Drews 1993, 7 n. 11, 15–16; cf. previously Franken 1961; Dothan 1983, 101, 104). Other evidence of destruction can be seen at Beth Shan, where igael  adin’s  excavations  uncovered  a  violent  end  to 

the Egyptian presence at the site (see brief discussion by Weinstein 1992, 143, with earlier references). The Canaanite cities at Ekron and Ashdod were also violently destroyed and replaced with new settlements at this same approximate time (Dothan 2000, 147; previously Dothan 199 , 151  see also  asur-Landau 2010, 22 –224). Perhaps the best known among the sites in this area with evidence of destruction are Megiddo and Lachish. Both appear to have been destroyed around 1130 BC or perhaps a bit earlier. At Megiddo, it was Stratum VIIB and VIIA that were violently destroyed. According to the Chicago excavators, the Stratum VIIB palace ‘suffered violent destruction so extensive that the Stratum VIIA builders deemed it more expedient to level off the resulting debris and build over it than to remove it all as was the procedure in previous rebuilding undertakings’ (Loud 1948, 29 and figs  0– 1   cf. also Kempinski 1989, 10, 76–77, 160). It has recently been suggested that the VIIB palace was at least partially destroyed shortly after 1200 BC and that the Stratum VIIA palace then lasted until about 1130 BC, when it was destroyed in turn (see discussions by Ussishkin 1995 and now Martin 2017). At Lachish, the Stratum VI city has been the major focus of scholarly attention to date. One structure in particular, the Pillared Building in Area S, ‘was destroyed suddenly and violently; ash layers and fallen mudbricks covered the whole structure, and several skeletons of adults, children and babies were found trapped under the collapsed wall’ (Zuckerman 2007, 10, citing Barkay and Ussishkin 2004, 353, 358–361 and Smith 2004, 2504–2507). Other buildings were also destroyed at this time, after which there ensued a period of abandonment lasting up to 300 years (Barkay and Ussishkin 2004, 361; Zuckerman 2007, 10). According to Ussishkin:  he Level   city was razed in a violent, fiery  destruction, traces of which were detected at every point at which remains of Level VI were uncovered … The destruction was complete, the population liquidated or driven out’ (Ussishkin 2004a, 70; also Ussishkin 1987). In Anatolia at this time, a number of cities were also destroyed. Of those that were brought to ruin just after 1200 BC, among the better known are Hattusa, the capital city of the Hittites on the interior plateau, and Troy on the western coast. At Hattusa, the excavators found ‘ash, charred wood, mudbricks, and slag formed when mudbricks melted from the intense heat of the conflagration’ ( rews 199 , 9).  he  fire  consumed  portions  of  both  the  Upper  and  the  Lower  City,  as  well  as  the  royal  acropolis  and  the  fortifications.  However, it is now clear that only the public buildings were destroyed, including the palace and some of the temples, and a few of the city gates. These buildings had been emptied out, rather than looted, before being put to the torch, while the domestic quarters in both the Upper and the Lower City show no signs of destruction at all (Bryce 2012, 12; Genz 2013, 472).

21. Beyond the Aegean: consideration of the LBA collapse in the eastern Mediterranean A recent director of the excavations, Jü rgen Seeher, suggested that the city was attacked only after it had been abandoned for some time and that the royal family had taken all of their possessions and moved elsewhere long before the final destruction.  f so, the neighbouring  ashka are likely  to have been responsible, though it may well have taken place only after the Hittite empire had been severely weakened through other agencies, such as drought, famine, and interruption of the international trade routes (Seeher 2001; Bryce 2005, 345–346; Van De Mieroop 2007, 240–241; Demand 2011, 195; Bryce 2012, 11; Genz 2013, 469–472). The same possible explanations may be given for the devastation visible at three other well-known central Anatolian sites reasonably near Hattusa: Alaca Höyü k, Alishar,  and  Masat  H y k. All  were  destroyed  by  fire  at  approximately this same time, though it is unclear who or what was responsible. Mersin and Tarsus, in south-eastern Anatolia, were also destroyed, although both later recovered and were reoccupied (Drews 1993, 9, 11, with references; asur-Landau  2010,  159–1 1,  1 –1 ,  with  references   al in  201 ).  he  site  of  araoglan,  which  lies  not  very  far to the west of Hattusa in central Anatolia, was also destroyed at this time, with bodies found in the destruction layer, but again it is not clear who was responsible (Drews 1993, 9, with references). Farther to the west in Anatolia, the one site in that region that was destroyed early in the twelfth century BC was Troy, specifically  roy  A. Although Blegen dated its destruction to c. 1250 BC, the devastation has now been re-dated to 1190–1180 BC on the basis of the Mycenaean pottery (Mountjoy 1999, 300–301 and table 1 on p. 298; Mountjoy 2006, 245–248). Both Blegen and Korfmann found bodies in the streets of Troy VIIA and arrowheads embedded in the walls, and both were convinced that the city had been destroyed in warfare (see, e.g., Blegen et al. 1958, 11–12), as opposed to the earlier city of Troy VIH, which most archaeologists would agree was destroyed by an earthquake. There are destructions on Cyprus c. 1200 BC as well. However, our current knowledge is being reassessed and since such activity on Cyprus is discussed in another chapter in this volume, we will not discuss it further here.

P r ob

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As I wrote in 1177 BC back in 2014, although it is clear that there were destructions in the eastern Mediterranean regions at the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the twelfth century BC, it is far from clear who or what –was responsible. There is currently no scholarly consensus as to the cause or causes of the collapse of these multiple interconnected societies just over 3000 years ago; culprits recently blamed by scholars include ‘attacks by foreign enemies, social uprising, natural catastrophes, systems collapse, and changes in warfare’ (Deger-Jalkotzy 2008, 390–391; Maran 2009, 242).

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However, scholars have long pointed to written texts that speak plainly of famines and the need for grain in the Hittite Empire and elsewhere in the eastern Mediterranean at the end of the Bronze Age, including one letter in which the writer rhetorically asks, ‘Do you not know that there was a famine in the midst of my lands?’ (Hittite text KBo 2810; translation following Singer 1999, 717–718). In another, the Hittite king ends his letter dramatically by stating, ‘It is a matter of life or death! ’ (R S 20.212; translation following Monroe 2009, 83; McGeough 2007, 331–332; see previously Nougayrol et al. 1968, 105–107, 731). Ugarit itself was not immune, for a letter from Merneptah found  in  the  House  of  Urtenu  specifically  mentions  consignments of grain sent from Egypt to relieve the famine in Ugarit’ (R S 94.2002+ 2003; see Singer 1999, 711–712; also Hoffner 1992, 49). One king of Ugarit wrote to an unidentified, but probably royal and senior, correspondent,  saying, ‘(Here) with me, plenty (has become) famine’ (R S 18.147; translation following Pardee 2003, 97). he topic was given new impetus as a result of findings  published by an international team of scholars, who suggest that  they  may  have  direct  scientific  evidence  for  climate  change and drought in the Mediterranean region at this time. For instance, using data from the site of Tell Tweini (ancient Gibala) in north Syria, the team noted that there may have been ‘climate instability and a severe drought episode’ in the region at the end of the second millennium BC (see Kaniewski et al. 2010 and now Kaniewski, Van Campo, and Weiss 2012; also Kaniewski et al. 2013). In particular, they noted that pollen retrieved from alluvial deposits near the site suggest that ‘drier climatic conditions occurred in the Mediterranean belt of Syria from the late 13th/early 12th centuries BC to the 9th century BC’ (Kaniewski et al. 2010, 207). The team also published additional evidence of a probable drought on Cyprus at this same time, using pollen analysis from the lagoon system known as the Larnaca Salt Lake Complex, located by the site of Hala Sultan Tekke (Kaniewski et al. 2013). Their data suggest that ‘major environmental changes’ took place in this area during the end of the Late Bronze Age and the beginning of the Iron Age, that is, during the period from 1200 to 850 BC. At this time, the area around Hala Sultan Tekke, which had been a major Cypriot port earlier in the Late Bronze Age, ‘turned into a drier landscape [ and] the precipitation and groundwater probably became insufficient to maintain sustainable  agriculture in this place’ (Kaniewski et al. 2013, 6). If Kaniewski and his colleagues are correct, they have retrieved  the  direct  scientific  evidence  that  scholars  have  been seeking for a drought that may have contributed to the end of the Late Bronze Age. In fact, they conclude that the data from both coastal Syria and coastal Cyprus strongly suggest ‘that the LBA crisis coincided with the onset of a c. 300-year drought event 3200 years ago. This

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climate shift caused crop failures, dearth and famine, which precipitated or hastened socio-economic crises and forced regional human migrations at the end of the LBA in the eastern Mediterranean and south-west Asia’ (Kaniewski et al. 2013, 9.). Israel Finkelstein and Dafna Langgut of Tel Aviv University, in conjunction with Thomas Litt at the University of Bonn in Germany, subsequently added additional data to the picture. They note that fossil pollen particles from a twenty-metre-long core drilled through sediments at the bottom of the Sea of Galilee also indicate a period of severe drought beginning c. 1250 BC in the southern Levant. A second core drilled on the western shore of the Dead Sea provided similar results, but the two cores also indicate that the drought in this region may have ended already by c. 1100 BC, thereby allowing life to resume in the region, albeit perhaps with new peoples settling down (see Langgut, Finkelstein, and Litt 2013). Nevertheless, we must acknowledge that, on their own, climate change, drought, and famines, even if they  influenced social tensions, and eventually led to competition for limited resources’, are not enough to have caused the end of the Late Bronze Age without other mitigating factors having been involved (Drake 2012, 1866, 1868). Some scholars have suggested that internal rebellions may have also contributed to the turmoil at the end of the Late Bronze Age, perhaps triggered by famine, whether caused by drought or otherwise, earthquakes or other natural disasters, or even a cutting of the international trade routes, any and all of which could have dramatically impacted the economy in the  affected  areas  and  led  dissatisfied  peasants  or  lower  classes to rebel against the ruling class (Carpenter 1968, 53; see also previously Andronikos 1954 and now Drake 2012, 1867). In terms of a modern parallel, it has recently been suggested by researchers from Columbia University’s Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory that ‘drought may have helped propel the 2011 Syrian uprising’ (see http://www. ipsnews.net 2015 0 syrian-conflict-has-underlying-linksto-climate-change-says-study/). The co-author of the study stated: ‘We’re not saying the drought caused the war. We’re saying that added to all the other stressors, it helped kick things over the threshold into open conflict.’ Such a scenario might be invoked to explain the destruction seen, for instance, at Hazor in Canaan, where there is no evidence for an earthquake, nor is there specific evidence  for warfare or invaders. Although  adin and Ben- or, two  of the primary excavators of the site, have both suggested a destruction by warfare, probably at the hands of the Israelites, the other co-director of the current excavations, Sharon Zuckerman, suggested that the destruction of Hazor Stratum IA, dating somewhere between 1230 and the early decades of the twelfth century BC, was caused by an internal rebellion of the city’s inhabitants, rather than an invasion by external peoples. As she stated, ‘there is no archaeological

evidence of warfare, such as human victims or weapons, anywhere in the site   the view of the final destruction of  the LBA city of Hazor as a sudden unexpected attack on a strong flourishing kingdom does not concur with the archaeological evidence’ (Zuckerman 2007, 25–26). She suggested instead that  mounting internal conflicts and gradual decline,  culminating in the final assault on the major political and  religious foci of the city’s elite, provides the most plausible alternative framework for the explanation of the destruction and abandonment of Hazor’ (Zuckerman 2007, 26, but see now Ben-Tor 2013, who disagrees).

C on

c l u s i on

s : ar gu

m e n t s f or

a s ys t e m s c ol l ap

se

In 1985, when Nancy Sandars published a revised edition of her classic book on the Sea Peoples, she wrote, ‘In the lands surrounding the Mediterranean, there have always been earthquakes, famines, droughts and floods, and in fact  dark ages of a sort are recurrent.’ Furthermore, she stated, ‘catastrophes punctuate human history but they are generally survived without too much loss. They are often followed by a much greater effort leading to greater success’ (Sandars 1985, 11, 19). So what was different about this period, the end of the Late Bronze Age? Why didn’t the civilisations simply recover and carry on? R enfrew had already suggested the idea of a systems collapse back in 1979. At the time, he framed it in terms of catastrophe theory, wherein ‘the failure of a minor element started a chain reaction that reverberated on a greater and greater scale, until finally the whole structure was brought  to collapse’ (Demand 2011, 193, citing R enfrew 1979). R enfrew noted the general features of systems collapse, itemising them as follows: (1) the collapse of the central administrative organisation; (2) the disappearance of the traditional elite class; (3) a collapse of the centralised economy; and (4) a settlement shift and population decline. It might take as much as a century for all aspects of the collapse to be completed, he said, and noted that there is no single, obvious cause for the collapse. Furthermore, in the aftermath of such a collapse, there would be a transition to a lower level of socio-political integration and the development of ‘romantic’ Dark Age myths about the previous period. Not only does this fit the Aegean and the eastern Mediterranean  region c. 1200 BC, but, as he pointed out, it also describes the collapse of the Maya, Old Kingdom Egypt, and the Indus Valley civilisation at various points in time (R enfrew 1979, 482–487). In my opinion, and Sandars’s before me, none of the individual factors would have been cataclysmic enough on their own to bring down even one of the Bronze Age civilisations in the Aegean and eastern Mediterranean, let alone all of them. However, they could have combined to produce a scenario in which the repercussions of each factor were magnified in a  multiplier effect’ (Liverani 19 ,  9  

21. Beyond the Aegean: consideration of the LBA collapse in the eastern Mediterranean also Drews 1993, 86; Monroe 2009, 293). The failure of one part of the system might also have had a domino effect, leading to failures elsewhere. The ensuing ‘systems collapse’ could have led to the disintegration of one society after another, in part because of the fragmentation of the global economy and the breakdown of the interconnections upon which each civilisation was dependent. In the end, the collapse of the Mycenaeans on the Greek mainland was just one part of a much larger picture, as the Bronze Age came to an end across the entire Mediterranean and the Near East in the years after 1200 BC, bringing centuries of successful and profitable interactions  among multiple civilisations to a halt over the course of just a few decades.

A c k n ow

l e d gm

e n ts

I am grateful to Princeton University Press for their permission to reproduce here, in a condensed version, material that was first published in 1177 BC: The Y ear That Civilization Collapsed (Cline 2014). I would also like to thank Guy D. Middleton for the invitation to contribute to this volume.

R e fe r e n c e s Andronikos, M. (1954) E ‘dorike Eisvole’ kai ta archaiologika Euremata. Hellenika 13, 221–240. Anonymous. (201 )  ew study finds: Ancient Mycenaean civilization might have collapsed due to uprising or invasion. Tornos News, 10 April 2018. http://www.tornosnews.gr/en/greek-news/ culture/30911-new-study-mycen…-civilization-might-havecollapsed-due-to-uprising-or-invasion.html Badre, L. (2003) Handmade Burnished Ware and contemporary imported pottery from Tell Kazel. In N.C. Stampolidis and V. Karageorghis (eds) Sea Routes… : Interconnections in the Mediterranean 16th–6th c. BC. 83–99. Athens, University of Crete and the A.G. Leventis Foundation. Badre, L. (2006) Tell Kazel-Simyra: a contribution to a relative chronological history in the eastern Mediterranean during the Late Bronze Age. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 343, 63–95. Badre, L. (2011) Cultural interconnections in the eastern Mediterranean: evidence from Tell Kazel in the Late Bronze Age. In K. Duistermaat and I. R egulski (eds) Intercultural Contacts in the Ancient Mediterranean, 205–223. Leuven, Uitgeveru Peeters. Badre, L., Boileau, M.-C., Jung, R . and Mommsen, H. (2005) The provenance of Aegean- and Surian-type pottery found at Tell Kazel (Syria). Egypt and the Levant 15, 15–47. Barkay, G. and Ussishkin, D. (2004) Area S: the Late Bronze Age strata. In D. Ussishkin (ed.) The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), 316–407. Tel Aviv, Tel Aviv University. Bell, C. (2006) The Evolution of Long Distance Trading R elationships Across the LBA/Iron Age Transition on the Northern Levantine Coast: Crisis, Continuity and Change. Oxford, Archaeopress.

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Kempinski, A. (1989) Megiddo: A City-State and R oyal Centre in North Israel. Munich, Verlag C.H. Beck. Kilian, K. (1980) Zum ende der mykenischen epoche in der Argolis, Jahrbuch des Rö misch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz 27, 166–195. Kilian, K. (1996) Earthquakes and archaeological context at 13th century BC Tiryns. In S. Stiros and R .E. Jones (eds) Archaeoseismology, 63–68. Athens, British School at Athens. Knapp, A.B. and Manning, S.W. (2016) Crisis in context: the end of the Late Bronze Age in the eastern Mediterranean. American Journal of Archaeology 120(1) (online at https://www.ajaonline. org/book-review/2547). Lagarce, J. and Lagarce, E. (1978) Découvertes archéologiques à R as Ibn Hani prè s de R as Shamra: un palais du roi d’Ugarit, des tablettes inscrites en caractè res cuneiforms, un petit établissement des peoples de la mer et une ville hellénistique. Comptes rendus de l’Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres 1978, 45–64. Langgut, D., Finkelstein, I. and Litt, T. (2013) Climate and the Late Bronze collapse: new evidence from the southern Levant. Tel Aviv 40, 149–175. Liverani, M. (1987) The collapse of the Near Eastern regional system at the end of the Bronze Age: the case of Syria. In M. R owlands, M. Larsen, and K. Kristiansen (eds) Centre and Periphery in the Ancient World, 66–73. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Loud, G. (1948) Megiddo II: Season of 1935–39. Chicago, University of Chicago Press. Maqdissi, al-, M., Badawy, M., Bretschneider, J., Hameeuw, H., Jans, G., Vansteenhuyse, K., Voet, G. and Van Lerberghe, K. (2008) The occupation levels of Tell Tweini and their historical implications. In R .D. Biggs, J. Myers, and M.T. R oth (eds) Proceedings of the 51st Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Held at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, July 18–22, 2005, 341–350. Chicago, University of Chicago Press. Maran, J. (2009)  he crisis years   eflections on signs of instability in the last decades of the Mycenaean palaces. Scienze dell’antichità : Storia Archeologia Antropologia 15, 241–262. Martin, M.A.S. (2017) The fate of Megiddo at the end of the Late Bronze  B.  n  .  Lipschits,  .  Gadot  and  M.J. Adams  (eds) Rethinking Israel: Studies in the History and Archaeology of Ancient Israel in Honor of Israel Finkelstein, 267–286. Winona Lake, Eisenbrauns. McClellan, T.L. (1992) Twelfth century BC Syria: comments on H. Sader’s Paper. In W.A. Ward and M.S. Joukowsky (eds) The Crisis Y ears: The 12th Century BC, 164–173. Dubuque, Kendall/Hunt. McGeough, K.M. (2007) Exchange Relationships at Ugarit. Leuven, Peeters. Monroe, C.M. (2009) Scales of Fate: Trade, Tradition, and Transformation in the Eastern Mediterranean ca. 1350–1175 BCE. Mü nster, Ugarit-Verlag. Mountjoy, P.A. (1999) Troia VII reconsidered. Studia Troica 9, 295–346. Mountjoy, P.A. (2006) Mykenische Keramik in Troia – Ein Ü berblick. In M.O. Korfman (ed.) Troia: Archäologie eines Siedlungshü gels und seiner Landschaft, 241–252. Mainz am R hein, Philipp von Zabern.

21. Beyond the Aegean: consideration of the LBA collapse in the eastern Mediterranean Nougayrol, J., Laroche, E., Virolleaud, C. and Schaeffer, C.F.A. (1968) Ugaritica 5. Mission de Ras Shamra 16. Paris, Geuthner. Nur, A. and Burgess, D. (2008) Apocalypse: Earthquakes, Archaeology, and the Wrath of God. Princeton, Princeton University Press. Nur, A. and Cline, E.H. (2000) Poseidon’s horses: plate tectonics and earthquake storms in the Late Bronze Age Aegean and eastern Mediterranean. Journal of Archaeological Science 27, 43–63. Nur, A. and Cline, E.H. (2001) What triggered the collapse? Earthquake storms. Archaeology Odyssey 4/5, 31–36, 62–63. Nur, A. and R on, H. (1997) Armageddon’s earthquakes. International Geology Review 39, 532–541. Pardee, D. (2003) Ugaritic letters. In W.W. Hallo (ed.) The Context of Scripture, Vol. 3, Archival Documents from the Biblical World, 87–116. Leiden, Brill. Potts, D.T. (1999) The Archaeology of Elam: Formation and Transformation of an Ancient Iranian State. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. R enfrew, C. (1979) Systems collapse as social transformation. In C. R enfrew and K.L. Cooke (ed.) Transformations, Mathematical Approaches to Culture Change, 4 1–50 .  ew  ork, Academic  Press. Sandars, N.K. (1985) The Sea Peoples: Warriors of the Ancient Mediterranean, revised edition. London, Thames and Hudson. Seeher, J. (2001) Die zerstörung der stadt Hattusa. In G. Wilhelm (ed.) Akten IV. Internationalen Kongresses fü r Hethitologie. Wü rzburg, 4.–8. Oktober 1999, 623–634. Wies baden, Harrassowitz. Singer, I. (1999) A political history of Ugarit. In W.G.E. Watson and N. Wyatt (eds) Handbook of Ugaritic Studies, 603–733. Leiden, Brill. Singer, I. (2000) New evidence on the end of the Hittite Empire. In E.D. Oren (ed.) The Sea Peoples and Their World: A Reassessment, 21–33. Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania. Smith, P. (2004) Skeletal remains from Level VI. In D. Ussishkin (ed.) The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), 2504–2507. Tel Aviv, Tel Aviv University. Stiros, S.C. and Jones R .E. (eds) (1996) Archaeoseismology. Athens, British School at Athens.

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22 Catastrophe revisited Robert Drews

This chapter is titled as it is because the word ‘collapse’, although appropriate for the end of economic or political systems, does not reflect the sudden and physical terror that  I believe struck city populations across the Near East and the Aegean in the decades before and after 1200 BC. I imagine the people living within the walls of Boeotian Thebes, of Ugarit, or of Ashdod waking at dawn to cries that their city is under attack. Sentries on the wall shout that a host of raiders, all on foot, are coming toward the city. A few families bury valuable possessions under the floors of their houses.  ther  families flee, while there is still time, from a gate opposite the  approaching raiders. Soon chariots and runners sally from the gates, but the raiders are too numerous and prevail. Having annihilated the city’s army, the raiders place the city under siege. After a day or two the city capitulates, the gates are opened, and the raiders herd the residents out from the wall that for generations had been a sure defence. Men who resist are slain, and many young women are taken captive. The city is then plundered. Everything of value from houses, palace and temples is sacked, brought out, and divided among the raiders: metal and metal artefacts, ivory and precious stones, dyed and embroidered textiles, and anything else that catches the eye.  he raiders then prepare the city for burning.  live  oil is poured over plain textiles, wood, fuel stored for cooking, and whatever else is flammable (the burning had to be  intense enough to spread into the straw- or chaff-tempered mudbricks). As night falls many parts of the city are set afire, to the cheers and jeers of the drunken raiders. Such,    believe, was what happened at the end of the Late Bronze Age, when one city after another was sacked and burned. For those who suffered through it, this was the catastrophic end of the world they knew, a world that had flourished for  centuries and was suddenly gone.

The list of cities destroyed c. 1200 BC continues to grow. The map at Fig. 1 in Drews 1993 showed 47 sites that were destroyed c. 1200 BC. To these the map at Fig. 10 in Cline 2014 added the informative site of Tell Tweini. This was a harbour town (probably ancient Gibala) not far from Ugarit.  Excavations at Tell Tweini produced evidence not only for the burning of the city but also (in the form of weapon heads)  for a battle that preceded the sacking and the burning (see  Cline 2014, 120, on Tell Tweini). Future maps should show many more sites. The most important of these in the Levant are Tell Kazel, on the SyrianLebanese border (see Badre 200 ), and Aphek and Ekron in  Israel. Four sites can be added in Turkey. Japanese archaeologists  have  found  that  aman- aleh y k,  near  ir ehir,  was burned at the end of the Bronze Age (Gates 199 , 29 ).  Andreas Mü ller-Karpe’s excavations found that at that same time another Brandkatastrophe, preceded by the sacking of the city, put an end to  u akl  (Hittite  ari a) in the Sivas  province.1 ‘Sea Peoples’ could not have been responsible for either of these destructions, because both sites are several hundred miles from either the Black Sea or the Mediterranean. ar to the south-east at  orsuk Uluk la, in  urkey’s  i de  province, ‘[ q] uantities of burnt wood beams were strewn in the corridor debris, attesting to a violent destruction dated by red-burnished wares and a hammer seal to the end of the Hittite Empire’ (Gates 199 ,  00). Excavations along the eastern shore of the Bay of Iskenderun, conducted by archaeologists at Bilkent University, have added  inet H y k (probably  ancient Issos) to the list of Cilician cities destroyed at the end of the thirteenth century BC (see Lehmann 201 , 2 1). n Greece,  enelope Mountjoy and Cynthia Shelmerdine  have shown that Pylos should stay on the map,2 and several new sites can be added. Spyros Iakovidis’ excavations found

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that  structures  at  Gla  were  destroyed  by  fire  c. 1200 BC, and that the site was then abandoned. At Ayios Stephanos, on the southern coast of Lakonia, R ichard Hope Simpson and R ichard Janko reported that ‘in one sector there was evidence of burning, and possibly of a massacre, since a pit containing four severed heads was found’ (Simpson and  Janko 2011, 99). Most importantly, it is very likely that Athens  will  also  appear  on  future  maps.  alter  Gauss’s  study of the pottery found at the underground fountain or on the stairway leading down to it strongly suggests that the Mycenaean citadel on the Athenian acropolis was also destroyed c. 1200 BC.3 Although there is little controversy about which cities were destroyed, who did the sacking and burning is not yet agreed upon. Blame is often placed on ‘the Sea Peoples’, a mysterious entity beloved by the reading public, but they are a mirage. The capital letters create a specious name that replaces the real names that the Medinet Habu inscriptions give us.4 To say that the raiders in the Delta were ‘Sea Peoples’ is merely to recognise that the raiders were aboard ships  (raiding  a  city  on  or  near  a  coast  was  likely  to  be  successful, because ship-borne raiders could much more easily surprise a city than could raiders who travelled long distances on foot). We are fortunate that R amesses took some trouble to identify the men who formed a ‘conspiracy’, who then destroyed many cities, and whom he defeated when they sailed into the Nile Delta. Although ‘Sardinians of the sea’ are mentioned twice and ‘Tyrsenians of the sea’ once, the raiders whom R amesses most often accused came from three other lands, widely separated from each other. If we translate the three names rather than transliterate them, as Maspero did in order to transmogrify them, we can say that  one  of  the  lands  was  alestine  (plst) or more widely the  southern  Levant  ( jahi).  he  second  was  the  Greek  mainland (dnj n).5 The third was Sicily: reading the hieroglyphs, Elmar Edel showed long ago that the Medinet Habu scribes’ tj kl was their rendering of ‘Sicilians’, replacing the kl  employed by  ineteenth  ynasty scribes. That men from places so far apart could assemble for a raid is amazing. This was indeed – as R amesses charged – a ‘conspiracy’, the architects of which must have done their conspiring and coordination many months in advance. A staging harbour – such as Dor? – must have been crucial for the project, and at an appointed time flotillas from various places would have begun gathering at the designated rendezvous, each captain bringing with him as many men as could be recruited for the project. As the ships gathered,  many men from plst evidently offered their assistance and were welcomed aboard. Essential for the success of the sea raiders were the size and speed of their ships. The oared galley typically seated 40 or 50 men on its benches, and with some poetic license the Catalogue of Ships tells us that each of the Boeotian ships, first  in  the  Catalogue,  carried  120  (Iliad 2.510). However

that  may  be,  a  flotilla  of  the  smaller  galleys  could  have  brought a great many raiders to the target city. And in their voyage through the Mediterranean the raiders were helped by a brailed sail. Through most of the Late Bronze Age the standard sail was fixed and boom-footed, but toward the end  of that period the new sail came into use ( achsmann 199   Wedde 1999). In his recent Black Ships and Sea Raiders Jeffrey Emanuel concluded that ‘the adoption of the loosefooted, brailed squaresail was no less than a technological revolution in Mediterranean seafaring’ (Emanuel 201 , 11 ). What happened in the eastern Mediterranean at the end of the Bronze Age has been obscured – for almost 150 years – by Maspero’s myth of migrating Sea Peoples. What the Medinet Habu inscriptions describe are raiders who came by  sea  to  sack  a  elta  city  (very  likely  i- amesses,  the  palace-city of R amesses III). The only important testament left by any ‘Sea People’ comes down to us in the second book of the Iliad, an epic in which a prestigious epithet is    (ptoliporthos = ‘sacker of cities’). The Catalogue of Ships celebrates 29 fleets, each under one of the  Achaean heroes.  he Achaeans assemble at Aulis, sacrifice  a hecatomb to the gods, and then sail across the Aegean to attack  roy.  he Catalogue tells us that the combined fleets  included 11  ships, imagined to have been carrying tens  of thousands of men. That is obviously a myth, but unlike Maspero’s myth of migrating nations the Cataloguer’s at least has the merit of having materialised not too long after the devastation that occurred c. 1200 BC. The poet of the Odyssey  has  dysseus  (in  disguise)  boasting  to  Eumaios  the swineherd that ‘before the sons of the Achaeans set foot on the land of Troy, I had nine times led warriors and swift-faring ships against foreign folk, and great spoil had ever fallen to my hands’ (Odyssey 14.229–231).7 When I first argued that raiders and sackers were responsible for the catastrophe c. 1200 BC I made a very big mistake. Devoting much time and space to the raiders’ weapons ( rews 199 , 1 0–191), which were hardly novel,  I gave far too little attention to their numbers, which were unprecedented.  More  broadly,    must  say  that  we  are  just  beginning to understand how warfare evolved over the Bronze Age. In the last few years it has become quite clear that through all of the EBA and most of the MBA warfare between Near Eastern kingdoms was limited to the siege of  a  city  ( awson  2001,  1 –1   and  2–   Burke  200 ,  2 –2   rews  201 ,  1– 5).  n  such  wars  the  only  battle  of any significance was fought at the city wall, and a kingdom’s only battles in the open country were small-scale punitive campaigns against troublesome pastoralists. For a long time these generalisations went unnoticed because Assyriologists had long ago learned that in the EBA and MBA it was not unusual for a king in Mesopotamia to send a  troop’  ( .ME )  of  20,000  or  0,000  men  against  a hostile city. From what is said in the several thousand tablets relating to warfare, however, and especially from

22. Catastrophe revisited what is not said, one must conclude that the great majority  of the men in an  .ME  were urban conscripts whose  sole task was to build a siege tower and a siege mound. Escorting the huge labour force were archers and spearmen who probably – like the figurines from the Mesehti tomb in  Upper Egypt – wore nothing but kilts or loincloths, must have been relatively few in number, and were ready to fight  in a mê lée should the necessity arise. These were young men from  the  country,  who  either  were  subjects  of  the  king  in  outlying villages or were mercenaries hired from pastoralist clans. In Mesopotamia the pastoralists were often referred to as a la , an Akkadian word conventionally translated as barbarians’ or  nomads’ (on these people see Herles 2009).  Unlike urbanites, the ‘barbarians’ were accustomed to using a weapon in defending their herds and flocks from predators,  and occasionally themselves from other pastoralists. Battlefield warfare between kingdoms began with chariotry, and in the Late Bronze Age a battle between kingdoms was fought entirely by the men aboard chariots and by the runners alongside them. Although most of our evidence comes from the Near East, we may assume that Mycenaean armies were similar to those elsewhere in the civilised world: c. 1200 BC the palaces in Greece were no more able to defeat  hordes of raiders than were their counterparts in the Near East. Defensive cordons in Egyptian armies were normally manned by Egyptians, each man armed with a spear and protected by a large shield (see  arnell and Manassa 200 ,  19  and figure 25).  ffense in chariot warfare depended on  the chariot archers, armed with composite bows. The only men on foot in a chariot battle were the runners. Armed with a spear or short sword, the runner dealt with enemy chariot crews whose vehicle had been disabled, and also with enemy runners. Egyptian texts mention runners but say little about them, and our best evidence is pictorial. Photographs taken by Vronwy Hankey brought to scholars’ attention the realistic reliefs on the temple that R amesses II built at Abydos, celebrating his victory over the Hittites at adesh.  ne of the reliefs depicts Sardinian runners slaying  a Hittite chariot crewman, and another relief shows them cutting off the hand of a crewman whom they had already slain (see  rews 199 ,  lates   and 4). Although rarely mentioned or portrayed in our primary sources, and absent entirely from historical scholarship until quite recently, runners evidently played a large and indispensable role in Late Bronze Age warfare. In addition to their support of chariots when two kingdoms engaged each other in battle, a force of runners and archers was occasionally sent to fight against unruly tribesmen who lived in terrain unsuitable for chariots. Such a clash would have been mostly a mê lée, beginning at long range with arrows and sling-stones and ending with the victors killing their wounded opponents and collecting trophies. Evidence for runners in such combat came to light in 1994, when Louise Schofield and  ichard  Parkinson published two scenes reconstructed from the

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fragments of a painted pictorial papyrus from el-Amarna that the British Museum had recently acquired. In one of the scenes, unique in ancient Egyptian art, the throat of a young Egyptian is about to be slit by men whose tattooed thighs and exposed genitalia identify them as Libyans.9 The other scene shows a large group of warriors in full stride, all of them dressed for speed, possibly rushing to aid their Egyptian comrade. Most of the runners wear only kilts, but at least two of them also wear what seem to be boar’s-tusk helmets. If so, these two are probably meant to represent runners from Greece.10 The runners employed by Late Bronze Age kings were usually mercenaries, recruited from poor and uncivilised lands. A runner earned a daily subsistence wage and on the  battlefield  was  rewarded  with  a  bonus  for  turning  in  an enemy’s hand or penis. Urbanites in a kingdom were utterly unprepared for hand-to-hand combat and rustics were seldom tempted to risk their lives for the modest rewards a runner could expect. In the Levant and Mesopotamia the runners were often a la or hapiru, but Egyptian pharaohs also recruited runners from Libya and Nubia and even from backward places as distant as Lycia, northern Greece, southern Italy, Sicily and Sardinia. The term ed ay or ed oy in Egyptian inscriptions originally stood for a Nubian ethnic group but by the middle of the Eighteenth Dynasty had evidently become the equivalent of ‘mercenaries’ or ‘auxiliaries’.11 Wherever they came from and whomever they served, the runners were at a far lower social level than the chariot crewmen, and were accordingly expendable. Both a la and hapiru probably originated as derogatory terms. By 1250 BC, as evidence from the Tollense riverbed indicates, battles involving several thousand men were apparently being fought in northern Europe.12 Arrowheads imbedded in the bones of men and horses show that the Tollense battle began at long range, before ending in a handto-hand struggle at the river. In the Mediterranean and the Near East, however, in 1250 BC there still seems to have been nothing like the infantry battles – fought by organised and more-or-less disciplined formations of armed men – that are familiar to us from Iron Age texts and iconography. Infantry battles here apparently began only with the obsolescence of chariotries, in the aftermath of the destructions c. 1200 BC. Putting spear and shield into the hands of all the able-bodied men of a community, establishment of a chain of command, and tactical deployment of infantry units – these innovations seem to have been required as a defence against a multitude of unorganised raiders, and so to have completed the evolution of Bronze Age warfare in the Aegean and the Near East. Small-scale raiding had been a chronic problem for kingdoms through much of the Late Bronze Age.  ccasionally  one or two ships rowed by Sardinians, Sicilians or other barbarian seafarers came to raid a coastal settlement. Most often, however, raiders came overland. In Mesopotamia

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most of these raiders seem to have been pastoralists from the semi-desert or mountaineers from the Zagros. Because they were at the tribal level, a king regarded them as nuisances but not as serious threats. The raiders might plunder villages far from the king’s city, killing the men who opposed them and carrying off livestock and sometimes women or children. The raiders would have been relatively few in number, probably no more than several dozen and hailing from a few pastoral clans. A king would retaliate by sending some of his archers and runners to ravage the encampments or villages in the land from which the raiders were supposed to have come. Late in the thirteenth century BC kings began dealing with raiders on an altogether different scale. Instead of several dozen raiders it was now a host of hundreds or even thousands who came in concert, intent not on plundering un-walled villages but on destroying the king’s chariot army and then sacking his city. The raiders tended to come – this will surprise no one – from the same lands from which runners had traditionally been recruited. What was brand new was the recognition that a very large number of men on foot, each armed with nothing more remarkable than a sword (or dirk) and a fistful of javelins, could destroy a chariotry.  How many volunteers could be recruited for such a project   n  his  Great  arnak  nscription  Merneptah  boasts  of  his  victory in his fifth year (120  BC) over an enormous force,  entirely on foot, that King Meryre of Libya had assembled. Merneptah’s inscription must be taken with a huge grain of salt, but it boasts that as trophies from Meryre’s men the Egyptians gathered almost ten thousand right hands from the circumcised and penises from the uncircumcised, taking several thousand more men captive. We are to imagine, then, that Meryre brought with him a host of something like 15,000 men. Although most of Meryre’s men were Libyans,  others  –  so  Merneptah  claimed  in  the  very  first  line of the Karnak inscription – were ‘northerners coming from all lands’.  he lands he specified were Greece, Lycia,  Sardinia, Sicily and Italy. In his enumeration of casualties Merneptah  claimed  that  his  troops  killed  , 59  (or  ,111)  Libyans, 250 Sicilians,  90  yrsenians, and 2, 2 Achaeans  (for these numbers see Manassa 200 , 5 –5 ). Meryre’s intention was to take over land in the western Delta and to establish his capital there. Although this was not a raid, Meryre’s ill-fated project illustrates how many  warriors on foot could be gathered together if the rewards were tempting. Merneptah had evidently learned in enough time that a huge force was moving from Libya toward the Delta, and in the semi-desert west of the Delta the Egyptian chariot archers destroyed the host on foot. Colleen Manassa made the good point that Merneptah probably chose ‘the fields  of  erire’  for  attacking  Meryre’s  host  because  the  fields  were  flat  terrain,  in  which  chariots  could  operate  effectively: while Merneptah had a large chariotry, Meryre seems to have had none.13

How little nationality counted for the mercenaries is shown  by  their  willingness  to  fight  for  whoever  offered  employment. Papyrus Anastasi I, a hieratic text composed during or shortly after the reign of Merneptah, imagines a force of 3,100 hand-to-hand warriors, along with 1,900 archers, being sent into the southern Levant to battle thousands of nearin neari   ( young  men’)  who  are  causing  trouble  there. Although the author may have imagined the archers as Egyptians, his 3,100 hand-to-hand warriors are imagined as 520 Sardinians,  0  ubians, and no fewer than 1, 00  Libyans, fighting this time for the pharaoh rather than against  him ( . Anastasi  , 15). In the Mediterranean and the Near East the sudden appearance of a huge host of fighting men was a dreadful  novelty in the late thirteenth century BC. In Thessaly, some ‘Pelasgic Argives’ seem to have grasped the fact that with careful coordination and organisation among many communities and clans they had the wherewithal to defeat the armies of kings and to sack their cities and palaces. Thessalian Argives evidently sacked and burned Troy at least once, and probably twice.  n central Greece the citadel of  hebes  was the most tempting target, and it too may have fallen victim to a host of raiders from Thessaly. Many pastoralists in the Levant were also quick to take advantage of the opportunities before them. R aiders, very likely Aramaean a la and probably hordes of them, attacked Emar twice: although  driven  off  the  first  time,  in  their  second  attempt  they sacked and burned the city.14 What Aramaeans did in the north of the Levant the Sons of Israel did in the south. The Song of Deborah, celebrating the destruction of Hazor, refers to ‘the forty thousand of Israel’ who had neither shield nor  spear  until  eborah  roused  them  into  action  (Judges  5: ).  he number may have been a gross exaggeration, but  it may also be that it was at this time – ‘when new gods were chosen’ – that various hill country clans which until then had little in common came together to form the Sons of Israel. With Yahweh as their new tutelary deity, they went on to sack the cities of Canaan. Migrations continue to appear as an explanation for the destruction of cities, but that explanation puts the cart before the  horse.  he  destruction  caused  many  people  to  flee  to  what they hoped would be safer places, but the refugees should not be confused with the raiders who had destroyed the cities. The migration story began with Maspero’s farfetched interpretation of the Medinet Habu oxcarts.15 That interpretation ignores what R amesses’ inscriptions say about his expedition into  jahi (in  ew  ingdom inscriptions  jahi’ began to be used as an Egyptian name for the  Levant northwards to Lebanon, and so was to some extent synonymous with ‘R etenu’).1 Maspero declared that the oxcarts were carrying the Philistine nation as it migrated from Anatolia, and that  amesses led his troops into  jahi  in order to keep the migrators from entering Egypt (hence  they were forced to remain in southern Canaan, which they

22. Catastrophe revisited transformed into Philistia). Maspero followed his invention of a Philistine migration with the invention of four other national migrations: the Libu (in order to nationalise  them  Maspero  prefixed  each  of  his  exotic  names  with  a  definite article), the Sherden, the Shekelesh and the Tursha all reached their historical homes at this time and settled down to become ordinary Libyans, Sardinians, Sicilians and yrsenians ( talians). The inscriptions tell a story entirely different from Maspero’s. They mention no ‘Sea Peoples’, but only men who came in ships to do harm to Egypt. R amesses’ expedition  into  jahi  was  not  an  attempt  to  stop  a  hilistine  migration but was his retaliation for the Palestinians’ participation in the raid on Egypt. R amesses boasted that as he assembled his army for the expedition ‘the Peleset are in suspense, hidden in their towns’, and his troops proceeded to ravage the Palestinians’ villages and to cut down their trees. There is no indication that these Palestinians were anything other than natives of rural  jahi.  he Harris  apyrus adds  that R amesses, evidently in the same expedition, attacked the Shashu Bedouin tribes, tearing down their tents and carrying off their livestock. The families in oxcarts – whether Palestinian villagers or Shashu pastoralists – can hardly be understood as anything other than fugitives from R amesses’ avenging army. Early in the twentieth century, with Maspero’s migrations already in place as history, Aegean archaeologists began to blame the destruction of Mycenae and Tiryns on a Dorian migration from the Balkans. When Blegen found that the palace at Pylos was also destroyed late in the LH IIIB period that too was blamed on  the  orian  nvasion’ (see Blegen  19 ,  0).  Albright’s  conquest  model  added  sraelites  to  the list of migrating nations that destroyed cities at the end of the Bronze Age. The burning of Bethel, Lachish, and Tell Beit Mirsim, Albright argued, was evidence that the Israelite exodus from Egypt reached Canaan not in the fifteenth  century  BC,  as  had  been  thought,  but  late  in  the  thirteenth century BC. The Israelites, having completed their exodus, ‘proceeded without loss of time to destroy and occupy Canaanite towns all over the country’ (Albright  1940, 211–212). In the Deuteronomist’s story, constructed according to the Deuteronomist’s agenda, the Israelites attack the cities not for plunder but to exterminate the heathen population lest it tempt the Israelites into worshiping gods other than Yahweh. That genocide did not happen: although their goods were plundered and their cities burned, the heathen themselves survived. ‘Barbarian’ raiders from the Levant, Sicily, Italy and Sardinia sacked and burned cities c. 1200 BC, as did their counterparts from Thessaly and elsewhere in northern Greece and from the hinterlands of Anatolia.  hat the sacking and burning was done by migrating nations, however, is simply wrong. Massive relocation of people was a result of the destructions, and not a cause, and the relocations

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were not Volkswanderungen but the flights of families and  groups of families. Escaping to safer shores, refugees from southern (Mycenaean) Greece fled to Cyprus, Cilicia and  the southern Levant, where they helped to rebuild and expand the cities of the  alestinian pentapolis. Generations  later, descendants of southern Greeks crossed from Attica  to Anatolia and built the coastal cities of Ionia. As descendants of the urbanites moved to safer places, descendants of the city-sackers expanded into some of the good lands in which the cities had once stood and which kings had once protected. In the Aegean, Aeolic speakers from Thessaly apparently moved into Boeotia, while others were settling in Lesbos and the Troad. Doric speakers took over most of the Peloponnesos as well as Crete and R hodes. In the southern Levant Israelites from east of the Jordan began pushing into the Canaanite plain. Further north, Arameans filtered westward into central and western Syria, eventually  smothering  Ugaritic  and  the  (other )  Canaanite  dialects  and making all of Syria ‘Aram’. Putting the horse before the cart, we must say that the destruction of cities c. 1200 BC was followed by the movement of people on a very large scale.

Notes 1

2 

  4 5

 

The sacking that preceded the burning of the city is clearest in the ruins of the temple on Sarissa’s north terrace. See M ller- arpe 201 , 14 :  er arch ologische Befund deutet  darauf hin, dass dem grossen Schadensfeuer eine Plü nderung des Tempels vorausgegangen war, ein klares Indiz fü r eine Eroberung.’ Mountjoy  199 ,  arguing  against  Mervyn  opham’s  dating  of  ylos’ destruction early in LH  B, concluded (1 5)  that  the destruction occurred in the Transitional LH III B2/LH III C Early phase.’ As for the cause of the destruction, Cynthia Shelmerdine found that ‘tablets found in R oom 7 and the North-east Workshop suggest which concerns were the last to occupy palace administrators: chariot equipment, armour, and coastal lookouts.’ After reviewing the tablets Shelmerdine turned ‘to the archaeological evidence that reinforces this impression  of  wariness  and  defensiveness’  (Shelmerdine  1999, 405). Gauss  2000,  1 5–1 ,  concluded  that  the  stairway  was  constructed in LH IIIB Late and was not used after LH IIIC Early. See also  itale 200 , 195–19 . For a more detailed discussion of the relevant inscriptions see  rews 2000, 1 –1 2. Usually vocalised as Denyen. For the Medinet Habu scribes this replaced the older name for the Greek mainland, tj -n3-j j or tj -n3-j j -w, usually vocalised as Tanaj u or Tanaj a.  n these  names see Drews 2005. See  Edel  19 4.  he  signs  in  question  can  be  transliterated  either as tj kl or as tj kr. Because the liquid consonant ‘l’ was not part of Egyptian speech, when faced with that sound in other languages the Egyptian scribes expressed it with the same ‘human mouth’ sign that represented the liquid consonant ‘r’. The three names – plst, dnj n, and tj kl – regularly appear together in the inscriptions, except on one panel in

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9 

10 

11  12 1   14 

15 1  

the interior court (Edgerton and  ilson, Historical Records, pl. 44, lines 12–15). Instead of excoriating plst, dnj n, and tj kl this panel excoriates plst, dnj n and š klš . The equivalence of tj kl and š klš is thus confirmed. A. . Murray, trans.  n the verisimitude of  dysseus’  second  Cretan lie’ see Emanuel 2017. n the absence of pitched battles and the ubiquity of siege  warfare in the Mari texts see Sasson 2015. Having worked with the Mari tablets for 50 years, Sasson observed (4 ) that  ‘[ p] itched battles in open country, of the sort known in the first millennium, are not easily reconstructed.  hile they may  have occurred, only one possible example can be retrieved from the vast Mari documentation.’ or  the  Libyan  identification  see  Schofield  and  arkinson  1994, 1 1. At p. 1 2 the authors observe that  t here appear  to be no visual parallels for an Egyptian being done to death by an enemy.’ See  ig.  2  in  Schofield  and  arkinson  1994,  or  ig.  2   in  arnell  and  Manassa  200 .  Schofield  and  arkinson  concluded (1 ) that in this scene  there must have been at least  fifteen of these running warriors.’ n  the  ed oy and other auxiliaries in Eighteenth Dynasty armies see  arnell and Manassa 200 ,  – 9. See Detlef Jantzen et al.  2014.  n  p.  14  the  authors  state  that ‘[ p] reliminary assessments estimate that more than 2,500 warriors could have participated in the battle’. Manassa 200 , 91–92. Manassa also found (4 ) that  nowhere  in Merneptah’s texts is Merey said to have chariotry’. n  the  Aramaean  a la and the fall and destruction of Emar  see  Lipinski  200 ,  2 – 0.  Lipinski  concluded  that  t he  first  siege  of  Emar  by  the  king  of  the  Mountain  people” … occurred… ca. 1200 BC’ Lipinski then dated the second and successful siege c. 1175 BC. Two tablets found at Emar, both contracts for selling oneself into serfdom, refer to ‘the terrible year when the ER IMMES TAR -PI besieged the city’ ( ita 2002, 121).  he signs  A -  are  problematic. They were read by Daniel Arnaud, the editor of the two tablets, as ar u and translated by him as ‘hordes.’ But other proposals have been made, making it an otherwise unknown ethnonym. Middleton 2015 shows – with special emphasis on ‘the Philistines’ – how nineteenth-century assumptions and concerns shaped the story of ‘the migration of the Sea Peoples’. See Gardiner 194 , 14 :  But if, in the early  ew  ingdom,  alestine was apt to be called  jahy, and the name  etjnu to  be employed where stricter parlance would have said  Upper  etjnu,  it cannot be doubted that  etjnu in the wider sense  continued to be used, as in the Middle Kingdom, to cover both Palestine and Syria.’

R e fe r e n c e s Albright,  . (1940)  ro the tone ge to Christianity: Monotheis and the Historical Process. Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins University Press. Badre,  L.  (200 )  ell  azel-Simyra:  a  contribution  to  a  relative  chronological history in the eastern Mediterranean during the Late Bronze Age. ulletin o the erican chools o riental Research  4 ,  5–95.

Blegen, C. (19 )  he Mycenaean Age: the  rojan  ar, the  orian  nvasion and other problems.  n  . Bradeen (ed.) Lectures in Me ory o ouise a t e le irst eries , 30. Princeton, Princeton University Press. Burke, A. (200 )  alled u to ea en : he olution o Middle ron e ge ortification trategies in the e ant. Winona Lake, Eisenbrauns. Cline,  E.  (2014)  C: he ear Ci ili ation Colla sed. Princeton, Princeton University Press. arnell,  J.  and  Manassa,  C.  (200 )  utan ha un s r ies: attle and Con uest during gy t s ate ighteenth Dynasty Hoboken, John Wiley and Sons. awson,  . (2001)  he irst r ies. London, Cassell. rews,  . (199 )  he nd o the ron e ge: Changes in ar are and the Catastro he ca C Princeton, Princeton University Press. rews,  .  (2000)  Medinet  Habu:  oxcarts,  ships,  and  migration  theories. ournal o ear astern tudies 59, 1 1–190. rews,  .  (2005)  he  Laurion  mines  and  a  Bronze  Age  name  for  the  Greek  mainland.  ournal o Indo uro ean tudies 33, 227–232. rews,  .  (201 )  Militaris and the Indo uro eani ing o uro e. London, R outledge. Edel, E. (19 4)  ie Sikeloi in den  gyptischen Seev lkertexten.  Biblische Notizien 2 ,  – . Edgerton,  . and  ilson, J. (19 )  istorical ecords o a ses III: he e ts in Medinet a u olu es I and II. Chicago, University of Chicago Press. Emanuel, J. (201 )  lac hi s and ea aiders: he ate ron e and arly Iron ge Conte t o dysseus econd Cretan ie. Lanham, Lexington Books. Gardiner, A. (194 )  ncient gy tian no astica.  xford,  xford  University Press. Gates,  M-H.  Archaeology  in  urkey.  erican ournal o rchaeology 100, 277–335. Gauss,  . (2000)  eue  orschungen zur pr historischen Akropolis  von Athen.  n  . Blakolmer (ed.) Ö sterreichischen Forschungen ur g ischen ron e eit: ten der agung a Institut r lassische rch ologie der ni ersit t ien Mai 1 –1 9.  ienna,  hoibos. Herles,  M.  (2009)  ur  geographischen  Einordnung  der  a la – eine Bestandsaufnahme. ltorientalische orschungen 34, 319–341. Jantzen,  ., Lidke, G.,  r ger, J.,  r ger, J.,  assmann,  ., Lorenz,  S. and  erberger,  .  (2014  201 ) An early Bronze Age causeway in the Tollense Valley, Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania: the starting-point of a violent conflict  00 years ago  Bericht der isch Ger anischen o ision 95, 13–49. Laffineur,  . (ed.) (1999) Pole os: e conte te guerrier en g e l ge du ron e egaeu 19. Liè ge, Université de Liè ge. Lehmann,  G.  (201 )  he  Late  Bronze  –  ron  Age  transition and the problem of the Sea Peoples phenomenon in Cilicia.  n  .  ischer  and  .  B rge  (eds.)  The ‘Sea Peoples’ to Date: e esearch on the rans or ations in the astern Mediterranean in the th th Centuries C 229–255. Vienna, Verlag der österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Lipinski,  E.  (200 )  n the irts o Canaan in the Iron ge: Historical and Topographical Researches. Louvain, Peeters.

22. Catastrophe revisited Manassa, C. (200 )  he Great arna Inscri tion o Merne tah: Grand trategy in the th Century C. New Haven, Yale Egyptological Seminar. Middleton,  G. .  elling  stories:  the  Mycenaean  origins  of  the  Philistines. ord ournal o rchaeology  4, 45– 5 Mountjoy,  . (199 )  he destruction of the palace at  ylos reconsidered. nnual o the ritish chool at thens 92, 10 –1 . M ller- arpe, A.  (201 )  arissa: Die iederentdec ung einer hethitischen Kö nigsstadt. Darmstadt, Philipp von Zabern Verlag. Sasson,  J.  (2015)  Siege  mentality:  fighting  at  the  city  gate  in  the  Mari  archives.  n  S.  ona,  E.  Greenstein,  M.  Gruber,  .  Machinist  and  S.  aul  (eds)  Mar eh o ah: tudies in the i le and the ncient ear ast in o ing Me ory o ictor igdor uro it , 4 5–4 .  inona Lake, Eisenbrauns. Schofield, L, and  arkinson,  .B. (1994)  f helmets and heretics:  a possible Egyptian representation of Mycenaean warriors on a papyrus from el-Amarna. nnual o the ritish chool at thens  9, 15 –1 0.

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Shelmerdine,  C.  (1999)  ylian  polemics:  the  latest  evidence  on  military  matters.  n  .  Laffineur  (ed.)  Pole os: e conte te guerrier en g e l ge du ron e egaeu ,  40 –40 .  Liè ge, Université de Liè ge. Simpson,  .H.  and  Janko,  .  (2011)  Ayios  Stephanos  and  the  locations of ancient Helos. tudi Micenei and geo natolici 53, 97–130. ita, J- . (2002)  arfare and the army at Emar.  ltorientalische Forschungen 29, 113–127. itale,  S.  (200 )  he  LH  B  –  LH  C  transition  on  the  Mycenaean mainland: ceramic phases and terminology. Hesperia 75, 177–204. achsmann,  S.  (199 )  eagoing hi s and ea anshi in the ron e ge e ant. College Station, Texas A & M University Press edde,  M.  (1999)  ar  at  sea:  the  Mycenaean  and  Early  ron  Age oared galley.  n  . Laffineur (ed.) Pole os: e conte te guerrier en g e l ge du ron e egaeu 19,  4 5–4 .  Liè ge, Université de Liè ge.

23 Cyprus: Bronze Age demise, Iron Age regeneration A. Bernard Knapp and Nathan Meyer

I n t r od

u c t i on

From the Aegean in the west to Mesopotamia in the east and Egypt in the south, several polities of the Late Bronze Age (LBA) went into decline within a half-century either side of 1200 BC (Bachhuber and R oberts 2009; Galil et al. 2013). Given the ambiguity of the available evidence – documentary, archaeological, climatic – for this collapse, it has often proved difficult to separate cause from effect. With respect to documentary evidence, the reliefs on the Medinet Habu temple of R amesses III record land and sea battles between the Egyptians and the ‘Sea Peoples’ (Kitchen 1983, 39–40; Drews 2000; recently, Fischer and Bü rge 2017). Even this iconic account, however, bedevils interpretation (e.g. Ben-Dor Evian 2016, 2017), and recent critical reassessments (e.g. R oberts 2014; Middleton 2015) do  not  inspire  confidence  in  previous  interpretations  of  these reliefs. In the Levant, a series of cuneiform records from the late thirteenth–early twelfth centuries BC mention various coastal or maritime encounters amongst ‘Sea Peoples’ and land-based polities (Knapp 2018, 42–50). These documents indicate that coastal polities or inland states in the region had little success in curbing the commando-like assaults of seaborne raiders, who sacked and destroyed several Levantine ports (Knapp and Manning 2016, 118–123). R egarding the material evidence, what remains is a series of destroyed or abandoned towns, city-states and kingdoms; in their wake came the demise of the highly specialised exchange networks in which merchants, mariners and elites from a wide area had been involved, and on which their livelihoods had depended (Cline 2014, 108–138). During the period that followed, the early Iron Age (c. 1100–900 BC), several smaller, regional or local polities emerged on

Cyprus and in the Levant (Sherratt 1998; Iacovou 2012, 218–219; 2013, 28–29; Bunimovitz and Lederman 2014). As a polity that initially weathered the destabilising circumstances at the end of the LBA, Cyprus offers an opportunity to consider ‘… the conditions and strategies that promote resilience in the midst of decentralization and to examine collapse as a simultaneously regional and local process’ (Clayton 2016, 104). Various case studies argue that collapse is the culmination of diverse social, economic, climatic and other environmental factors operating on multiple timescales and having different consequences for different people in different polities, countries and regions (e.g. recently, McAnany and Yoffee 2010; Middleton 2012). Collapse, however, involves beginnings as well as endings, transformation as well as resilience (Middleton 2017, 91–92). In situations where a polity breaks down and is eventually reconstituted, Butzer and Endfield (2012,  3630–3631) emphasise the importance of environmental resilience but also the role of leadership, elites and ideology. Their historical examples suggest (1) that cyclical collapse is never abrupt but extends over tens if not hundreds of years, and (2) that collapse resulted from a complex web of social responses (‘cascading feedbacks’), wherein climatic or ecological change served only as co-agents. We agree with this line of thinking and suggest that collapse is best assessed by analysing such ‘cascading feedbacks’ between the economy (political and subsistence) and the integrative capacity of the society in question. In other words, the negative connotations of collapse speak to a deterioration of mutually reinforcing social and economic vectors, a deterioration that would have impacted very differently on various social actors (e.g.  state  officials,  merchants,  farmers,  craftspeople). 

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he challenge is to find evidence related to the intensity  and speed of this deterioration as well as the presence or absence of indices of resilience (e.g.  reconfigurations  of  the political economy, changes in settlement patterns, the emergence of new or changed social actors). At the same time, we should be seeking material evidence of the path back to a level of social organisation comparable to that which preceded the collapse. Because forms of management and control (i.e. political organisation) make up an important part of the integrative capacity of a society, it is crucial to come to terms with the political organisation of LBA and early Iron Age (IA) Cyprus. Given that political organisation as well as economic  strategies  are  partly  reflected  in  settlement  patterns, such patterns represent a crucial form of evidence. Moreover, because developed political complexity presumes some form of economic surplus, the source of that surplus needs explication. In the context of Cyprus, this necessitates, most importantly, (1) considering the nature of copper production and the extent of external trade but also (2) identifying any indicators for alternate forms of surplus (e.g. agricultural, or perhaps secondary products). In what follows we take up these points, but we examine only briefly evidence for the end of the Bronze Age on  Cyprus, as it has been presented at length elsewhere (e.g. Knapp 2009; 2013, 447–454). We then attempt to consider the impact and aftermath of ‘collapse’ on Cyprus, using the framework just outlined, i.e. reassessing the nature of the island’s political organisation during the LBA, and the impact it had, or not, on the IA polities that followed.

L ta e B r on z e A ge : l on -g t e r m o r r e s i l i e n t da pa t ta i on ?

c ol l ap

se

Because several of the main coastal or near-coastal towns of LBA Cyprus – including Enkomi, Kalavasos Ayios Dhimitrios, Maroni Vournes, Hala Sultan Tekke Vyzakia, Morphou Toumba tou Skourou and Episkopi Bamboula – were abandoned or suffered destruction around 1200 BC, it is evident that the situation in the wider eastern Mediterranean had some impact on Cyprus (see Fig. 23.1 for site locations). Abandonments and destructions in these coastal centres also affected inland settlements: major centres like Alassa Paleotaverna, ceremonial sites like Myrtou Pigadhes and agricultural and mining or pottery-producing villages like Athienou Bamboulari tis Koukounninas, Apliki Karamallos and Mathiatis were also abandoned, as were smaller settlements at Sinda and Ayios Sozomenos, and the cemetery at Myrtou Stephania (Knapp 1997, 54–55, table 2; Georgiou 2011, 114–117; Iacovou 2013, 25–26). R egarding the timing of these events, Manning et al. (2017, 108–109) state: ‘The abandonments and sometimes destructions of LC IIC settlements … seem to date over a period of time that lies from the last couple of decades of the thirteenth

century BCE through to the mid- to later decades of the twelfth century BCE.’ Against  this  significant  evidence  of  settlement  pattern  change, however, there are elements of continuity from Late Cypriot (LC) II into LC IIIA. The three towns that survived abandonment or destruction around 1200 BC – Enkomi and Kition on the east coast, Palaepaphos on the south-west – eventually emerged as prominent centres and established new (or re-established old) Cypriot contacts overseas, from the Levant to the central Mediterranean (Knapp 1990; Sherratt 2003a, 44–51). Other types of material evidence also point to some cultural continuity throughout the twelfth (LC IIIA) if not into the early eleventh century BC (LC IIIB): copper metallurgy, architecture and town plans, mortuary and religious practices (Sherratt 1994; Coldstream 1989; Iacovou 2012, 212–214; Kassianidou 2012). During the twelfth century BC, at least, Cyprus’s economy seems to have adjusted to the changing commercial conditions within and beyond the eastern Mediterranean. Within the island, the industrialisation of pottery production that began in LC II increases in LC IIIA (Sherratt 1992, 322–323; Iacovou 2012, 215). Beyond the island, the centralised politico-economic system that had developed during the LBA may also have been augmented with more competitive merchants and traders who would thus have been primed to capitalise on the increasingly open economy of the early IA (Manning and DeMita 1997; Sherratt 1998, 301–302; 2003a; Peltenburg 2012, 17–18). As Iacovou (2013, 25) has cautioned, however, perhaps too much emphasis has been placed on the cultural continuities from LC IIC to LC IIIA and on the survival and reorientation of the coastal polities at Enkomi, Kition and Palaepaphos to the new, devolved trading activities of the twelfth century BC. In her view, ‘… the extent of the damage has not yet been satisfactorily assessed’ and current accounts tend to disregard demographic upheavals, in which entire communities and family groups were uprooted and dispersed (Iacovou 2012, 217). Tellingly for impacts on the political economy, several sites with significant industrial agricultural storage capacity were simply abandoned, among them Kalavasos Ayios Dhimitrios, Maroni Vournes and Alassa Paliotaverna (Iacovou 2008, 631). Thus the end result of changes in demography and settlement patterns tends to support an argument for significant  change in the political economy, but it was a change that unfolded  in  the  context  of  significant  cultural  continuity  and, equally important, over a period of a century or more (Manning et al. 2017). One could read this as a case of resilient adaptation in the face of ongoing challenges to the economy and thus to the integrative fabric of Cypriot society itself. As is broadly agreed, however, by c. 1100 BC (LC IIIB) the hierarchical settlement pattern that had characterised the LBA – and we would argue, centralised political organisation – had come to an end. Whereas new

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Fig. 23.1. Map of Cyprus showing location of all sites mentioned in text.

politico-economic configurations must have emerged at this  time, their political nature and social structure continue to be debated.

E ra l y I r no A ge C py r u s : c on t i n u e d r e s i l i e n c e or r e g i m e c h na eg ? Over a quarter century has passed since Sherratt (1992, 330, emphasis added) perceptively described the eleventh century BC on Cyprus as ‘… a time of political and social upheaval during which new political configurations may have begun to emerge – in all probability ones which foreshadowed, however abortively, the eventual rise of the early historical kingdoms on the island’. This comment smoothly circumvented a crucial point of contention that still plagues the study of early Iron Age Cyprus: were the city-kingdoms evidently established on the island by the onset of the Cypro-Archaic period (c. 750 BC) the result of transformations – social, political, economic – that took place during the eleventh century BC? Or were they new socio-political formations that emerged during the ninth–eighth centuries BC? Iacovou (2005a, 21) noted long ago that in the ‘urban-less environment’ of the eleventh century BC, ‘… the Bronze Age topography of settlements, and its associated social

and cultural geography, were gone’. One can also agree with Iacovou (2013, 37) that ‘… any effort to unlock the process that led to the establishment of the Cypro-Archaic microstates cannot possibly begin later than the twelfth century BC’. However, precisely what that process was remains contentious in the absence of settlement data and as long as we have to rely so heavily on the mortuary record,  sanctuary’  finds  or  foundation  myths  (e.g. R upp 1988; Vanschoonwinkel 1994; Papantoniou 2012; Fourrier 2013; Janes 2013). Figure 23.2 portrays the state of current settlement evidence for Cyprus during the eleventh and tenth centuries BC, and at the same time reveals what is perhaps the least disputable evidence for some level of ‘collapse’ on the island. Most settlements inhabited during the thirteenth and twelfth centuries BC were destroyed, gradually abandoned or relocated, whilst the new towns that ultimately became the centres of Cyprus’s Iron Age kingdoms were not fully established until the ninth century BC, or even later. For the most part, these new centres arose on sites that seem to have been expressly chosen for that purpose: on near  the  coast  at  Salamis,  ition,  Amathus,  ourion,  Palaepaphos, Soloi, Marion, Lapithos; inland at Ledra (Nicosia), Tamassos, Idalion, Chytroi (R eyes 1994, 160,

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ig ettle ent ites on Cy rus y Period a ro i ate ate Cy riot IIC III sites dating ased on settle ent si es and first second tier sites in site hierarchy na : fig ate Cy riot III Cy ro rchaic sites dating ased on ad icosti Iaco ou a atra i Petit n d Maps: Black diamond = Convincing Argument for Organised Polity; White Square = Weak Argument for Organised Polity.

23. Cyprus: Bronze Age demise, Iron Age regeneration table 2). Excepting Kition and Palaepaphos, none of the other Iron Age centres existed on Bronze Age Cyprus and, conversely, none of Cyprus’s other LBA power centres can be equated securely with the sites listed in Figure 23.2 and mentioned in the Neo-Assyrian documents of Sargon II (c. 709 BC – seven Cypriot kingdoms) and Esarhaddon (c. 673 BC – ten Cypriot kingdoms). Yet the key question remains: when did these new polities emerge? As Muhly (2003, 26) noted in a wider study of the early IA, the lack of settlement evidence for both Cyprus and Crete during the eleventh century BC ‘…is the major weakness in all the arguments presented’; we would emphasise that it is the major weakness in all arguments presented for the early IA on Cyprus. Iacovou (2005b; cf. Iacovou 2013, 25) has suggested that despite the lack of settlement data, there is otherwise evidence for broad cultural homogeneity across Cyprus. Nonetheless, the paucity of definitive settlement evidence, and the near  lack of any type of contemporary written evidence for the early IA (i.e. LC IIIB–Cypro-Geometric [ CG] I–II), means that cultural interpretation – as well as any understanding of the aftermath of ‘collapse’ on Cyprus – relies mainly on the mortuary record, where there is some evidence for ‘wealthy’ burials (e.g. Palaepaphos Skales, Kouklia Evreti, Kourion Kaloriziki, Amathus, Salamis). Even if we allow for some level of ‘cultural homogeneity’, overall the material situation tends to obscure just when and how new polities arose, and also begs the question of what types of social or political organisation were involved. Although all scholars would (probably) agree that new socio-political and economic structures were well established on the island by the beginning of the Cypro-Archaic period (c. 750 BC), there is a persistent vagueness in defining  their  nature  –  e.g. ‘city kingdoms’ (Papantoniou 2016, 276–277), ‘territorial kingdoms’ (Fourrier 2013, 104), ‘city-states’ (Iacovou 2013, 36). This glosses over basic but crucial factors such as the makeup of the political economy and the spatial dimension of power, and consequently the possible types of territory any polity controlled (e.g. agricultural land, ore deposits, forests, etc.). So, what exactly can one say about the politico-economic organisation of the polities of early IA Cyprus? Setting aside the contentious view that the Iron Age city kingdoms parody a monarchical, Aegean political system that Aegean colonists brought to Cyprus during the twelfth–eleventh centuries BC (e.g. Snodgrass 1988, 12; Catling 1994, 137), current arguments are dominated by a self-ascribed Cyprocentric’  viewpoint  that  adopts  an  island-specific  methodology’ and ‘… remains consistently macro-historic: it considers the second and first millennia BC together as  one and the same continuum’ (Iacovou 2007a: 461; Georgiou 2011; Satraki 2012). Breaking down the long-standing divide between periods as well as disciplinary traditions (i.e. ‘prehistory’ versus ‘history’) is certainly a laudable

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goal, but the inevitable result is the insistence that the island’s later ‘city kingdoms’ assumed their earliest form by the eleventh century BC (LC III B), adopting or adapting the politico-economic and social structures of the island’s LBA polities. Whereas this view also holds that the political organisation of the LBA was heterarchical in nature (Iacovou 2007b, 16; Georgiou 2011, 114; 2015, 130–131; 2017, 208–211; Satraki 2012, 262–263; Papantoniou 2016, 89–90), in our view both archaeological and documentary evidence related to internal relations, state-level diplomacy and external trade on LBA Cyprus makes it possible to argue for centralised control by an internationally recognised king, at least from the mid-fourteenth to the end of the thirteenth century BC, i.e. at the very end of the LBA (e.g. Knapp 2008, 144–153; 2013, 432–447; see also Peltenburg 1996, 27–37; 2012, 15–18; Webb 1999, 305–308). At a minimum, we should entertain the notion of a loosely centralised polity in which vigorous intra-island interaction – managed by diverse agents (or a ‘king’ who was primus inter pares?) – existed on various scales (Andreou 2015, 397–412). Such a polity would have exercised the political and social means to organise the extraction and processing of copper on the scale attested for the LBA but not, as we argue below, for the early IA. Other counterviews maintain (1) that centralised socio-political organisation on Cyprus disappeared after the twelfth century BC (along with most settlements), and (2) that hierarchically organised, regional monarchies only re-emerged during the late ninth or mid-eighth centuries BC, if not later.  n  upp’s reconstruction, for example, the first  polities (‘secondary states’) of Cyprus’s early IA emerged only during the mid-late eighth century BC, in response to politico-economic pressures stemming from the Phoenician colony at Kition during the ninth century BC (R upp 1987, 1998; see also Sherratt 2003b, 234–235). Petit (2001, 2015, 2019), in turn, has long argued that the main problem with an eleventh-century-BC foundation of the IA polities is the lack of both documentary and material evidence, especially settlement evidence, for the C–G period (c. 1050–750 BC). He maintains that archaeological evidence for a ‘state’ only becomes prominent during the latter half of the ninth century BC (Petit 2001, 55–65; 2019). In turn, Smith (2008, 278–279) suggests that even these scholars have paid insufficient attention to  hoenician attempts to control parts of  Cyprus during the ninth and early eighth centuries BC, and that the most significant changes in the political organisation  of early IA Cyprus occurred during the eighth century BC in response to Neo-Assyrian imperialism. This alternative model – namely a centrally-organised LBA state followed by a period during which state-level organisation disappeared and then re-emerged under increasing commercial and possibly political pressure – accords well with current evidence for both copper production and

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the territorialisation of the Cypriot kingdoms during the Cypro-Archaic period. In what follows, we discuss these diverse points of view but, given space constraints, do so mainly with respect to issues concerning the aftermath of ‘collapse’ on early IA Cyprus.

T h e af t e r m at h of

c ol l ap

se

First, in the case of Cyprus, we should not assume that we can relate the nature of the polities of any one period directly to those of subsequent or previous periods (here, specifically because of the changed regional circumstances  from the second to the first millennium BC). Secondly, we  would argue that formation of Cyprus’s IA polities should not be seen as ‘a close re-enactment of [ a] Late Bronze Age politico-economic tradition’ (Iacovou 2002: 85), and nor should it necessarily be equated with the re-emergence of a hierarchical, state-level of organisation; it could just as easily have been heterarchical in organisation or else a classic case of ‘peer polities’ (R upp 1998, 215–218). Neither scenario brings us any closer to understanding the ultimate aftermath of ‘collapse’ on Cyprus. According to Butzer and Endfield (2012,  2 ), collapse  not only entails transformation on a large social and or spatial scale, but also affects or is affected by a series of interdependent variables: (1) environmental change and resilience; (2) settlement and demography; (3) socio-economic trends; (4) political and or social structures  and (5) ideology cultural memory. With respect to environmental change and resilience, there is not yet enough focused research on the Cypriot environment to enable in-depth discussion of change and or  resilience,  and  the  various  proxy  records  thus  far  used  to  discuss  climate  change  have  insufficient  temporal  resolution (Knapp and Manning 2016, 102–112). However, recent survey work on landscape and palaeoclimate in the Vasilikos valley (Todd 2016, 10; Kearns 2017; 2018) suggests that local groups only began to (re-)exploit the landscape intensively during the ninth–eighth centuries BC (CG II–III), in order to gain access to new socio-economic networks, and to link their communities with local sacred places as well as newly emerging urban centres. With respect to settlement and demography, it must be emphasised that demographic decline is more often a result rather than a cause of collapse (Butzer and Endfield  2012, 3629). In the case of LBA–early IA Cyprus, the apparent lack of any substantial settlement evidence in the eleventh–tenth centuries BC (see Fig. 23.2) surely resulted from various stress factors – social, politico-economic or environmental – symptomatic of the thirteenth–twelfth centuries BC. Whilst Mediterranean agropastoral systems tend to be relatively stable and generally resilient to stress (Butzer 2012, 3637), Iacovou (2013, 19, 21, 23) argues that Cyprus itself is held ‘… hostage to a semi-arid climate zone’, its many landscapes ‘marginal rather than blessed’,

which means that ‘… environmental constraints were (and are) the unchangeable factors that have shaped social constraints and mentalities’ (cf. Butzer and Harris 2007, 1932–1935). Although today’s island residents may well appreciate this vexatious feeling, giving undue attention to any  one  specific  type  of  risk  underestimates  the  complex  interplay amongst environmental, socio-political and cultural resilience in minimising the effects of collapse, or in facilitating regeneration (Butzer 2012, 3632). Even in the aftermath of the substantial changes that must have taken place during the twelfth and eleventh centuries BC, certain social groups or political leaders would have represented a vital force for resilience and regeneration if not, ultimately, stabilisation via a revival of dynastic ambition (Butzer 2012, 3637), which is what becomes fully apparent by the end of the Cypro-Geometric period. R egarding socio-economic trends, little conclusive evidence is available, and current interpretations are not without problems. Concerning copper production, for example, Satraki (2012, 274) has suggested – citing recent work from the Tamassos region (Kassianidou 2004, 39–40) – that ‘… mining and smelting activities were continuously practiced throughout the Early Iron Age’. The dates cited (Kassianidou 2004, 40) have now been published in full (Kassianidou 2013, 73–74, Appendix I) and range from 810–408 BC (95  confidence): that is, they are C–G   or more likely  Cypro-Archaic in date, not ‘early Iron Age’. In fact, of the 45 radiocarbon dates published by Kassianidou (2013) in her study on IA copper metallurgy on Cyprus, only two could be as early as the tenth century BC (charcoal from ambia, 101 –412 BC at 95  confidence level, and from  ition, 1014– 2 BC at  5  confidence level). At times, Kassianidou (2013, 63, 71; 2014, 266–267) also overstates the evidence: she argues that four radiocarbon-dated samples from Agrokipia Kriadhis (nos 27–30 in her 2013 study) place mining operations in the C–G period and provide ‘solid evidence for the continuation of the copper industry in the Iron Age’. In fact, the date range of these samples extends from the late tenth century to the  fifth  century  BC,  and  so  provides  only  circumstantial  evidence for the claim of continuous copper production on the island during the eleventh and tenth centuries BC. All other evidence cited by Kassianidou (2014, 266) – mining timbers, ropes, slag heap – is at present inconclusive or of later date (ninth–eighth centuries BC). Moreover, lead isotope analysis of a single plano-convex ingot (METB55) from Hazor in the southern Levant indicates that it is consistent with production from Cypriot ores, but it too dates to the ninth century BC (Yahalom-Mack et al. 2014, 171, 174). It may be that the signature oxhide ingots of the LBA ceased production at some point during the eleventh century BC; the plano-convex ingot from Hazor may indicate the adoption of a new, IA form. Other recent studies have suggested that a disruption of Cypriot copper production after

23. Cyprus: Bronze Age demise, Iron Age regeneration the end of the LBA may have stimulated copper producers in the Arabah (Khirbet en-Nahas, Timna) during the twelfth– tenth centuries BC (Levy et al. 2012, 2018; Ben-Yosef et al. 2012). Indeed, if in the wake of ‘collapse’ support from state-level finance had been curtailed or ruptured, and or the  demand for Cypriot copper had fallen, the need to extract copper, and the socio-economic organisation essential to carry it out, would have plummeted. On present evidence, then, it appears that copper production or trade on any significant level only re-emerged during  CG II (ninth century BC) at the earliest, and only became prominent once again toward the end of the CG or the beginning of the Cypro-Archaic period at northern Troodos sites such as Agrokipia Kriadhis, Politiko Kokkinorotsos and possibly Tamassos (Given and Knapp 2003, 64–74, 136–146; Knapp 2008, 296). Finally, with respect to the other variables that may impact on collapse, i.e. ideology and socio-political structures  (Butzer  and  Endfield  2012:  2 ),  at  this  stage  it  is  difficult to tease much more out of the published archaeological record than has already been done (but see Papantoniou 2012, 2016 on ideology vis-à -vis extra-urban sanctuaries). Nonetheless, it seems clear that territorial control is a crucial variable here: if the accumulation of wealth was based to any significant degree on the extraction, production and  trade in copper, territorial control (i.e. spatial power) would have been essential. Here, along with Petit (2019), we differ with Fourrier (2013): the establishment of territorial boundaries in CG III likely does not represent the consolidation of pre-existing kingdoms (which, presumably, would have had uncontested access to distant metal ores) but rather territorial extensions coinciding with the emergence of state-level complexity, the impetus being a resurgence in copper production. In any case, this is a topic that requires an entirely separate study.

C on

c l u s i on

s

Iacovou (1999, 2, 10–11; 2012, 210–212) has long argued that Greek-speaking migrants – not colonists or conquerors – had to assert their identity within a highly urbanised, affluent and literate local LC   culture, and thus not within  a polity that had ‘collapsed’. Yet the dramatic change seen in the settlement evidence (Fig 23.2) strongly suggests that the island’s urban population, at least, ultimately diminished, arguably having abandoned the island’s main towns as  a  result  of  cascading’  social,  economic  or  climatic ecological stresses that are still poorly known. This same paucity of settlement evidence during the centuries between c. 1100–800 BC makes it possible to argue either (1) that the city kingdoms became ‘consolidated’ around 750 BC as a result of transformations that took place during the eleventh century BC and following; or (2) that the city kingdoms were new socio-political formations which only

243

emerged during the ninth–eighth centuries BC. Equally, the extensive and occasionally even rich mortuary data has made it possible to argue that such social groups as existed during the eleventh–tenth centuries BC were ‘chiefdoms’ or ‘territorial states’ (R upp 1998, 215–216; Peltenburg and Iacovou 2012, 351), ruled by (w)anaktes (Snodgrass 1988, 12, 19), or ‘predator heroes’ (Catling 1994, 137–138), or ‘big men’ (Petit 2001, 63), or basileis (Iacovou 2006) or ‘warrior princes’ (Muhly 2003, 24–25, 31). There is little agreement, however, beyond the notion that the formation of an established IA ‘state’ only came later, toward the end of the C–G period. Thus, despite nearly two decades of focused research on such evidence as we have for the early Iron Age, much of it carried out by the Cyprocentric group, we still cannot agree on just when the well-established Cypro-Archaic city kingdoms ( city-states’) first coalesced as such. However,  we can now suggest that Cyprus, although it weathered the long-term ‘collapse’ that affected much of the rest of the eastern Mediterranean during the twelfth century BC, ultimately succumbed to the changing, more competitive, smaller scale, politico-economic realities of the IA by about 1100 BC, not least concerning the demise of the highly specialised exchange systems that revolved in part around the production and distribution of Cypriot copper (Iacovou 2013, 22–23, 25). There followed a period in which we can assume that several smaller, local or regional polities emerged on the island, but their political structure and social organisation remain hypothetical rather than demonstrable.

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24 Economies in crisis: subsistence and landscape technology in the Aegean and east Mediterranean after c. 1200 BC Saro Wallace

I n t r od

u c t i on

Large-scale economic structure in the late prehistoric east Mediterranean was complex and long-distance: focused on state centres, but still vulnerable to change in smaller components (Galaty et al. 2009). In my view, the economic strengthening of such components and groups (to different degrees, and across the whole east Mediterranean sphere) in the late thirteenth century is an overarching cause of the crisis patterns seen in the cultural data c. 1200 BC (Cline 2014; Knapp and Manning 2016; Maran 2011; Wallace 2018, 292–317). However, I argue that the crisis did not mainly consist of a ‘relapse’ to, foregrounding or upscaling of  pre-existing  smaller  economic  units  and or  the  specific  technologies they used. Indeed, some important new macro-level technologies take off at exactly this time (e.g. ironworking, textile manufacture) (Dickinson 2006; R ahmstorf 2011; Sherratt 1994). The cultural context in which such changes happened, and how they happened, is the subject of a longer forthcoming paper (Wallace forthcoming). Here, acknowledging the recently-developed context of collapse studies, including work on climate (e.g. Cunningham and Driessen 2017; Faulseit 2017; Middleton 2017), I will focus on changes in subsistence/landscape technology, excluding a study of tools. It seems important to study subsistence and landscape in the context of technology in general, since closely related kinds of models have been applied to each sphere in the past. An improved context of knowledge and theory on ancient technology, however, makes it reductive to suggest either that technological change caused the collapse or its epiphenomena (e.g. Drews 1993) or that, as a simple adaptation to environment or a dependent, insulated feature within large-scale economic structures, certain kinds of technology became inoperable or obsolete as an inevitable result of a collapsing macro-economy. Instead, the ways in which current technology affected the mode of collapse, and

the way people responded to and engaged with collapse, altering technology in the process, become of prime interest.

B ac k gr ou

n d

I have previously noted the dramatic and regionally diverse nature of the crisis in the mainland Aegean and central/south Aegean islands, and the long-term effects of this (Wallace 2010a, 49–169). The feature seems linked to the region’s LBA pattern of scattered, top-heavy states distant from the east Mediterranean core, and with very specific types of economic  links it (e.g. fine pottery export).  n common with other scholars  in the last 20 years, and using new evidence which highlights regional cultural diversity, I have pushed back against any idea that this intensity of effects produced or consisted in a ‘wipeout’ of LBA technologies and ways of life (see Maran 2011). On the other hand, without examining exactly how technology changed, we cannot conclude that some groups (e.g. those which developed stable polities from an early date in the Iron Age) fared better through crisis because inherently more technologically adaptive or  fit’ – the suggestion in some  recent general writing about collapse, innovation and crisis (see Diamond 1997; discussion in Faulseit 2017; Middleton 201 ). My model is of significant, sometimes radical, cultural  transformation, at various rates and with a high degree of self-consciousness. It is strengthened by the fact that Aegean and east Mediterranean lifeways are now understood as diverse and already-changing in socio-economic terms during the thirteenth century BC (e.g. papers in Langohr 2017). Some older ideas of Aegean social, economic and technological ‘wipeout’ were built simply on absences in the record (see e.g. Snodgrass 1986, 171–209). That record remains patchy, given traditional prioritising of Bronze Age and Archaic-Classical remains for research and the difficulty  of closely dating EIA material in some areas (e.g. the north

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Aegean). Nonetheless, improving quantity and resolution of data show that new and complex forms of socio-economic organisation (seen e.g. in settlement formatting and the establishment of new cult sites) in fact came quickly into play, that long-distance contacts continued, and that population was not depleted uniformly (Lemos 2003; Wallace 2010a). While palatial-type systems of economic organisation and dependency – including some technology formerly embedded in those systems – were no longer sustainable or of direct use, it is not evident that whole areas of technology simply became ‘erased’, ‘lost’ or ‘unavailable’ as state structures disappeared. Close study of Cyprus and the Levant also highlights socio-economic shifts which removed existing elite systems c. 1200 BC. There were clearly effects on some aspects of technology (e.g. production and trade of some mid-level mass-produced items, including fine decorated pottery) but  not on others (e.g. Gilboa 1989; 2001; Killebrew 2013). There seems to have been a strong historically-framed ability to shape crisis here – in part technologically, e.g. through shifted types and levels of goods production and trade. This included the rapid strengthening of recently-established long-distance routes in the central and west Mediterranean (see e.g. Borgna 2009; Sherratt 2000). A large proportion of major sites stayed in use, though with significant changes  in regional political/territorial balance (Finkelstein 2000). In the Aegean, shifts in economic power involved a much smaller degree of in situ power transfer and growth, and much more common fragmentation or relocation of social and economic units. Strategies of collapse following the destruction of many major settlements included nucleation at coastal centres in some regions and widespread settlement relocation in others (e.g. Nowicki 2000; Wallace 2010a, 52–104; Fig. 24.1). Features including selective new types of ceremonial practice and organised defence indicate that coherent social structures came quickly into being (e.g. at Tiryns; Maran 2011), though their nature is unclear. Factors including, for example, history, scale and space in Crete, and in the north Aegean, lack of prior complexity and dependency on the east Mediterranean palatial network, helped produce different social and spatial responses. In no case, however, do we see the simple promotion of LBA socio-economic substrates as spatial, social or cultural units (notwithstanding the likely instrumental role in the crisis of such groups’ activities). No standard pattern of household/ tribally-centred/chieftain-limited structure emerges post1200 BC (Wallace 2010a, 104–169). It is thus not surprising that existing technology was neither straightforwardly continued by promoted groups, nor erased in blanket fashion and unable to be passed on. Nor does the technology used post-crisis represent any kind of natural reflex, though in older scholarship technological  shifts observed or reconstructed – from upland-linked herding, through new interest in handmade wares, to the rise of iron technology – have been seen as inherently adaptive (e.g. as a byproduct of population movement) rather than

considering how tension between skills context, changing economic context, materials/resources access and self-conscious social awareness might have produced innovation (Small 1990; Snodgrass 1986, 204–205). At the same time, technological innovation has paradoxically been seen as having its own subsequent agency – e.g. in democratising societies (iron, weapons) or making post-crisis lifestyles more conflictful (pastoralism, piracy). Here   want to highlight how contingency, self-awareness and technological habitus affected land-use and subsistence. I suggest that subsistence practice at this time should be understood neither as a continuous ‘backdrop’ to technological change nor an unmediated response to crisis in itself. Evaluating change in this sphere requires special reference both to physical constraints – themselves dependent on cultural choices, including the location and size of settlements and territories – and to the extended history of practice. Subsistence is often seen as a slow-moving area of technological change, given these parameters: the crisis period  offers  a  good  opportunity  to  find  out  whether  this  is always the case. Students of historical Mediterranean subsistence observe both that rapid change is possible, and that truly timeless patterns do not exist, whether we consider the exceptionally extensive grain cultivation of the nineteenth century or Marshall Plan mechanisation (Forbes 2007; Fotiadis 1995; Halstead 2014, 329–359; Triandaphyllidou-Baladié 1998). However, both in older archaeological literature and newer arguments predicated on climate-change data we can find models of reversion to  notionally ‘timeless’ or small-scale patterns of subsistence (pastoralism, homesteading) over the period of crisis (see e.g. Finne et al. 2017; Foxhall 1995; 2015; Kaniewski et al. 2013; Langgut et al. 2013; Moody 2009; R oberts 2011; Snodgrass 1986, 171–209; discussion in e.g. Dibble 2017; Wallace 2003b). These models are often linked to ideas about social simplification: there is usually little evaluation  of what they would mean practically in terms of population support, or any attempt to fit them with the settlement record.  Climate studies now point to increased aridity starting in the period around 1200 BC. The phenomenon is rightly recognised as potentially stressing LBA states (especially their ability to support and mobilise resources on a large scale) in ways contributing to state collapse. Yet we also know that the ‘Mediterranean triad’ of grain, olives and vines (alongside legumes and fruits), which was long-established by the thirteenth century BC, did continue as a major element of Aegean subsistence throughout the Iron Age (see e.g. Dibble 2017; Flint-Hamilton 2016; Livarda 2012; Livarda and Kotzamani 2013; Papathanasiou et al. 201  Scarry in press:  ig. 24.2).  arfi, established at exactly  this period, has recently produced charcoal data which indicates the widespread presence of deciduous trees in the south Aegean uplands and thus likely wetter climates there than exist today (when the triad could, nonetheless, still be supported on a rain-fed basis, the olive at up to 700 m;

24. Economies in crisis

Fig. 24.1. Map of sites in the post-crisis Aegean, with examples of different site types indicated and labelled (S. Wallace).

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Fig. 24.2. Plant remains from the small settlement of Kavousi Vronda, Crete:,indicating broad-based subsistence cultivatiion in the 12th-11th centuries BC (a) Triticum aestivum (bread wheat); (b) Vitis vinifera (grape); (c) Olea europaea (olive); (d) Amygdalus communis (almond); (e) Pistacia atlantica (pistachio); (f) Ficus carica fig g Vicia ervilia (bitter vetch); (h) Lathyrus cicero (grass pea); (i) Pisum sp. (pea); (j ) Aethusa cynapium (fool’s parsley). Photos S. Hamilton. By permission of L.P. Day.

24. Economies in crisis

ig ea o deciduous oa ro arfi uilding MG oor deposits (S. Wallace).

Ntinou in press; Wallace 2012; Fig. 24.3). This suggests the lowlands remained essentially and basically productive. R ather than stark adaptive change models, we need to pay more attention to the potentially changing conscious balance of subsistence strategies and technologies.

L e ve l s of

s u b s i s t e n c e p r ac t i c e an

d s k ills

The Linear B evidence indicates that very large territories were nominally under palatial control or oversight by the late LBA, but also that management systems, both direct and indirect in nature, were targeted specifically at some products,  such as woollen textiles and grain (each of the latter managed within totally separate subsystems; see e.g. Killen 2004; Halstead 1992; 1996; 2007; Nosch 2014). The hierarchy of management/recording was not congruent either with the level of skill, or with the instrumental importance, of personnel in the relevant sector. For example, ‘collectors’ – named individuals closely linked to administrative centres – were responsible for managing wool flocks and overseeing textile  production over large regions, making numerical reports and deliveries to the regional authorities. Those actually herding the sheep, especially in remoter areas (some of which were evidently uncleared by the late LBA, and thereby difficult to  oversee at scale: see e.g. the recent charcoal and soils data from north Lasithi: Wallace 2012; Wallace in press), play little part in the texts. Yet such people had a huge practical impact on this important element of the economy – and high potential control of it through crisis. Their absence from the texts does not mean either that they were considered lowlevel in the thirteenth-century economy, or that they were automatically promoted to controlling production at scale

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after the preceding control structure fell apart. Their ‘hold’ may have been recognised all along by themselves and others. Maintaining it, however, was dependent on the social and territorial context of the crisis and post-crisis period. Similarly, those actually maintaining cattle plough teams for extensive grain cultivation (a major concern of palatial records in the later LBA) are only tangentially referred to in those records, which mainly focus on the teams themselves as an asset and their rotated allocation to territories (Bennet 1985, 246). Again, this does not mean those individuals lacked economic status or influence. Spheres apparently less directly touched  by palatial oversight (such as milling, forestry, and fruit growing) were also likely to contain significant sources of  applied expertise and thus potential power, including in the organisation of distribution (Halstead 1992). hrough crisis, especially in areas where significant relocation of population took place, the assertion/expansion of economic claims and skills in such different arenas is unlikely to have occurred evenly or neutrally. Systems of exchanged or indebted labour in subsistence clearly existed before the crisis (e.g. the wool production and processing by attached specialists at LBA Pylos and by obligated workers in villages in LBA Crete). Such bonds were certainly reformulated in collapse, but we cannot assume they were negated in an egalitarian free-for-all. R ather, I suggest their existence affected how territory was claimed through crisis: those already working a piece of land under bond were unlikely easily to relinquish it (and likely to take more) as state structures collapsed, as long as the land was an accessible distance from their (often relocated) place of residence, or could be managed securely using periodic residence. The shifting of levels of control/ownership over resources, whether animals or land, was aided by the fact that the main skill sets involved in subsistence had not apparently been taught or maintained in a centralised fashion prior to collapse. In this context, changed cultural parameters (e.g. those of settlement) were perhaps more important than either climate/ environment or former socio-economic class in affecting how power and technology were distributed in subsistence. Aegean lowland coastal areas remained widely used post1200 BC, with large populations nucleating at fewer sites (e.g. in the Argolid and east Greek mainland regions). If rain-fed  cultivation  became  difficult  in  these  areas  due  to  increased aridity, and the absence of palatial organisation prevented implementation of remedies such as irrigation, small homestead/village-level farming is unlikely to have been viably or straightforwardly promoted – and is not evidenced. Another possible strategy - long-distance movement to edge-of-arid-zone locations (hypothesised during an aridity spell in the east Mediterranean in the late EBA; see e.g. Nü zhet Dalfes et al. 1997) is also not documented, easily practicable, or likely in the small Aegean area with its highly contrasting local topographies, well-linked by sea routes. The notion of a generalised move to the ‘uplands’ spurred by climate change (a kind of environmentally-adaptive

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landscape technology; see e.g. Borgna 2003; GaignerotDriessen 2016) also does not match the evidence for new settlement distribution, which shows a significant element  on the coasts in many areas, and only a minority of sites at high enough altitude to produce microclimates. Settlement change, rather than being determined by climate, shows agency linked to other historical, cultural and environmental factors, including a preference for defensibility – the latter only sometimes partly achieved through the more intensive use of high-altitude zones (those which were already inhabited in the LBA; Karageorghis and Morris 2001; Wallace 2010a, 52–104). In the absence of state systems, continuing large settlements and their originally-associated large territories became much less able to be secured, reducing surplus-based support for the communities living there. In these circumstances, a new spread of subsistence practice (e.g.  extensification  of  land  coverage,  or  diversification  of  activities)  among  the residents of a region might prove attractive. Given the context of LBA skills distribution, the skills required were likely to be widely accessible. That same complex, segmented  background,  though,  suggests  diversification  would work most effectively through the sharing/bartering of a variety of skills and products or their transfer through newly developed obligations. And indeed, rather than any kind of individual homesteading pattern, sizeable clustered groups are seen in the landscapes of most regions (see e.g. Haggis 1993: Fig. 24.4). Another potential strategy was long-range aggrandisement by a single group from its core area outwards, targeted on economic territories which were now weakly controlled (e.g. for southern Levantine groups, those previously under Egyptian governance). This does not seem reflected in the Aegean record, which instead indicates  many collaboratively-defended landscapes with settlements of varying sizes scattered through them, and the existence of off-site processing activities covering sizeable regions (e.g. for grain and olives at  arfi  see  allace 2012). Given  the large areas of mountainous and otherwise non-optimal land within the territories of many new and nucleating settlements, these kinds of subsistence technologies would be more sustainable than large-scale land-grabs from single cores. It also seems that the post-collapse social environments emerging in both the Aegean and the Levant was consciously structured against strongly hierarchical relationships (e.g. Wallace 2018, 307–369; 104–169). This offered further obstacles to rapid or large-scale land-grabs: there was little opportunity for grabbers to take over previous structures of prestige/authority as ‘shells’.

I n e q u al i t y na d c no t e s t i n s u b s i s t e n c e – k n ow l e d eg , l an d , na i m la s na d to h e r r e s ou

r c e s

This does not mean there was a trend to economic equality. R elocation – which we now understand was not primarily a

technology of subsistence but one of social reconstruction and protection, which distorted existing carrying capacity systems – must have created various economic stresses, including problems in building up surplus food supply. This could make some new settlements, especially smaller ones, unviable over time, and produce new systems of indebtedness and  inequality. At  the  same  time,  specific  technologies  of  subsistence developed in the post-crisis context (e.g. in the spheres of ground clearance and preparation, route control and travel over distance for the procurement and/or development of services and resources) might promote the development of inequality in new ways, especially in regions where existing settlement was fragmenting and major communities being established in new places. Targeted exploitation of previously marginal or specialised technologies – e.g. wild game at new sites in Crete (Mylona 1999; in press; Snyder and R eese 2016; 175; Wallace 2012; Fig. 24.5) – was another possible means. Animal husbandry had possibilities, too. Use of cattle as meat had been limited, even at high level, in LBA Aegean state economies (Isaakidou et al. 2016). Thus, the appearance of cattle herding and sometimes on-site whole-animal butchering at developing settlements of the post-crisis period, (including settlements in landscapes which were challenging for regular use by cattle: e.g.  arfi   avousi)  is remarkable (Mylona in press; Snyder and R eese 2016; Wallace 2012). In the context of territorial upset, it seems a very deliberate strategy – necessarily drawing on existing assets, expertise and personnel, while not needing (or being able) to replicate or extend previous structures. Incentives to invest in it included the availability, high value, and moveability of the resource. R isk-spreading and the value of cattle as multi-purpose assets might be attractive in a partly new/ uncertain territorial environment, where cultivation took a while to restructure and fallow or fodder-cropped land was plentiful: traditionally cattle have been pastured outside for large parts of the year in Greece and cows, as well as bulls, have routinely been used for ploughing (Halstead 2014). Groups of cattle in the landscape could visually signal a group’s new/adjusted claims to a piece of land, even where cultivation was not fully established: the starker the territory, the stronger the possible symbolism of cattle presence within it. Intent to draw on cattle’s past associations with high status and ritual is suggested at post-crisis sites such as Vronda and Smari in Crete, where modified cattle skulls have a ritual status-associated and decorative purpose: Snyder and R eese 2016, 173–174; Wallace 2010a, 127–131). Such activity could itself form a valuable part of subsistence technology: notable reference to the past in the landscape as a likely legitimising strategy, is seen at this period (Wallace 2003b). The increased use of pig as a post-crisis subsistence technology with new social meaning can be noted in the evidence from coastal or near-coastal urban sites in the southern Levant. In line with notions of subsistence change as tradition-bound and adaptive, however, this has

24. Economies in crisis

ig Post crisis site clusters in the east Crete area ay o Mira ello analysed in a recent study Gaignerot Driessen y er ission o Gaignerot Driessen

previously been claimed simply as a diagnostic of population movement (an Aegean elite exodus to the east and the founding of specific urban sites there has also been used to  explain aspects of supposed technological ‘wipeout’ in the

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Aegean; see e.g. Faust and Lev-Tov 2011; Yasur-Landau 2010). R ecent DNA studies have shown the rising presence of European pig haplotypes in this region – replacing local Middle Eastern ones most markedly after c. 900 BC (though

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ig Preser ed aunal re ains ro the old s e ca ations at arfi allace ca tions y D Mylona : : ntler tine Cervidae indeter inate : linter ro long one o a large si e a al cf. Bos : ntler tine Cervidae indeterminate (cf. Cervus elaphus) ro en olished ti : Capra aegagrus: right horncore o ature ale ength c i issing so e cho ar s near the ase and on ody de ression on ody : linter ro long one o a large si e a al cf. Bos).

24. Economies in crisis noted as early as the MBA); in Anatolia this European type becomes common from the LBA (Horwitz et al. 2018). Pork was a fairly widely consumed meat across the LBA Aegean, Cyprus and Anatolia in the LBA – a generalised subsistence technology never tightly linked to palatial control – while in the southern Levant it seems to have been less favoured, or used in a more targeted fashion. The post-crisis rise in use of pig at some Levantine sites to similar levels to those of the rest of the east Mediterranean appears to have a strong symbolic dimension. This was consolidated in the overt linkage of ethnic identity to pork consumption in later regional tradition, and associated with public performance of elite status in a cooking-centred vein by groups dominating the post-crisis south Levantine coastal travel/trade context in new cultural modes, including use deliberately internationalising tropes (Bunimovitz and Lederman 2015; Maeir et al. 2013; Sherratt 2013). The strong links of this cultural environment to developing cross-Mediterranean travel routes centred in the region may help to explain why particular strains of pig were favoured in the new consumption trend. Though nature of this subsistence technology, easily invested in, might also facilitate life in the region’s shifted economic and political circumstances, it seems reductive to see it as a technological imposition or adaptation. Where existing economic technologies being subjected to notional and practical challenge, we might expect the rapid development of new social institutions. Indeed, the fact that the Aegean LBA state form was neither propped up nor ever returned to – with new forms of polity emerging as early as 1000 BC – seems linked to active cultural changes, including in subsistence, which could not be easily reversed. However, while social transformations, albeit radical and creative, are often consistent across large Aegean regions, subsistence technology shifts are not.  hey link indirectly to other factors including specific  cultural choices and outcomes (see e.g. the recently-noted contrasts between possible centralised grain processing/ storage  at  large  and  complex  new  settlements  like  arfi  and Azoria in Crete, signalled by lack of husk-stored grain in domestic contexts, and the absence of evidence for such facilities at smaller new sites like Kavousi Vronda: Haggis et al. 2011; Scarry pers. comm.; in press; Wallace 2012). There is no sense of the subsistence economy either being reduced to one level, or being based on the simple promotion of formerly lower-status groups into new positions of power. A new social practice developing in the Aegean c. 1200–700 BC was the landmarking of territory (e.g. through the establishment of new ritual activity on sites previously otherwise used) in ways directly referent to the immediate pre-crisis or crisis period itself, and perhaps to territorial or status rights asserted/embedded at that period (Prent 2015; Wallace 2003b). Becoming increasingly elaborate over the course of the Iron Age, this phenomenon can be seen as part of a new technology of subsistence, facilitating/stabilising the use of certain landscapes by certain groups. As a

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technological habitus, it fed into further social and economic change over time. Settlements over a certain size and with successfully-maintained access to prime arable areas developed political authority and expanded territory using partly similar means from as early as c. 1000 BC (Wallace 2010b).

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Evidence for conflict and movement have led some to view  the crisis as producing new conflict technologies, in the form  of specific types of object or military organisation ( rews  1993; van Wees 2000). But the most consistent roots and modes  of  conflict  were  surely  subsistence territory-linked:  subsistence targets remained central in warfare across the ancient world into Classical times. Post-crisis groups made active use of landscape as a technology, with complex balances between exploitable and securable territory, in provisions  for  conflict.  he  new  landscape  technology  in  turn affected how communities presented themselves and interacted politically. New types of practical defence were important in this (though symbolic aspects were not lacking). The specialised technologies of LBA defence and warfare would encounter problems in the new cultural landscapes, which were populated by physically dispersed or large uncohered groups. Major shifts in elite structure and resourcing had side-lined high-investment war technologies such as large  fully  fortified  citadels,  central  armouries,  chariotry  and  large  naval  forces.  he  resourcing  of  large  fighting  groups might still be possible in the Levant and Cyprus – but even here the growth of new wealth centres apparently fed strongly on competition in consumption and trade share: the regular documented shifts in territories and political group  membership  suggest  conflicts  were  locally-centred  and -resolved. Nonetheless, in maritime areas particularly, some groups operated aggressively and over distance during the settling-down of new routes, statuses and privileges, and others needed to protect themselves against this threat. Mobile aggression as a main subsistence technique however was not easily sustainable, thanks to the lack of high-surplus economies to prey on (contrary to ideas of pirate- or brigand-based economies in the post-crisis environment; see Wallace 2003a). R esponsive aspects of landscape-based technology in the Aegean such as the general lack of inter-settlement defences and the focus on strategic and coast/route-facing defensibility suggest that low-level internal territorial aggrandisement was not widespread. But they had the effect of  making  daily  access  to  territory  more  difficult.  Large  areas of prime subsistence landscape were often relatively remote and unprotected where defensive resettlement was adapted at large scale; homesteading spread out across the prime arable areas was vulnerable, and thus uncommon. Where population clustered around former centres rather than founding new settlements, the territorial control/ defence systems formerly based at these centres no longer

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operated and much subsistence activity had to be carried out a long way from the settlement core, combining to produce vulnerability here too. Aggressive overextension by any one group would have the potential to destabilise whole regions: this may explain the early post-crisis emphasis on the clustering of new sites and of cult sites which linked groups scattered across large regions (Fig. 24.5). In newly vulnerable territories, aggressive animal raiding might have seemed an easy way to aggrandise, but was also easy to limit through the kinds of new social institutions, centred on membership and communal dining, emerging at this period (Wallace 2010a, 127–132). Both at some new defensible settlements, and where special-purpose  short-lived  fortified  or  defensible  sites  were built near large coastal or arable-zone nodes at or just before the crisis, there was remarkable investment of labour in fortifications to protect communities and produce  (Kanta 2003; Karageorghis and Kanta 2014; Iakovidis 2001; Wallace 2010a, 86–88; 95–100). The technology of constructing and defending these was not only clearly understood through the crisis period, but developed in sophisticated ways, most often as part of a landscape technology to make use of available materials, labour, natural routes, high points, and networked systems of defensive collaboration and communication. The variety of practices seen (e.g. small areas enclosed versus large enclosures; use of  one-sided  fortifications  reinforcing  landscape  features   cf. Nowicki 2000) represents considered compromise based on timing, group choices and history, rather than any loss of ability in or understanding of appropriate technology. he  linked  technologies  of  subsistence  and  conflict  were  changing in conjunction with conceptions of territory, identity and control. Again, understanding of the landscape as technology, including individual knowledge arising from formerly marginal roles in the palatial economy, could feed into economic and political strategies/identities in powerful new ways. Knowledge of natural borders, routes, water, defensive locations, cultivable land, soils and weather could all give access to new status and power, as groups addressed new issues of territorial definition and protection. Eastern Mediterranean landscapes already contained both subsistence-linked and defensive technology by c. 1200 BC, as a result of the innovation and investment associated with the operation of LBA states – including city walls, terraces, paths, bridges, monumental tombs and harbours (e.g. Hope Simpson and Hagel 2006). This was not decimated by crisis in any blanket sense. The techniques and strategy of the infrastructure’s original construction and maintenance were closely linked to its ownership by a central elite. But the opportunity existed for post-crisis groups to adapt and claim it in new social and subsistence interests. Doing this is likely to have involved changing the use of many of its features – altering/ adding to their appearance or referencing their meaning within new or rebalanced landscape technologies of both subsistence and defence (e.g. as boundaries for large-scale

cattle herding, as new collection points for produce to be mass-processed, or as markers promoting social cohesion in new ways). We should see these infrastructure elements as forming part of new technologies, rather than either demanding the continuance of established technologies or, through their changes (including apparent neglect in some cases) as offering evidence for the ‘dying-out’ of the latter.

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