Entangled Identities and Otherness in Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe: Historical, Archaeological and Bioarchaeological Approaches 9781407315935, 9781407344829

Table of contents :
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
PRESENTATION OF THE SERIES ASLAEME
PRESENTACIÓN DE LA SERIE ASLAEME
ARCHAEOLOGICAL STUDIES ON LATE ANTIQUE AND EARLY MEDIEVAL EUROPE (400-1000 A. D.) (SERIES ASLAEME)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
FOREWORD AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ETHNICITIES, ENTANGLED IDENTITIES AND OTHERNESS IN LATE ANTIQUE AND EARLY MEDIEVAL EUROPE: Views for an Interdisciplinary Research Agenda
THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF IDENTITIES AND ALTERITIES: Opposite Perspectives for the Early Middle Ages
LE REFUS DE L’ALTÉRITÉ DANS LA LOI ROMAINE DU BRÉVIAIRE D’ALARIC
BARBARIA, BARBARICUM AND THE LOCATION OF THE BARBARUS
LA CONVERSION AU CHRISTIANISME COMME UN MÉCANISME D’IDENTITÉ ET D’ALTÉRITÉ CHEZ LES BARBARES
DID THE GOTHS REALLY COME FROM POLAND? Changing Interpretations in Changing Political Situations
FORENSIC ANTHROPOLOGY, IDENTIFICATION AND IDENTITY: How It Can Help the Identity and Otherness Problematic
BONES DON’T LIE: Bioarchaeological Identity and Entangled Social Identities in Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe
LES ANTIQUITÉS GERMANIQUES À L'EST EUROPÉEN AU BAS-EMPIRE ET À L'ÉPOQUE DES GRANDES MIGRATIONS: État des recherches
THE MANY IDENTITIES OF THE BARBARIANS IN THE MIDDLE DANUBE REGION IN THE EARLY MIDDLE AGES
SOCIAL IDENTITY ON THE PLATTER: Clay Pans in Sixth to Seventh Century Ceramic Assemblages
ETHNICITY ON THE MOVE: New Evidence from Viking Winter Camps
OTHERNESS AND IDENTITY IN THE MEROVINGIAN CEMETERY
ARCHÉOLOGIE FUNÉRAIRE ET ETHNICITÉ EN GAULE À L’ÉPOQUE MÉROVINGIENNE (Réponse a Guy Halsall)
GENDER, KINSHIP AND SOCIAL IDENTITY IN THE FUNERARY DIMENSIONS OF THE KINGDOM OF THE LOMBARDS (568-774)

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ARCHAEOLOGICAL STUDIES ON LATE ANTIQUITY AND EARLY MEDIEVAL EUROPE (400–1000 A. D.) (SERIES ASLAEME) Series Editors: Jorge López Quiroga, Artemio M. Martínez Tejera, Patrick Périn, Tivadar Vida, Enrico Zanini

Proceedings 5

Entangled Identities and Otherness in Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe Historical, Archaeological and Bioarchaeological Approaches Edited by

Jorge López Quiroga, Michel Kazanski and Vujadin Ivanišević

BAR International Series 2852 2017

Published in by BAR Publishing, Oxford BAR International Series Archaeological Studies On Late Antiquity And Early Medieval Europe (400–1000 A. D.) (Series Aslaeme) Proceedings 5 Entangled Identities and Otherness in Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe © The editors and contributors severally The so-called Monza diptych (Treasure of the Monza Cathedral), circa 395–400 A. D., showing Stylicho, as Magister Militum, on the right side and his wife Flavia Serena with their son Euquerio on the left side (photograph: J. López Quiroga). The Authors’ moral rights under the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reser ved. No par t of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any for m of digital for mat or transmitted in any for m digitally, without the written per mission of the Publisher.

ISBN 9781407315935 paperback ISBN 9781407344829 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407315935 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

BAR titles are available from: BAR Publishing Banbury Rd, Oxford, [email protected] + ( ) + ( ) www.barpublishing.com

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PRESENTATION OF THE SERIES ASLAEME The Series Archaeological Studies on Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe (400-1000 A. D.) (Series ASLAEME), covers a chronological and spatial span Late Antiquity and Early Middle Ages, that has been object of an extraordinary flourishing of publications and research in the last years in Western Europe and more generally in the whole geographic area once ruled by the Roman Empire until its dissolution during the fifth century A. D. In this sense one of the priorities of the series ASLAEME is to contribute to the knowledge of this period from a eminently archaeological perspective, through the publication in an homogeneous series as far as time and space are concerned, with a multidisciplinary approach and above all open to a honest and constructive debate which will result always scientifically enriching. In order to accomplish this in this series the work of young researchers and scholars will have the possibility to publish in ASLAEME the results of their studies to the international scientific audience. The ASLAEME series is divided in three sub-series: ‐ A first one, named Conference Proceedings, will collect the results of Congress, Roundtables, Meetings, Seminars, Workshops and Conferences that will cover this subject. The opening volume of the series was the Proceedings of the Spanish-French Workshop held in Madrid (UAM) and in the Museo Arqueológico Regional de la Comunidad de Madrid (MAR) on the 19th and 20th of December 2005. The second volume of the series was the Proceedings of the International Conference held at the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid (UAM), Museo Arqueológico Regional de la Comunidad de Madrid (MAR), Museo de los Orígenes (Casa de San Isidro) on 18th, 19th and 20th December 2006 with the title Monasteria et Territoria. Elites, Edilicia y Territorio en el mediterráneo medieval (siglos V al XI). The third volume of the series are the Proceedings of the International Conference Morir en el Mediterráneo medieval held in Madrid in the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid and the Museo de los Orígenes (Casa de San Isidro) on 17th-18th December 2007. The fourth volume are the Proceedings of the International Conference In Concavis petrarunt habitaverunt: El fenómeno rupestre en el Mediterráneo Medieval: De la Investigación a la puesta en valor held at the Museo de los Orígenes (Casa de San Isidro) on December 2008. In this fifth volume we present the Proceedings of the International Congress held at the Casa de Velázquez (Madrid) the 30th 31th October 2013: Entangled Social Identities and Otherness in Late Antiquity and Early Medieval Europe. ‐ A second sub-series, titled Monographs, will collect individual or collective works centred on a definite theme, space or chronological span relatively, of course, to Late Antiquity and Early Middle Ages. The first one of this Monograph was a complete, well-documented and stimulating work of Michel Kazanski, M. Shchukin and O. Sharov on a region near the Black Sea. The second volume of the series show the research of Damian Glad, Origine et diffusion de l’équipement défensif corporel en méditerranée orientale (IVe-VIIIe s.). Contribution à l’étude historique et archéologique des armées antiques et médiévales. The third volume is the doctoral thesis of Eusebio Dohijo La Antigüedad Tardía en el Alto Valle del Duero. ‐ A third sub-series titled Archaeological Excavations and Catalogues, will allow the publication of monographs on both final and continuing preliminary reports of particular sites, as well as catalogues resulting from exhibitions or re-evaluation of materials pertaining to the chronological frame of the ASLAEME Series. This series was open with the Youri Voronov’s book of the Tsibilium necropolis and now follow with the results of the Spanish Archaeological Mission at Conimbriga (Portugal) with the volume Conimbriga tardo-antigua y medieval. Excavaciones arqueológicas en la ‘domus tancinus’ (2004-2008) (Condeixa-a-Velha, Portugal). PRESENTACIÓN DE LA SERIE ASLAEME La serie Estudios Arqueológicos sobre la Europa tardo-antigua y alto-medieval (400-1000 A.D.) (Serie ASLAEME), aborda un arco cronológico y espacial, como es el de la Antigüedad Tardía y la alta Edad Media, que ha sido objeto de una espectacular efervescencia de publicaciones e investigaciones en los últimos años en el conjunto del Occidente Europeo y, en general, de todo el amplio espectro geográfico dominado por el Impero romano hasta su disolución y disgregación en el curso del siglo V d. C. En este sentido, uno de los objetivos prioritarios de la serie ASLAEME es el de contribuir al conocimiento de ese periodo desde una perspectiva eminentemente arqueológica, a través de la publicación de una serie homogénea, en el tiempo y en el espacio, pero con un enfoque multidisciplinar y, sobre todo, abierta al debate científico honesto y constructivo y, por lo tanto, siempre enriquecedor. Por ello, en esta serie serán publicados trabajos tanto de investigadores de renombre y prestigio conocidos y reconocidos a nivel internacional, como trabajos noveles de jóvenes investigadores que tendrán así una oportunidad de someter a conocimiento y opinión de la crítica científica internacional los resultados de su labor investigadora. La serie ASLAEME se subdivide a su vez en tres sub-series: - Por una parte, la que denominaremos Actas, que recogerá los resultados de Congresos, Encuentros, Seminarios, Mesas Redondas, etc., que se celebren con esa temática. El primero de ellos, y que abrió la serie, presentó las Actas de la mesa redonda hispanofrancesa celebrada en la Universidad Autónoma de Madrid (UAM) y en el Museo Arqueológico Regional de la Comunidad de Madrid (MAR), los días 19 y 20 de diciembre de 2005. El segundo volumen de la serie recogió las Actas del Congreso Internacional Monasteria et Territoria. Elites, Edilicia y Territorio en el mediterráneo medieval (siglos V al XI), celebrado en la Universidad Autónoma de Madrid (UAM), Museo Arqueológico Regional de la Comunidad de Madrid (MAR) y Museo de los Orígenes (Casa de

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San Isidro), los días 18, 19 y 20 de Diciembre de 2006. El tercer volumen de la serie recoge las Actas del Congreso Internacional Morir en el mediterráneo medieval los días 17 y 18 de Diciembre de 2007 en la Universidad Autónoma de Madrid (UAM) y en el Museo de los Orígenes (Casa de San Isidro). - Por otra parte, la que con el nombre de Monografías recogerá los trabajos, individuales y/o colectivos, de carácter monográfico sobre un tema, espacio o ámbito cronológico preciso que se enmarquen, obviamente, en la Antigüedad Tardía y la alta Edad Media. La primera de estas monografías es la que recogió el estudio de M. Kazanski, M. Shchukin y O. Sharov con un exhaustivo, documentado y estimulante trabajo sobre una región próxima al Mar Negro. El segundo volumen de la serie presenta los resultados de la investigación de Damian Glad, Origine et diffusion de l’équipement défensif corporel en méditerranée orientale (IVe-VIIIe s.). Contribution à l’étude historique et archéologique des armées antiques et médiévales. El tercer volumen de la serie recoge el estudio de Eusebio Dohijo sobre La Antigüedad Tardía en el Alto Valle del Duero. El cuarto volumen recoge las Actas del Congreso Internacional In concavis petrarunt habitaverunt: El fenómeno rupestre en el Mediterráneo Medieval: De la Investigación a la puesta en valor, que tuvo lugar en el Museo de los Orígenes (Casa de San Isidro), en Diciembre de 2008. En este quinto volumen de la serie se presentan los resultados del Congreso Internacional celebrado en la Casa de Velázquez (Madrid) el 30 y 31 de Octubre de 2013 con el título: Identidades Sociales y Alteridad en Europa durante la Antigüedad Tardía y la alta Edad Media. La problemática interrelación entre registro arqueológico y fuentes escritas en relación al estudio de las denominadas ‘sociedades bárbaras’. - Por último, la serie Excavaciones Arqueológicas y Catálogos, que permitirá la publicación de monografías sobre yacimientos concretos, tanto síntesis como sucesivas campañas de excavación arqueológica, así como de catálogos temáticos resultado de exposiciones o recopilaciones de materiales correspondientes al arco cronológico que abarca la serie ASLAEME. La serie se abrió con la monografía de Youri Voronov (en una edición preparada por Michel Kazanski) sobre la excepcional necrópolis de Tsibilium. El segundo de los volúmenes recoge las cinco campañas de excavación en el yacimiento de Conimbriga (Condeixa-a-Velha, Portugal), en el sector conocido como el de la ‘basílica paleocristiana’, que tiene por título. ‘Conimbriga’ tardo-antigua y medieval. Excavaciones arqueológicas en la ‘domus tancinus’ (2004-2008) (Condeixa-a-Velha, Portugal).

J. López Quiroga - A. M. Martínez Tejera -P. Périn - Tivadar Vida - Enrico Zanini (ASLAEME Series Editors) ARCHAEOLOGICAL STUDIES ON LATE ANTIQUE AND EARLY MEDIEVAL EUROPE (400-1000 A. D.) (SERIES ASLAEME) Published books: a) Monographs: - M. Shchukin, M. Kazanski, O. Sharov, Des Goths aux Huns: Le Nord de la mer Noire au Bas –Empire et a l’époque des Grandes Migrations (SERIES ASLAEME, Monographs 1, BAR –IS 1535), Oxford, 2006. - D. Glad, Origine et diffusion de l’équipement défensif corporel en Méditerranée orientale: contribution à l’étude historique et archéologique des armées antiques et médiévales (SERIES ASLAEME, Monographs 2, BAR-IS1921), Oxford, 2009. - E. Gutiérrez Dohijo, La Antigüedad Tardía en el Alto Valle del Duero (SERIES ASLAEME, Monographs 3, BAR-IS 2199), Oxford, 2011. b) Proceedings: - J. López Quiroga, A. M. Martínez Tejera, J. Morín de Pablos (eds.), Gallia e Hispania en el contexto de la presencia ‘germánica’: Balance y perspectivas (SERIES ASLAEME, Conference Proceedings 1, BAR-IS 1534), Oxford, 2006. - J. López Quiroga, A. M. Martínez Tejera, J. Morín de Pablos (eds.), Monasteria et territoria. Élites, edilicia y territorio en el Mediterráneo Medieval (siglos V-XI) (SERIES ASLAEME, Conference Proceedings 2, BAR-IS 1720), Oxford, 2007. - J. López Quiroga, A. M. Martínez Tejera (eds.), Morir en el Mediterráneo Medieval (SERIES ASLAEME, Conference Proceedings 3, BAR-IS 2001), Oxford, 2009. - J. López Quiroga, A. M. Martínez Tejera (eds.), In concavis petrarum habitaverunt. El fenómeno rupestre en el Mediterráneo Medieval: De la investigación a la puesta en valor (SERIES ASLAEME, Conference Proceedings 4, BAR-IS 2591), Oxford, 2014. c) Archaeological Excavations and Catalogues: - Y. Voronov, Tsibilium (SERIES ASLAEME, Archaeological Excavations and Catalogues 1, BAR-IS 1721), Oxford, 2007. - J. López Quiroga (ed.), Conimbriga Tardo-Antigua y Medieval. Excavaciones Arqueológica en la ‘domus tancinus’ (Condeixa-aVelha, Portugal) (SERIES ASLAEME, Archaeological Excavations and Catalogues 2, BAR-IS 2466), Oxford, 2013.

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Forthcoming: - R. Poulin, Les plaques-boucles de ceinture de bronze à figurations chrétiennes dans l’Est de la Gaule mérovingienne (Bourgogne, Franche-Comté, Suisse romande). Etude critique (SERIES ASLAEME, Monographs 4), Oxford. - J. López Quiroga- A. M. Martínez Tejera, Otro ladrillo en el muro. Estudios sobre Antigüedad Tardía y Alta Edad Media en Hispania (SERIES ASLAEME, Monographs 5), Oxford. - J. López Quiroga – L. Ríos Frutos (editors), Bioarchaeology of Injuries and Violence in Early Medieval Europe (SERIES ASLAEME, Proceedings 6), Oxford. - J. López Quiroga – A. M. Martínez Tejera (editors), Late Antique and Early Medieval Iberian Monasticism. Archaeological Approaches (SERIES ASLAEME, Proceedings 7), Oxford.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Foreword and Acknowledgements ..................................................................................................................................................... viii Jorge LÓPEZ QUIROGA (Autonomous University of Madrid) Michel KAZANSKI (CNRS-UMR 8167, ‘Orient & Méditerranée’, Paris) Vujadin IVANIŠEVIĆ (Institute of Archaeology, Belgrade) INTERPRETING IDENTITY AND OTHERNESS: HISTORICAL AND ARCHAEOLOGICAL APPROACHES Ethnicities, Entangled Identities and Otherness in Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe. Views for an Interdisciplinary Research Agenda .................................................................................................................................. 1 Jorge LÓPEZ QUIROGA (Autonomous University of Madrid) Michel KAZANSKI (CNRS-UMR 8167, ‘Orient & Méditerranée’, Paris) Vujadin IVANIŠEVIĆ (Institute of Archaeology, Belgrade) The Archaeology of Identities and Alterities. Opposite Perspectives for the Early Middle Ages ...................................................... 11 Sebastian BRATHER (University of Freiburg) Le refus de l’Altérité dans la loi romaine du Bréviaire d’Alaric ......................................................................................................... 23 Michel ROUCHE (University of Paris-IV, Paris-Sorbonne) Barbaria, Barbaricum and the Location of the Barbarus ................................................................................................................. 26 Michael KULIKOWSKI (Department of History, Penn State University) La conversion au Christianisme comme un mécanisme d'Identité et d’Altérité chez les Barbares ................................................... 30 Bruno DUMÉZIL (University of Paris Ouest-Nanterre-La Défense) Did the Goths Really Come from Poland? Changing Interpretations in Changing Political Situations ........................................... 40 Jörg KLEEMANN (Institute of History and International Relations, Chair of Archaeology, University of Szczecin, Poland) Forensic Anthropology, Identification and Identity. How It Can Help the Identity and Otherness Problematic ............................. 48 Luis RÍOS FRUTOS (Autonomous University of Madrid) Bones Don’t Lie. Bioarchaeological Identity and Entangled Social Identities in Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe ....................................... 55 Jorge LÓPEZ QUIROGA (Autonomous University of Madrid) ETHNICITY, SOCIAL IDENTITY, OTHERNESS AND THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL RECORD: CASE STUDIES Les antiquités germaniques à l'Est européen au Bas-Empire et à l'époque des Grandes Migrations: État des recherches ............................................................................................................................................................................... 90 Michel KAZANSKI (CNRS-UMR 8167, ‘Orient & Méditerranée’, Paris) Anna MASTYKOVA (Institute d’Archéologie de l’Académie des Sciences de Russie, Moscou) The Many Identities of the Barbarians in the Middle Danube Region in the Early Middle Ages ................................................... 120 Tivadar VIDA (Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest) Social Identity on the Platter. Clay Pans in Sixth to Seventh Century Ceramic Assemblages ......................................................... 132 Florin CURTA (Department of History, University of Florida) Ethnicity on the Move. New Evidence from Viking Winter Camps .................................................................................................. 178 Dawn HADLEY (University of Sheffield) Otherness and Identity in the Merovingian Cemetery ....................................................................................................................... 189 Guy HALSALL (University of York) Archéologie Funéraire et Ethnicité en Gaule à l’époque mérovingienne (Réponse à Guy Halsall) ............................................... 199 Michel KAZANSKI (CNRS-UMR 8167, ‘Orient & Méditerranée’, Paris) Patrick PÉRIN (Directeur Honoraire du Musée d’Archéologie Nationale, Saint Germain-en-Laye) Gender, Kinship and Social Identity in the Funerary Dimensions of the Kingdom of the Lombards (568-774) ............................ 213 Annamaria PAZIENZA (University Ca’Foscari of Venetia)

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FOREWORD AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Jorge LÓPEZ QUIROGA - Michel KAZANSKI - Vujadin IVANIŠEVIĆ ___________________________________________________________________

This volume1 contains the most part of the texts presented to the International Congress held in Madrid at the Casa de Velázquez the 30th and 31th October 2013. We said ‘the most part’ because, on the one hand, there are some texts from authors that couldn’t come to Madrid and, on the other hand, some of the colleagues that were presents in the Congress finally couldn’t send your paper. Anyway the editors want to thank all authors for your participation and contribution to this volume.

Much has been written in recent years about ‘Barbarian Identity’ understood as social identities, nested identities, constructing identities (Amory 1997; Heather 1998; Gillet, ed. 2002; Jarnut-Pohl eds. 2003; Goffart 2006; Halsall 2007; Dzino 2010; Wiszewski 2010; PohlHeydemann 2013a) 3 ; ‘Ethnic Identity’ as strategies of distinction and/or identification, multidimensional ethnicity, endogenous ethnicity, social constructions, construction of communities, social networks, national identity, negotiated identities, group identity (FordeLesley-Murray eds. 1995; Hettlage-Deger-Wagner eds. 1997; Pohl-Reimitz, eds. 1998; Smyth ed. 1998; Heather ed. 1999; Mitchell-Greatrex eds. 2000; Pohl 2000, 2005; Brather 2002, 2004; Green 2011; Hadley-Richards eds. 2000; Pohl-Diesenberger, eds. 2002; CorradiniDiesenberger-Reimitz, eds. 2003; Geary 2002; Bierbrauer 2004; Curta 2007; Gazeau-Bauduin-Modéran, eds. 2008; Garipzanov-Geary-Urbanczyk eds. 2008; Siegmund 2009; Schamp 2010; Koch 2012; Ferguson 2012; PohlHeydemann 2013b; MacInerney ed. 2014) and concerning the ‘Archaeology of the Identity’ (Jones 1997; Díaz-Andreu et al. eds. 2005; Pohl-Mehofer 2010) including the explicit relation between mortuary practices and Social Identities in an ‘multi-ethnic’ perspective or as a ‘constructed strategy of shifting identities’ (Halsall 1995; Ripoll 1999; Effros 2002, 2003; Hadley 2004; Bierbrauer 2005; Brather- Wotzka 2006; Kazanski-Perin 2008, 2009 ; Von Rummel 2007, 2013 ; Brather 2008, 2009; Hakenbeck 2008; Sayer-Williams 2009; Theuws 2009; Barbiera 2005, 2012; Eger 2005, 2012; Martin 2014; Quirós Castillo-Castellanos, dir. 2015). In this sense, and obviously, this book won’t to be ‘another brick in the wall’ but a contribution to ‘break the wall’ between different disciplines as linguistic, geography, history, archaeology, physical anthropology, palaeoanthropology, populations genetic, etc.4

The editors want overall thanks to different institutions for your economic and scientific support to organise an event of this type. First of all, to the Casa de Velázquez and the ‘École des Hautes Études Hispaniques’ in the person of the former Director, Jean-Pierre Étienvre, and the Director of Antiquity and Middle Ages, Laurent Callegarin. In the initial stages of the organization of the Congress was essential the support received from Daniel Baloup, former Director of Antiquity and Middle Ages at the Casa de Velázquez. The financial support, the excellent organisation, management and hospitality in the incomparable Casa de Velázquez was just perfect. In this regard, we want particularly acknowledge the excellent work and assistance of Flora Lorente. We want to thanks, also, the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness, which granted a significant financial support in the framework of so-called Complementary Actions 2 . In the same way the ‘Centre Orient et Méditerranée’, UMR 8167 du CNRS, contributed likewise with a financial aid to the organisation of the Congress. Without all these major financial support the achievement of the conference would not be possible. And the editors want also to thank, in a special way, to Artemio M. Martínez Tejera (Autonomous University of Madrid) for his help in the layout of the texts, and Rebecca Devlin (University of Florida) for the English revision of the Authors whose mother tongue is not English.

Bibliography5 Amory, P. (1997): People and Identity in Ostrogothic Italy (489-554), Cambridge.

The picture of the front page of this volume was chose as an exemple of Entangled Identity: the so-called ‘Monza diptych’ preserved in the treasury of the Monza Cathedral. On the right side of the diptych, Stilicho is shown as Magister militum wearing a chlamys and an embroidered robe. He take the sword at his side and raises his right hand clutching a spear and the left hand supports at the edge of a shield on which were stamped busts of the imperial couple. The diptych is dated around 395, the date in which the barbar Stilicho assumed the range of Magister militum of the wetern Empire, or 400 when he is raised to the dignity of consul. 2 Project intituled: Identidad y Alteridad entre los Bárbaros: La problemática interrelación entre las fuentes textuales y el registro arqueológico, Principal Investigators: Jorge López Quiroga, Michel Kazanski, Vujadin Ivanisevic (Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness, Complementary Actions, Reference: HAR201115748-E). 1

Barbiera, I. (2005): Changing lands in changing memories. Migration and identity during the Lombard invasions (Biblioteca di Archeologia medievale 19), Firenze. 3 The title of the polemic book edited by Andrew Gillet: On Barbarian Identity. Critical Approaches to Ethnicity in the Early Middle Ages. 4 In this book we have texts of historiens, philologues, archaeologues and biological antrhopologuists. 5 This is not (and not aims to be) an exhaustive and systematic bibliography on the subject and should, in any case, be completed with that of the introductory text (Ethnicities, Entangled Identities and Otherness in Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe) of the editors of this volume: López Quiroga-Kazanski- Ivanišević: 7-10.

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Foreword and Acknowledgements - (2012): Memorie sepolte. Tombe e identità nell’alto medioevo (secoli V–VIII), Roma.

(Münchner Beiträge zur provinzialrömischen Archäologie 5), Wiesbaden.

Bierbrauer, V. (2004): “Zur ethnischen Interpretation in der frühgeschichtlichen Archäologie”, in: Pohl, W. (ed.), Die Suche nach den Ursprüngen. Von den Bedeutung des frühen Mittelalters (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 8), Viena, 45-84. - (2005): Ethnos und Mobilität im 5. Jahrhundert aus archäologischer Sicht. Vom Kaukasus bis Niederösterreich (Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist. Kl. Abhandlungen NF 131), München. Brather, S. (2002): «Ethnic Identities as Construction of Archaeology: The case of the Alamanni», in: A. Gillet (ed.): On Barbarian Identity. Critical Approaches to Ethnicity in the Early Middle Ages, Turnhout, 149-175. - (2004): Ethnische Interpretationen in der frühgeschichtlichen Archäologie. Geschichte, Grundlagen und Alternativen (RGA Ergbd. 42), Berlin/New York. (2008): « Bestattungsrituale zur Merowingerzeit. Frühmittelalterliche Reihengräber und der Umgang mit dem Tod », in: Ch. Kümmel – B. Schweizer – U. Veit (eds.): Körperinszenierung, Objektsammlung, Monumentalisierung. Totenritual und Grabkult in frühen Gesellschaften. Archäologische Quellen in kulturwissenschaftlicher Perspektive, Münster, 151–177. - (2009): « Tod und Bestattung im frühen Mittelalter. Repräsentation, Vorstellungswelten und Variabilität am Beispiel merowingerzeitlicher Reihengräberfelder », in: Ethnographisch-Archäologische Zeitschrift 50, 93-115. - Wotzka, H. P. (2006): « Alemannen und Franken? Bestattungsmodi, ethnische Identitäten und wirtschaftliche Verhältnisse zur Merowingerzeit », in: S. Burmeister/N. MüllerScheeßel (eds.) : Soziale Gruppen, kulturelle Grenzen. Die Interpretation sozialer Identitäten in der Prähistorischen Archäologie, Münster, 139–224.

Ferguson, C. (2012): A Comparative Approach to Ethnic Identity and Urban Settlement: Visigothic Spain, Lombard Italy and Merovingian Francia, c. 565-774 AD (Thesis presented for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy University of Edinburgh), Edinburgh. Forde, S. –Lesley, J. –Murray, A. V. (eds.) (1995): Concepts of National Identity in the Middle Ages (Leeds Texts and Monographs, N. S. 14), Leeds. Garipzanov, I. H. – Geary, P. –Urbanczyk, P. (eds.) (2008): Ethnicity, Group Identity and Social Status in the Migration Period, Turnhout. Gazeau, V. –Bauduin, P. –Modéran, Y. (eds.) (2008): Identité et ethnicité. Concepts, débats historiographiques, exemples (IIIème-XIIème siècles) (Tables Rondes du CRAHM 3), Caen. Geary, P. (2002): The Myth of Nations. The Medieval Origins of Europe, Princeton. Gillet, A. (ed.) (2002): On Barbarian Identity. Critical Approaches to Ethnicity in the Early Middle Ages (Studies in the early middle ages 4), Turnhout. Goffart, W. (2006): Barbarian Tides. The Migration Age and the Later Roman Empire, Philadelphia. Green, E. (2011): “Endogenous Ethnicity”, Political Science and Political Economy Working Paper 3, 1-38. Hadley, D. (2004): “Negotiating gender, family and status in Anglo-Saxon burial practices, c. 600-950”, in: L. Brubaker, J.M.H. Smith (eds), Gender in the early Medieval World, Cambridge, 301-323. – Richards, J. D. (eds.) (2000): Cultures in Contact. Scandinavian Settlement in England in the Ninth and Tenth Centuries (Studies in the early middle ages 2), Turnhout.

Corradini, R. –Diesenberger, M. –Reimitz, H. (eds.) (2003): The Construction of Communities in the Early Middle Ages (TRW 12), Leiden/Boston/Cologne. Curta, F. (2007): “Some Remarks About Ethnicity in Medieval Archaeology”, Early Medieval Europe 15, 159-185.

Hakenbeck, S. (2011): « Roman or barbarian? Shifting identities in early medieval cemeteries in Bavaria », Postclassical archaeologies 1, 37–66.

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ETHNICITIES, ENTANGLED IDENTITIES AND OTHERNESS IN LATE ANTIQUE AND EARLY MEDIEVAL EUROPE Views for an Interdisciplinary Research Agenda Jorge LÓPEZ QUIROGA - Michel KAZANSKI - Vujadin IVANIŠEVIĆ __________________________________________________________ Abstract: Identity and Otherness are consubstantial to relations of power and processes of social inequality and we can, and we must, study the evidence, materiality and spatial patterns of these practices. Social Identity changes in diverse cultural encounters and during periods of major social discontinuity or reorganisation, as occur in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. It is, in fact, a dialectic of power that can reflect diverse forms of Identity negotiated at different levels from an individual inside a large family group to local, regional or supraregional communities. In fact, the result is the configuration of ‘overlapping identities’ that are managed at different social levels and in different socio-political contexts. In this sense, we can speak about ‘entangled social identities’. We think that the most suitable way to address such subjects as Ethnicity, Identity and Otherness is through the development of interdisciplinary studies and methodologies. Key Words: Ethnicity – Identity – Otherness – Entanglement – Late Antiquity – Late Antique – Early Medieval

This was completed later with the descriptions of Aristotle and also some ethnographic characteristics described by Posidonius (Timpe 1986). We have here a paradigmatic example of the opposition between Identity (‘We’, Greeks and Romans) and Otherness (the ‘Other’, the Barbarians). Roman authors completed and extended this concept and made descriptions of Barbarians, called ‘Germans’ by Caesar in his work Bellum Gallicum. They gave a first ethno-geographic characterisation and expanded and generalised this concept to all those gentes that lived beyond the Rhine. Caesar created an ethnic frontier between the Germans and the Celts in an arbitrary manner, according to his political projects. For this, the Roman Empire established and supported the creation of a geographical border, the limes, among the Romans (‘We’) and the Barbarians (the ‘Others’). Roman writers elaborated this as an advantageous dominance of Mediterranean men. The Mediterranean (mare nostrum), with its moderate climate, differs from the territories to the north and the south, with their varied extreme temperatures (Pliny, Nat. Hist. 2.80.189-90).

* * *

Ethnographers of Antiquity, who transmitted the first descriptions of the Barbarians (the Celts, Germans and Slavs), presented three points of view (Müller 1972, 1980):

Written sources undoubtedly reflect the Roman and Greek vision of the barbarian world (Lund 1990; Hall 1997): how Rome struggled and used the Barbarians according to its geopolitical and geostrategic interests (Geary 2002; Pohl 1997, 2005a). Roman writers, while ignoring the internal operating mechanisms and sociopolitical organisation of the Barbarians, have not hesitated to attribute names, characteristics and manners in a language and a terminology, and even iconography, understandable only in the context of the Roman interpretatio (Geary 2002; Pohl 1997, 2000, 2005a).

a) A clearly ethnocentric vision surrounding the Mediterranean that is characteristic of the construction of the discourses on Otherness. b) The ‘lifestyle’ of the Barbarians, i.e. its physical appearance and its social, political and military characteristics. This is a typical mechanism for constructing stereotypes that underline the differences between the ‘Other’ and to support Otherness. It should be added that ethnographic groups created by the ancient authors are far from reality. For instance, Procope mentions Alans, Gepides, Ruges and Vandals as ‘Gothic people’ (see Kazanski 2009a: 231).

The image transmitted in the texts about the Barbarians is an accurate reflection of the ideas that Greeks and Romans had about their own world and their environment1. The concept of Barbarian appears in works by Homer and Herodotus, between the eighth and fifth century BC, as the logical result of the natural opposition between Greeks and Barbarians.

c) A systematisation and structuration of the barbarian world in which each group is ideally located at a specific place. Namely the application of geographic parameters that show spatial patterns constructed from ethnographic, political and socio-economic groups among various barbarian peoples.

1 As Antti Lampinen argued in his doctoral thesis, in respect to religious culture and the moral character of the ‘northern barbarians’ the GrecoRoman educated elite employed a set of recurring stock motifs, topoi and stereotypes (Lampinen 2013).

1

Jorge López Quiroga – Michel Kazanski – Vujadin Ivanišević The different sources (stories, chronicles, letters, poems, consularia, codes and legislative compilations, hagiographic texts, notitiae, etc.) (Demandt 1989) inform us in a more or less direct form and through very different perspectives (Publius Cornelius Tacitus in his Germania, Isidore of Seville, in the seventh century, with his book Historia Gothorum, Wandalorum et Sueborum) of the image that the Roman intellectual elite had about the barbarian world from a dominant position within a laudatory propaganda for the Empire and their agents (Pohl 1999, 2005a). This viewpoint is made not only as a colonial power, who thought they had achieved the highest level of civilisation never before accomplished by any Empire, but with the firm conviction that this system of civilisation and the Roman worldview could perish at the hands of Barbarians. This negative image, from the Roman writers on the barbarian world, has influenced many excellent specialists on Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages.

Literary sources don’t provide us with a direct approach to the study of the barbarian world, because they just show a picture of the idea that Rome had about the Barbarians. This image of the barbarian world, which is reflected in the egocentric and ethnocentric Greco-Roman mirror, does not correspond at all to the reality. This would explain the inaccuracies, changes and visible differences in the texts of Roman authors when they give different names to Barbarians, and when they try to specify their spatial location in the Barbaricum. For example, Franks and Alamanni are terms that only appear in the third century, because they are geopolitical categories established by Rome to distinguish the Barbarians who live in Germania Superior and Inferior. Franks and Alamanni are terms that contain different meanings, but not with reference to ethnic type (Pohl 1999a, 2000). The names by which we know the gentes that lived in the Barbaricum are exclusively a Roman invention. Thus the archaeological sources would work with non-existent and ineffective conceptual categories to explain the barbarian world and its material reality. The question of ethnic identity assigned to objects (especially in respect to the funerary world) has always been a central question of the so-called ‘Barbarian Archaeology’, and based on two characteristic elements inherent to the archaeological research: typology and chronology (Schulze-Dörrlam 1986; Tejral 1990, 1997b, 1999, 2011; Shchukin– Kazanski-Sharov 2006; Ebel-Zepezauer 1997; Siegmund 2000; Kazanski 1989; 1991a, 1991b, 1996, 2009; Kazanski-Perin 1997, 2006, 2008, 2009; Sasse 1997, 2000; Ebel-Zepezauer 2000, etc.).

This is the same reading that we find in Hydace, Orosius or Gregory of Tours: A catastrophic and apocalyptic vision (taken to the extreme by Hydace) on the arrival and installation of the Barbarians inside the Roman Empire. The idea of the Barbarians as wild people is identical to that expressed by Caesar and Tacitus half a millennium earlier, because they imitate and repeat the same clichés and stereotypes that Romans and Greeks had before concerning the Barbarians. And this picture transmitted by these ancient ethnographers has influenced, and still influences, the current historical and archaeological research. We must not forget that the references to the Barbarians, and the names by which they are designated, are always made in a context of confrontation and/or geopolitical and military alliances and strategies. However, the Roman had considered some gentes, such as the Isaurians and the Basques, inhabiting the weakly romanised parts of the Empire, as Barbarians (Goffrat 1989, 113).

In this way, archaeologists have proposed interpretations of ethnic type for the recognition of: a) Homogeneous linguistic 2 groups: the Celts (Hallstatt and La Tène cultures), the ‘Germans’ (Jastorf culture), and Slavs (Prag-Korčák and Sukov–Dziedzice cultures).

For the authors of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (i.e. the Getica of Jordanes, Gregory of Tours and his Historiae Francorum, ‘the Venerable’ Bede with his ‘Ecclesiastical History’ about the gentes Anglorum, Paul Deacon and his Historia Langobardorum, Isidore of Seville and the Historiae Gothorum, Wandalorum et Sueborum), it is important to note that their texts are developed in the context of the so-called ‘barbarian monarchies’ of the post-Roman West. And, consequently, written largely to justify their power and their origins in the new socio-political situation in which they develop (Mckitterick 2004; Christensen 2002; Goffart 1988). These works aim to legitimise the power of elites who make up the Frankish, Ostrogoth, Lombard, Saxon and Gothic Kingdoms. To do this, these authors obviously used many clichés and stereotypes from Greek and Roman ethnographers, not hesitating to build mythical and ancient origins for these new socio-political formations.

b) Ethnic groups (individuals and groups of people): the ‘Germans of the Elbe’, the ‘Slavs’ (between the Elbe and the Oder), the Suebi and their variants (Neckarsueben, Donnausueben, etc.), the Goths and the peoples of Eastern Europe, the Franks, the Alemanni, the Vandals, etc. The identification of peoples (Volkern) and tribes (Stammen) mentioned by literary sources, through socalled ‘archaeological cultures’ is the result of the ethnic interpretation of the material record from the time of Kossinna (Kossinna 1911, 1912, 1926). Since Gustaf Kossinna, archaeologists have systematically mapped the dispersion of objects as corresponding to different sets of people (called ‘archaeological cultures’) and their settlements from the written sources. Before and during 2 For more about the relations between Language and Identity see the contributions to the volume co-edited by Walter Pohl and Bernhard Zeller (Pohl-Zeller eds. 2012).

2

Ethnicities, Entangled Identities and Otherness Nazi times physical anthropologists used physical differences of individuals to reconstruct purported Nordic, western and other ‘race-dominated’ societies. The constructed racial background was used to identify ethnic groups and migration through the archaeological record.

heterogeneous groups of Barbarians, philologists, linguists and historians employ prosopography, onomastics and anthroponomy to approach the study of the barbarian elites mentioned in written sources through a lineage that would maintain the Traditionskern and the ethnic identity as a social and cultural indicator (Jarnut 2008).

Currently, archaeologists studying the barbarian world have considerably nuanced the relationship between object and ‘archaeological culture’ with a specific ethnic group (Kazanski-Perin 2008, 2009; Effros 2003, 2004; Brather 2000, 2002, 2004; Bierbrauer 2008; Theuws 2009; Quast 2009; López Quiroga 2010, Von Rummel 2010; Hasall 2011) and above all underline the role of the local communities and elites in the changes in the funerary world more than the migratory processes (Halsall 1992, 1995a, 1998, 2000, 2003, 2007; Härke 2007; Hakenbeck 2008, 2011; Vida 2009; Kontny 2010; López Quiroga 2016, i. p. a, b). However, it’s still considered that archaeology may reflect the migratory movements attested by the texts or that certain types of female burials can be interpreted from an ‘ethnic’ viewpoint, but in both cases with nuances (Bierbrauer 2004, 2008; Eger 2005). It is challenging to distinguish a clear-cut ethnic identity of a territory with multiple ethnic and political identities, as the study of Northern Illyricum in the fifth and sixth centuries has shown (IvaniševićKazanski 2014: 131-160).

According to the German historian Reinhard Wenskus, among the Barbarians a small group conserve the ‘kernel of traditions’ (Traditionskerne), supported by mythical traditions and lifestyles, which he called ‘constitution’ (Verfassung) (Wenskus 1961, 64-76; contra: Kulikowski 2002; Gillet 2002). These groups manage to link larger factions of individuals and to infuse in them a specific ethnic identity. In other words, people whose identity was determined by the belief in a mythic common origin were in fact multi-ethnic groups. Obviously, this multiethnicity is not so clearly shown in the texts of Roman authors. However, this explanation offers a different picture of the gentes that compose the barbarian world. Today it is no longer possible to speak about mass movements of peoples with an ethnically closed character that move constantly throughout the Roman Empire. In the context of the so-called Germanischer Altertumskunde, the ‘Vienna School’ (Wolfram 1975a, 1975b, 1976, 1977, 1990, 2005a) and the ‘German School’ (Claude 1971, 1978, 1980; Geuenich-HaubrichJarnut eds, 1977; Castritius 1985) along with scholars in the Iberian Peninsula (García Moreno 1974, 1994, 1999, 1998, 2007, 2009), have developed this type of philological research based on the paradigm of Ethnogenesis. In this approach, the protagonists of the various Ethnogenesis would be a very small minority of lineages considered noble or aristocratic who maintain the ethnic traditions (Stammenstraditionen) of a people and the institution of kingship. Obviously, it is a vision that offers an elitist interpretation about barbarian societies without the social aspects of them (Brather 2004, 157). Certainly, the ethnic content (theoretically implicit in Anthroponomy and Onomastics)3 in terms of the exercise of political power by an elite in the territorial domain is otherwise a modern reading that forms part of the construction of the current historical discourse on barbarian societies. In this sense, there is a strong need for the construction of nationalist myths that content, support and justify the political context in which these discourses appear (Haubrichs 2008). It is an elitist view of past societies through our present, which does not reflect the reality (the filter of Roman interpretatio would always be present) (Rübekeil 2008), but simply reproduces the contemporary state of the

The question is not how ethnic identities can be derived from archaeological data, but if it is really possible to establish a direct relationship between ethnos (as a ethnographic concept) and culture (as a concept derived from the spatial homogeneity of a determinate type of object from the archaeological record) from a strict methodological point of view (Brather 2004: 159-160). Archaeology aims to document: the cultural and ethnic continuity over time, the movements of individuals belonging to specific cultures and ethnic groups (migration), the identity of ‘foreign’ individuals (ethnic minorities) in a specific cultural and ethnic context, and even to describe societies as ethnically homogeneous and heterogeneous (according to the Ethnogenesis paradigm). Identity in Late Antiquity was a complex construction that was constantly in flux. It cannot be interpreted by the means of modernising the past. However, archaeology and linguistics work with completely different concepts regarding the barbarian world, which is an obvious methodological problem when we are trying to implement a true interdisciplinary approach between them (Brather 2004, 165). From the 1960s, and with the application of concepts and methods of Anthropology, Sociology, Ethnology and from a historical perspective, the concept of Ethnogenesis (Stammesbildung) emerged as an explanatory paradigm of the barbarian world (Wenskus 1961; Wolfram 1975a, 1975b, 1976, 1977). Based on the idea of the maintenance of the so-called ‘tradition core’ (Traditionskern) by a small elite at the top of

3 It is extremely new and suggested by the recent research of the geographer Pablo Mateos (in fact his doctoral dissertation) about “Names, Ethnicity and Populations. Tracing Identity in Space”. In his book Mateos argues that combinations of forenames and surnames can be used to predict the ethnicity of an individual, and that the distribution of names in a country maps that of its ethnic communities. Obviously, Mateos does not suggest that name determines ethnicity or vice versa, but rather that both are correlated (Mateos 2014).

3

Jorge López Quiroga – Michel Kazanski – Vujadin Ivanišević characterised from the Eusebian notions of a Roman Empire identified by the Christian religion and the Barbarians distinguished as heretics to the Augustine ideals of a civitas dei (Markus 1970: 35-61). Ethnic identities as a principle of social distinction, resource of political loyalties and narrative horizon of History, emerged in the fifth century in the Western Roman Empire. The sustainable success of ethnic discourse in the period of Late Antiquity is because the leaders of post-Roman barbarian kingdoms used them to their advantage in order to define their identity. These myths of origins (origines gentium), constructed by the early medieval authors 5 , contributed fundamentally to the construction of identities (Pohl 2005b). For example, as also emphasised by Walter Pohl “The Origines gentium are practically unusable as a source for reconstructing the early history of the Goths and Lombards, but through this text can be studied the construction of identities in the kingdoms of the Middle Ages” (Pohl 2005b).

historiographical debate based on theoretical conceptual categories. Walter Pohl distinguishes two “conflicting modes” of interpretation: “One school has brought together an impressive stock of ethnographic and mythological parallels to prove the basic authenticity of the material in these histories even where it is legendary. Others have argued for the more or less fictional character of these texts” (Pohl 2000a: 9-10). The Barbarians were not conscious of being Barbarians; they also lacked a sense of belonging to a specific group. Ethnic identity was not a preoccupation for all Barbarians outside of a small elite encouraged and stimulated by Rome. Our image of the Barbarians is that which Rome has left us. A portrait full of topics, clichés and stereotypes built under an egocentric and imperialist vision of the world, the result of a persistent dynamic of conquest and expansion of the Roman Empire. The sources available for historians, archaeologists, epigraphists, and philologists are the result of the creation of Greco-Roman civilisation, a ‘barbarian world’ absolutely unreal and mythical. The combination, actually unfortunately more theoretical than realistic, of different types of sources (with the help of other disciplines such as Genetics and Palaeoanthropology) could perhaps permit a more convincing approach to the Barbarians. Nevertheless our image is always conditioned and influenced by the Greco-Roman filter, because it determines the reading and interpretation of the barbarian world from the Renaissance to our present day.

Developing an Interdisciplinary Research Agenda To overcome the dichotomy between texts and archaeology, with the improvement of different historiographical discourses and methodological approaches, we must start from the beginning with a real dialogue between historians and archaeologists with the support of specialists in other fields such as Sciences. For this it is necessary to create the foundations of a true interdisciplinary approach taking into account the following aspects, which could constitute a small step towards developing a possible interdisciplinary research agenda:

The association between cultural areas, where there is a homogeneous ‘material culture’ archaeologically defined, and the ‘migration’ of the Barbarians, as Roman writers described them, confronts a fundamental problem: the creation, and we can even say the invention of the barbarian world by the Roman political and military genius. Archaeologists seek to relate the distribution of a series of objects (normally found in a funerary context) with the image proportionate to texts which gives a misleading result: the collision of two different disciplines and methodologies, especially difficult to reconcile both with regard to questions of Ethnicity, Identity and Otherness.

a) A constructive criticism of attitudes, conceptual and methodological positions of historians and archaeologists around Ethnicity, Identity and Otherness and the limits and possibilities of the archaeological record and written sources to study these issues. The treatment of these questions in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages raises more conceptual, methodological and, above all, ideological problems than for other periods in which one speaks unambiguously of identities (without the shadow of the ethnic paradigm) and their relation with materiality and issues such as migration, colonisation and hybridisation. In proto-history or in classical archaeology, for example, the influence of long-term material and social dynamics in the formulation and establishing of people’s identities is frequently spoken about (KnappDommelen 2010: 10-11). Material culture can not only reflect social identities but can also play an important role in its creation and transformation (Hales-Hodos 2009).

Walter Pohl emphasises as well: "To understand, in their context, the picture proportioned by the texts it is more important to describe the post-Roman kingdoms of the fifth to eighth centuries as political and cultural specific spaces. What does ethnic identity mean in the postRoman Europe?" (Pohl 2005b). Pohl rightly points out that in the construction processes of socio-political identities factors such as the Christian faith and church organisation4 must be taken into account. Christianity in Late Antiquity multiplied the ethnographic meaning

Any individual, at any time in History, faces questions of individual and collective identity and this does not mean that ethnicity constitutes a unique and central concern in

4 Including, of course, monasticism and the different markers of identity perceptible through monastic rules (tonsure, liturgy, solitude, confession, etc.). See the interesting and suggestive study of Yaniv Fox about Columbanian monasticism, Frankish elites and the construction of monastic and familial identities in Merovingian Gaul: Fox 2014: 221293.

5 About the construction of the myth origins by early medieval authors the different contributions to the volume co-edited by Richard Corradini, Rob Meens, Christina Pössel and Philip Shaw are fundamental (Corradini et al. 2006).

4

Ethnicities, Entangled Identities and Otherness Identity. In this sense, it would be to undertake a comprehensive methodology of the study of rites and burial customs in the long term (Late Antiquity and Middle Ages) to analyse the changes in the types and modes of burial (Lăzărescu 2008; Cosma 2009). To study the rites and burial customs effectively an authentic archaeology of rites and burial through a specific attention to funerary deposits and corpse taphonomy is necessary, as we have also found in proto-historical archaeology. From an archaeological point of view it is only possible to study funerary actions, but not strictly rites because these derive from the interaction between actions and thoughts. We speak about the so-called Archaeotanatology, the ‘Archaeology of the Dead’ (Duday 2009). It is therefore essential to analyse, following the methodological approaches of forensic medicine and anthropology, the modes of preservation of organic elements after burial, before burial, and the objects deposited and handled in connection with the funeral rite.

everyday life. What is certain is that Identity is not only a theoretical issue and its evidence is reflected not only through the written sources. We must try to analyse and interpret, without out-dated ideological preconceptions, the connections between Identity and materiality during Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. In this sense, Archaeology should be determined when different types of identities are likely to be proclaimed as distinguishing features, and what kinds of materials might be employed as media for such Identity statements. For instance, the connection between gender and Identity brings us another completely different perspective in respect to mortuary customs and their connection with the use of dress and ethnic Identity (Halsall 1996; Hadley ed. 1999; 2004; Effros 2004; Arnold 2007). Certainly, dress has an important meaning in ancient societies and constitutes a privileged field through which individuals negotiate their identity and overall the only way in which certain social constructs could be communicated, especially gender, status and Ethnicity 6 . The funerary world, and particularly mortuary practices, during Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, is not immune to such social constructions which are the result of a complex process of negotiated identities.

In this sense, it is indispensable to differentiate the types of funerary deposits between individual burials and funerary complexes; and among multiple (bodies that have been deposited simultaneously, as evidence of massacres, plagues, floods, etc.) or collective (corpses that have been deposited at different times with funeral structures frequently reopening) burials. Also, a crucial distinction must be made between primary and secondary burials. To arrive at this division we need to distinguish: firstly, between the primary (corpse) or secondary (loose bones) character of the deposit, that is the human remains; secondly, if the burial is proper (primary or secondary), because in secondary burials it is necessary to demonstrate the manipulation of dry bones to distinguish the first and subsequent burials as is frequently observed in the case of reductions (Duday 2009). In Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages the presence of different types of funerary deposits is usual. Obviously, the significance of the deposits (habitually utilised as parameters of Ethnicity or Identity) derives from their typology and function, but also from their location, inside or outside the tomb, in relation to the corpse. It will be very interesting to study the precise place of each object (ceramic, glass, metal, etc.) in respect to the corpse and their frequency in a determined position. While wondering about the position of certain objects, seemingly out of their original place. For example, the situation of the brooches or fibulae is normally found on top shoulder or at breast height. But sometimes (and we could also say with a relative frequency) their position is different on the body of the corpse. This could be due to the processes during the decomposition of the body, when elements of grave furniture and dress may be displaced, like anatomical structures. In consequence to reconstruct the exact situation of the funerary deposits it is crucial to take into consideration the changes in the volume of the corpse during its decomposition (Duday 2009). We have also to be very conscious of the possibilities of grave robbery

b) An open dialogue with specialists in disciplines such as Geography, Ethnography, Comparative Sociology, Philology, Social, Physical and Forensic Anthropology7, Evolutionary and Molecular Biology through the use of their conceptual categories and methodological approaches. Disciplines such as Sociology, Social and Forensic Anthropology (through Paleopathology) or Molecular Biology (through aDNA 8 and Isotope Analysis) could help so much to define and understand Ethnicity and Identity from another’s point of view 9 . Also, the propositions and current methodological debates and approaches in other disciplines distinct from History and Archaeology could help us, for example, to speak (but always without ideological preconceptions) about social inequality and the transition from ‘egalitarian societies’ to leadership and elite constructions. In this sense, the recent model proposed by Powers and Lehmann regarding the transition from egalitarianism to leadership in Neolithic societies is very stimulating and sheds a different light to the transition from the Roman Empire to the construction of Regna and their elites in Late Antiquity and Early Medieval Europe(Powers-Lehmann 2014). c) A different approach to the funerary world, which was often in the past a misleading indicator of Ethnicity and 6 See the recent work of Mireille M. Lee about Body, Dress and Identity in Ancient Greece: Lee 2015. 7 Vid. infra: Luis Ríos Frutos. 8 Criticals overviews about the limits and possibilities of aDNA analysis: Lidén-Götherström 1999; Hills 2009. We can see a very recent example of the DNA possibilities for studying migratory movements in the Early Middle Ages and its reflection in the current population applied to the Italian region of Piedmont in: Vai-Ghirotto-Pilli-TassiLari-Rizzi et al. 2015. 9 Vid. infra: Jorge López Quiroga.

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Jorge López Quiroga – Michel Kazanski – Vujadin Ivanišević group’ and an ‘out-group’ on both sides of a border: As the Romans and the Barbarians on both sides of the limes under the rule of the Roman Empire; or the Barbarians and the post-Roman regional communities in the frame of the complex processes of construction and competition between the new socio-political entities in the West, after the fall of the political superstructure created by the Roman Empire (Revell 2009). The frontier regions were also important foci of communal identity especially for the gentes barbarae recruited in the Roman army.

that could imply erroneous conclusions on the funerary deposits and burial customs. In this volume various authors, from different points of view, write about the use, sense, significance and limits of three concepts regarding the study of ‘barbarian societies’: Identity: understood as individual or collective identity expressed in the texts or through different material elements, and particularly in the funerary world10; Otherness: used as the quality or fact of being different of other, also as an individual or collective countenance of uniqueness 11 ; and above all Entangled Social Identities12: in the sense of a plurality of identities that are continually negotiated both in an individual or collective way inside a restricted social community or in regard to other socio-political entities dominant or dominated13.

This process works on different scales in regard to Identity and Otherness constructions: from an individual or little familial (restricted or large) groups (as we see frequently in the funerary world) through gangs (groups of socio-political and military elites) to new ‘national’ (regna, gentes) imagined communities (Swabian, Vandal, Visigoth, Frankish, Burgundian or Lombard kingdoms). Certainly, Geography is an effective producer of Otherness, as well as physical anthropology, history and archaeology, which provide us discursive constructions of Identity and Otherness. Identity and Otherness, obviously, are consubstantial to relations of power and processes of social inequality and we can, and we must, study the evidence, materiality and spatial patterns of these practices. Certainly, for the elites (at different social levels) “space was a valuable asset in the struggle to maintain and reproduce lordship” and “spaces had different social values, and space reproduced and projected these differences in social value” (Hansson 2006: 197). Social Identity changes in diverse cultural encounters and during periods of major social discontinuity or reorganisation, as occurs in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages.

Evidently, Otherness and Identity are two inseparable sides of the same coin: “the ‘Other’ only exists relative to the Self, and vice versa” (Staszak 2008). In this sense, we can see in the two concepts a ‘positive’ and a ‘negative’ significance and point of view. Otherness in Human Geography is the result of a discursive process by which a dominant in-group (‘Us’, the ‘Self’) constructed one or many dominant Out-groups (‘Them’, ‘Other’) by stigmatising a difference (real or imagined) presented as a negation of Identity and thus a motive for potential discrimination (Staszak 2008). For example, biological sex is difference and gender14 Otherness. The asymmetry in power relationships is central in the construction of Otherness, and this is fundamental for the study of the ‘barbarian societies’ and their accommodation/integration/exclusion in the different regional post-Roman societies in Late Antiquity and Early Medieval Europe 15 . Identity and Otherness are bases on a binary logic that works in the West from Greek times with the first constructions about ‘Us’ (the Greek-speakers) and the ‘Others’ (the Barbarians, the non Greek-speakers).

This dynamic of constant negotiation of identities between elites (dominant or dominated) and among local communities with local elites or supra-regional powers reminds us of the theoretical work of Immanuel Wallerstein based on the World System Analysis. In this sense, the reflections of Thomas Hall are very stimulating, because he proposes that all forms of identification “occur within a world systemic context, and are part and parcel of the dialectic between social local groups in the complex relations of production and exchange with the overall system” (Hall 2014). It is, in fact, a dialectic of power that can reflect diverse forms of Identity negotiated at different levels from an individual inside a large family group to local, regional or supraregional communities. In fact, the result is the configuration of ‘overlapping identities’ that are managed at different social levels and in different socio-political contexts: entangled social identities.

Also extremely interesting for our subject are the territorial constructions found in the creation and negotiation of diverse forms of Identity and Otherness. Indeed, territorial constructions are created less to separate pre-existing communities that to confer geographical identities on one another, creating an ‘inSpecifically about ‘ethnic identity’ see the contributions of Michel Kazanski, Anna Mastykova and Patrick Perin. Ethnicity as a ‘situational construct’ can be seen in the papers of Jörg Kleemann and Dawn Hadley. 11 As we can appreciate in the texts of Michel Rouche, Bruno Dumezil and Sebastian Brather. 12 The term ‘Entangled’ is taken from Ian Hodder (Hodder 2012). See also infra: Jorge López Quiroga. 13 Vid. infra the texts of Jörg Kleemann, Annamaria Pazienza, Florin Curta, Tivadar Vida, Dawn Hadley and Jorge López Quiroga. 14 A complete and recent synthesis on gender studies in medieval Europe in: Bennett-Karras 2013. 15 The image and the relation with the ‘other’ (and with the ‘foreigner’) are crucial in the construction of early medieval power relationships, see in this sense: Gantner 2014. 10

We don’t want to, and won’t, say much more in this preliminary text about Ethnicity, especially considering that the editors of this volume, and the authors of this paper, may have different views on this issue. In any case, nobody believes today, or has for quite some time, in the existence of biologically definite monolithic ethnic

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Ethnicities, Entangled Identities and Otherness identities. Nevertheless, and here we have left the discussion open, it is excessively negativistic and reductionist to see Ethnicity or Identity only as a ‘state of mind’ (Halsall 2011: 25). Of course, Ethnic Identity is situational, constructed, shifting, nested, negotiated and always fluent. But in the same way that relations of power and social inequality leave indubitable material traces, why could not Ethnic Identity, as a result of power relations, geopolitical and socio-political strategies, have left visible traces16? We think that the most suitable way to address these subjects is through the development of interdisciplinary studies and methodologies, but not in the framework of a ‘nihilistic revisionist wave’, or a ‘contrarevisionist scholastic’ reaction. The following studies, which make up this volume, should be, and we think they are, a step in the right direction.

Castritius, H. (1985): «Namenkundliche Argumentation am Beispiel der Amalersippe», Beiträge zu Namenforschungen XX, 259-270. Christensen, A. S. (2002): Cassiodorus Jordanes and the History of the Goths. Studies in a Migration Myth, Copenague. Claude, D. (1971): Adel, Kirche und Königtum im Westgotenreich, Sigmaringen. - (1978): «Prosopographie des spanischen Suebenreiches», Francia VI, 647-676. - (1980): «Die Ostgotischen Königserhebungen», in: Die Völker an der mittleren und unteren Donau im fünften und sechsten Jahrhundert (eds. H. Wolfram-F. Daim), Viena, 149-186. Corradini, R. et al. (eds.) (2006): Texts & Identities in the Early Middle Ages (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 12), Vienna.

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Jorge López Quiroga – Michel Kazanski – Vujadin Ivanišević - (1999a): «Zur Bedeutung ethnischer Unterscheidungen in der frühen Karolingerzeit», Studien Sachsenforschungen 12, 193208. - (2000): Die Germanen, Munich. - (2000a): “Memory, Identity and Power in Lombard Italy”, in: The Uses of the Past in the Early Middle Ages (ed. Y. Hen and M. Innes), Cambridge, 9-28. - (2005a): Die Völkerwanderung. Eroberung und Integration (2ª ed.), Stuttgart. - (2005b): „Aux origines d’une Europe ethnique. Transformation d’identités entre Antiquité et Moyen Âge“, Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 60.1, 183-208. Pohl, W. – Zeller, B. (eds.) (2012): Sprache und Identität (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 20), Vienna.

- (1997b): «Les fédérés de l’Empire et la formation des royaumes barbares dans la région du Danube moyen à la lumière des données archéologiques», in: F. Vallet, M. Kazanski, P. Perin (eds.), Des Royaumes Barbares au Regnum Francorum. L’Occident à l’époque de Childéric et de Clovis (vers 450-vers 530), Paris, 137-166. - (1999): «Archäologisch-kulturelle Entwicklung im norddanubischen Raum am Ende der Spätkaiserzeit und am Anfang der Völkerwanderungszeit», in: J. Tejral-Ch. Pilet-M. Kazanski (eds.): L’Occident romain et l’Europe au début de l’époque des Grandes Migrations, Brno, 205-271. - (2011) Einheimische und Fremde. Das norddanubische Gebiet zur Zeit der Völkerwanderungszeit, Brno. Theuws, F. (2009): «Grave goods, ethnicity, and the rhetoric of burial rites in Late Antique Northern Gaul», T. Derks - N. Roymans (eds.), Ethnic Constructs in Antiquity. The role of Power and Tradition, Amsterdam, 283-320. - Nelson, J. (eds.) (1999): Rituals of Power from Late Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages (TRW 6), Leiden.

Power, S. T. – Lehmann, L. (2014): « An evolutionary model explaining the Neolithic transition from egalitarianism to leadership and despotism”, Proceedings of the Royal Society of Biological Science, vol. 281, no 1791. Quast, D. (2009): «Communication, Migration, Mobility and Trade. Explanatory Models for Exchange Processes from the Roman Iron Age to the Viking Age», in: Foreigners in Early Medieval Europe (ed. D. Quast) (Thirteen International Studies on Early Medieval Mobility), Mainz, 1-26.

Timpe, D. (1986): «Ethnologische Begriffsbildung in der Antike», in: Germanenprobleme in heutiger Sicht (H. Beck, Hrsg.) (RLGA, Ergänzungsband 1), Berlin-New York, 22-40. Vai, S. – Ghirotto, S. – Pilli, E. – Tassi, F. – Lari, M. – Rizzi, E. et al. (2015): “Genealogical Relationships between Early Medieval and Modern Inhabitants of Piedmont”, PLoS ONE 10(1): e0116801. doi:10.1371.

Revell, L. (2009): Roman Imperialism and local identities, Cambridge. Rübekeil, L. (2008): «Ethnisches in germanischen Personennamen?», in: Nomen et Fraternitas (Festschrift für Dieter Geuenich zum 65. Geburtstag, Hrsg. U. Ludwig-Th. Schilp), Berlin-New York, 23-38.

Vida, T. (2009): “Local or foreign romans? The problem of the late antique population of the 6th-7th centuries ad in Pannonia”, in: Dieter Quast (ed.), Foreigners in Early Medieval Europe (Thirteen International Studies on Early Medieval Mobility / Monographien des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Band 78), Mainz, 233-259.

Sasse, B. (1997): «Die Westgoten in Südfrankreich und Spanien. Zum Problem der archäologischen Identifikation einer wandernden ‘gens’», Archäologische Informationen 20/1, 2948. - (2000): ‘Westgotische’ Gräberfelder auf der Iberischen Halbinsel: am Beispiel der Funde aus El Carpio de Tajo (Torrijos, Toledo), Maguncia. Staszak, J. F. (2008): “Other/Otherness”, in: International Encyclopaedia of Human Geography, Elsevier.

Von Rummel, Ph. (2007): Habitus barbarus. Kleidung und Repräsentation spätantiker Éliten im 4. und 5. Jahrhundert, Berlin-New York. - (2010): „Gotisch, Barbarisch oder Römisch? Methodologische Überlegungen zur ethnischen Interpretation von Kleidung“, in: Walter Pohl- Mathias Mehofer (Hrg.), Archaeology of Identity – Archäologie der Identität, Viena, 51-77.

Shchukin, M. B. – Kazanski, M. -Sharov, O. (2006): Des Goths aux Huns (BAR International Series 1535), Oxford.

Wenskus, R. (1961): Stammesbildung und Verfassung. Das Werden der frühmittelalterlichen gentes, Colonia-Graz.

Schulze-Dörrlam, M. (1986): «Romanisch oder Germanisch? Untersuchungen zu den Armbrust-und Bügelknopffibeln des 5. und 6. Jahrhunderts n. Chr. aus den gebieten westlich des Rheins und südlich der Donau», JRGZ 33, 593-723.

Wolfram, H. (1975a): «Gotische Studien I. Das Richtertum Athanarics», MIOG LXXXIII, 1-32. - (1975b): «Gotische Studien II. Die terwingische Stammesverfassung und das Bibelgotische (I)», MIOG LXXXIII, 289-324. - (1976): «Gotische Studien III. Die terwingische Stammesverfassung und das Bibelgotische (II)», MIOG LXXXIII, 239-261. - (1977): «Theogonia, Ethnogenese und ein kompromittierter Grossvater im Stammbaum Theodorichs des Großen», in: Festschrift für Helmut Beumann, Sigmaringen, 80-97. - (1990): Das Reich und die Germanen, Berlin. - (2005): Gotische Studien. Volk und Herrschaft im frühen Mittelalter, Munich.

Siegmund, F. (2000): Alamannen und Franken (Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, Ergänzungsband 23), BerlinNew York. Tejral, J. (1997a): «Neue Aspekte der frühvölkerwanderungszeitlichen Chronologie im Mitteldonauraum», in: J. Tejral-H. Freisinger-M.Kazanski (Hrsg.): Neue Beiträge zur Erforschung der Spätantike im mittleren Donauraum, Brno, 321-392.

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CHRISTIAN SAPIN

THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF IDENTITIES AND ALTERITIES Opposite Perspectives for the Early Middle Ages* Sebastian BRATHER _______________________________________________ Abstract: The concept of “identity” has heuristic and analytical value in explaining the constitution and action of social groups. “Otherness” is always included in discourses of identity – both are intertwined. Identities constituted political associations, which were named by ethnic terms; they were culturally heterogeneous, more heterogeneous as modern ideas suggested for a long time. The concept of “identity” is suggested to separate early medieval ethnic groups on the basis of grave goods. In a way, the “culture-historical” view in archaeology is equivalent to ancient ethnographies. Culture-historical archaeology tends to presuppose culturally homogeneous and cohesive groups, and to approximate them to the familiar ideal of modern states. This view is based largely on a “geographical” argument – the spatial occurrence of certain grave goods. Identities, however, are determined by social conditions and perceptions, ethnic symbols are therefore “arbitrary” – and space a social construction. Local and small regional identities seem more promising for early medieval archaeology than ethnic alterities – because archaeological features reflect social practices and agencies, and they derive directly from the population in question. Key Words: Identity – Otherness – Local/Regional – Early Middle Ages

basis of the “ethnic paradigm” in archaeology – for example, the distinction between Romans and ancient Germans or between Franks and Alamanni. The aim is to distinguish “tribes” and “peoples” from each according to their material culture. This way alterities are identified by archaeologists, between early medieval political groups and cultural areas. Identity seems to be felt with our time, when it comes to studying the Merovingian period. Before such perspectives can be discussed here, the concept of “identity” and its counterpart, the “otherness”, has to be outlined (1). Then a short overview of recent “culture-historical” approaches in Central Europe is given (2), before a sketch on alternative approaches follows that have been established over the last two decades (3). They turn around the view in some respect and consider the early middle ages basically “different” from today, analysing identity groups in the past. In a final comparison modern and antique perspectives from outside and from inside are juxtaposed to emphasize the contrast between both perspectives (4). The aim is to argue for an inversion of the common perspective: to look for identities of past societies and social groups. 1. Identity as balance: between fragmentation and totality

* * * To consider the “other”, is an important aspect of culturehistorical research today. The “other” is used for selfreflection, which like a mirror can show the own much more clearly. In Central Europe, early medieval archaeology traditionally looks for both the own and the other. How it is done, is revealing methodologically and reflects the history of research.

Much is published on “identity” – to which medieval archaeologists from Freiburg University contribute since more than 15 years1 –, and many considerations have been made. Through Lutz Niethammer’s voluminous study on collective identity it became apparent, on what problematic sources the widespread use of the term is grounded (Niethammer 2000). The labelling should not be used too “firm” (essentialist) and not too “weak” (constructivist), so that analytically the detailed investigation of “identification and categorization, self-understanding and social position, community and connectedness” is necessary (Brubaker 2007: 13).

On one hand, the Merovingian period (5th to 8th centuries) is often not perceived as culturally different; instead “our” modern political circumstances are reflected and a situation similar to our “own” is expected. This approach e. g. was made by an international exhibition in Mannheim, Paris and Berlin on the Franks as a “the pioneers of Europe” 1996/1997, which presented a “multicultural” Merovingian kingdom of different “peoples” (Franken 1996; Francs 1997). This kingdom resembled much to the European Union, which sees itself as a Europe of regions. Secondly, one often interprets differences in material culture – especially clothing components and grave forms, but also weapons and vessels – as evidence for “others” in the early middle ages. It is, ultimately, the

* This article is a revised version of a manuscript which will be published as follows: Brather, S., “Alteritäten und Identitäten. Perspektivenwechsel in der Frühmittelalterarchäologie”, in: T. L. Kienlin (ed.): Fremdheit. Perspektiven auf das Andere (Kölner Beiträge zu Archäologie und Kulturwissenschaften 1) (in print). 1 The interdisciplinary project Sonderforschungsbereich 541 “Identitities and alterities. The role of alterity for the constitution and construction of identity” (1997–2003) was of major importance. Cf. especially the references to the studies of Hubert Fehr, Philipp von Rummel and Heiko Steuer in the following text.

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However, the term is likely to promise some analytical gain if carefully used. Its importance lies in the fact that it emphasizes the assertion of identity – in the sense of equality of all group members. The appearance shall hide that behind this aspect of identity considerable differences exist that are neglected due to certain reasons in specific situations. Identities make attributions and thus establish “social constructions” that are nevertheless of importance and explosiveness. Without them there is no social cohesion (Brather 2004: 97–117; 2011; 2012).

the observer than about the actual conditions of the observed people (Dauge 1981). Internal views and external perception are closely linked, but in a “reciprocal” relationship. Both are interdependent, and a foreign assignment says little about the actual self-image of the observed – because it does not rely on their own standards, but to those of the observer. The observation can influence their identity, sooner or later, due to unequal power relations or to long-term contacts. Identity uses the perception from outside to expose one’s own. This perception is based on categorizations, order patterns and stereotypes (Brubaker 2007: 107–115) – in order to mobilise cultural differrence(s) politically.

First, there are individuals who have an identity. This applies in a very direct way because everybody is unique – and identical with himself. Beyond this literal use of the term everybody occupies roles in specific social contexts. Everybody comes from a family defined by kindredship; thus, prestige or status may be linked. Furthermore gender and age are important references that co-decide about identities. Integrations of religious nature are included as well as ethnic or regional networks. Their diversity reveals how complex identities of individuals not only cannot be, but actually are. It is mainly a terminological difference if this is described as diverse identities of one individual or as diverse aspects of its identity; I prefer the first notion in order to pronounce the complexity.

Identity constructions are always determined by the situation in which they arise and are addressed. Individuals act differently depending on the context, because it is important to behave “properly”. In a specific situation delineation and mapping must work. In the family context, this is achieved by means other than in the general public, which in turn follows different rules and expectations than in a professional context or at cultural events. The situation also relates to the action of groups. They can emphasize language or habitus, cultural characteristics, social or religious differences as an opportunity to highlight differences and togetherness respectively. In doing so, somebody is included in the group, and this also means the exclusion of others. Erecting borders has inevitably this double character. Similar to identity and alterity, inclusion and exclusion go hand in hand and are possible only in combination. Primarily identity has an integrative effect that enables social cohesion and meets the core needs of social groups.

Thus social groups are addressed. They can exist only if they possess a group identity. The reason is that actual diversity of the group members must be covered in order to achieve cohesion. In many ways – leaving aside the suggested ascription by this – there are differences, determined by gender, age, family, possessions, or the like as mentioned above. Depending on the context, they are purposefully hidden, because a different assignment lays in the foreground and makes others appearing as secondary or tertiary ones. Complex overlays are typical. Individuals do not belong to one group only, but to various groups simultaneously. This leads to practical problems, but contradictions must be endured because identity overlays cannot be avoided. Which identity is emphasized depends on the current situation. Other assignments are then temporarily subordinated, but can quickly be updated and advanced.

Assignments follow interests. They are not simply present or have unconsciously developed. If so they would not possess the importance they really have for social groups and societies. But interests guide them; one pursues goals, and to achieve them, assignments are useful. To belong to a group stronger than others in a given situation, gives advantages – access to resources, status, and possessions. Therefore, identities are not stable, and they can evolve with changing interests too. This can be generalised. Identities gain importance only if they are expressed and demonstrated. One cannot hide them if they should become relevance. Then one has to behave – again appropriate and depending on the situation – in a way that affiliations and assignments are visible. Then their perception and appreciation decide about success. This could be characterised as performativity. At the same time it has to be stated that specific actions, habit or symbols are crucial where boundaries are drawn and which assignments are emphasized.

Identity can only develop when there are others to which differences are emphasized. One needs the mirror to recognise one’s individuality. Analytically, this attribute of the other is called alterity. Only on this basis a group can develop an idea of its characteristics, which in turn will give the group strength and duration. The classical Greeks became aware of their “Hellenism” beyond their numerous poleis, to which they had previously been associated, only in the confrontation with the Persian military around 500 BC. The developed image of the Persians – the alterity constructed by the Greeks – hardly corresponded to a nuanced view, but represented a black and white coloured image of the enemy or of a “counterworld”. In other cases, such as the Roman ethnography of barbarians, the external perspective reveals more about

According to J. Straub one can imagine identity – as an attempt to achieve the unity of differences – on a wide scale (Fig. 1) (Straub 2004). The ends of the scale form extremes that are only theoretically possible, but im-

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possible in social practice. One end would be characterized by complete fragmentation, so that cultural and social differences of any kind would not be bridged – such a fragmented society could not exist. Also just theoretically the other extreme appears, in which differences are levelled and complete equality achieved, and indeed it is virtually and historically impossible. Yet identity is not static, stable and strong – its place on the abstract scale is mobile.

Two examples may illustrate such approaches: 1. The dichotomist separation of Germans and Romans. V. Bierbrauer identifies Romans within Frankish settlement regions. This is based on the definition of two “cultural models” that are presented as ideal types with their “genuine characteristics” derived from those regions in which Romans e. g. had been “completely untouched by acculturation phenomena” initiated by dominating Germanic groups (Bierbrauer 1996: 111) “The defining characteristic [of Romans – SB] is the regular absence of grave goods, established by strict rules as a result of Christianity” (Bierbrauer 1996: 111). In the 6th and 7th century “the regular absence of grave furnishing was often neglected” by Romans, but it should not be interpreted as a “temporary and partial Frankishness” of them (Bierbrauer 1996: 111). In contrast, Germans only should have buried their dead with extensive grave goods. Changes in the two “genuine cultural models” are considered by Bierbrauer as „acculturation”, as an exclusive approximation of one side to the other – as a significant change, if not abandoning of ethnic identity (Fig. 2). Acculturation therefore leads „in the end in the west of the Frankish territory to a permanent Romanization of the Franks and in the East to a permanent Frankonization of the Romans” (Bierbrauer 1996: 113). In fact, Bierbrauer looks for religious differences. Not only the “Roman absence of grave goods” is explained with Christian beliefs, but also Germanic grave furnishings are connected with “old pagan afterlife conceptions” (Bierbrauer 1996: 120; Stein 2004). Thus, the tombs are regarded as expressions of religious affiliation, which does not fit quite well on the political situation of the time: the Merovingian Empire was a Christian empire, and the Franks were Christians – Clovis was baptized around 500 AD (Hen 1995; Effros 2002). The grave furnishing had other than religious reasons apparently.

Straub also makes clear that both extremes come close to modern socio-political model concepts. Totality – in other words, homogeneity – has matches with totalitarian concepts by expecting impossible equality of all (identity in the strict sense of the word). Fragmentation on the other hand would be a condition that would come into existence through laissez-faire, and the lack of even marginal similarities would prevent social cohesion. Straub’s approach makes clear that neither concept can “work” – identity always requires a more or less central position, although this “place” is movable, and identity changeable. It decides who belongs to and who the others are. 2. The culture-historical view: alterities and totalities Merovingian archaeology relies primarily on grave finds, and that triggers the wide interest in it. Meanwhile, tens of thousands of graves have been excavated. The extensive grave goods form an excellent basis to detect temporal and spatial developments. Typology, chronology and find distribution are therefore preferred themes of Central European early medieval archaeology (Siegmund 1998; Koch 2001). Row grave cemeteries are the typical Merovingian period burial sites; they have, from an analytical point of view, four primary and two secondary characteristics (Fehr 2008: 77, fig. 1): they have inhumations (1) with east-west orientation (2), while women are often buried with clothing or jewellery components (3) and men with weapons (4). A more or less line arrangement of the tombs (5) is – contrary to the established term – not necessary, and only for long-term occupancy large cemeteries with hundreds of burials (6) developed. These cemeteries appear across northern Gaul to Britain and Pannonia and to the Iberian Peninsula.

2. The distinction of “tribes”: F. Siegmund’s “cultural models” distinguish between different “tribes” – mainly Franks and Alamanni. Siegmund’s starting point is the frequency of certain grave goods (Siegmund 2000; 2009). In essence, he studied statistically the proportions of grave goods – ceramics and glass on the one hand and weapons on the other. He argues that the differences are again not only spatially determined but are referring to ethnic identities. However, the argument is ultimately a spatial one, because contrary to Siegmund’s opinion the differences are not were particularly evident at the “frontier”. Instead, there are diffuse transitions, while in their “centres” the “cultural models” appear very typically (Brather – Wotzka 2006).

The notion that the row grave cemeteries were established by ancient Germans goes back already to the 19th century (Fehr 2010; Effros 2012; von Rummel 2013a, 2013b). It applies its argument primarily from the notion that such tombs were unusual for Romans. Under this premise, Germans should be distinguished from Romans. The second distinction relates to various Germanic groups that should be identified by their different clothing habit. In this way, “tribes” and their settlement areas are separated from each other. Culture-historical orientated studies often were based on typological differences of fibula forms, and their spatial distributions were directly interpreted as “ethnically” specific – representing early medieval alterities (Koch 1998; Bierbrauer 2008).

This observation leads to another, again more simple explanation. Communication and exchange may have been the deciding factors that contributed to a regionally varying frequency. For the wheel-thrown pottery and glass vessels, there has been a higher proportion in the Rhineland and northern Gaul because in these regions the production sites were situated. Far away – in Alamannia

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homogeneity and consistency does not exist (contrary to Curta 2013).

– it was much more difficult and expensive to get these products. For weapons must be argued otherwise. With them, beyond regional differences in frequencies, over time the same trends can be observed: stable importance of spatha and lance, disappearance of axes and increasing number of the scramasax. Probably representation and use of weapons are decisive.

Similar to the construction of identity by the affected people, this analytical view hides the actual complexity of the situation; differences are immediately considered as ethnic alterities, which at the same time are thought as most important. After all, there are alternative (cultural, economic or social) interpretations to the ethnic paradigm that have to be weighed against each other in each individual case (Steuer 2010a). The spatial argument that archaeology prefers to endeavour is none. All finds and features possess “distribution areas”, though for very different reasons. To determine the latter, remains the challenge – not just to state them (or presupposing spatial “containers”). This requires contextualization, because only additional information allows the differentiation whether the presence of some selected analytical characteristics may be associated with the subjective and situational sense of belonging (groupness) of the contemporaries.

What are these studies primarily asking for? They basically and primarily look for the identification of various “ethnic” groups in the early middle ages. So they aim at determining Merovingian time alterities which are reconstructed due to regional differences of archaeological finds and features. While Bierbrauer sees written records of such a group as a general pre-condition (Bierbrauer 2008: 5), Siegmund suggests the existence of “archaeological ethnicities” (Siegmund 2000: 307). Although sometimes the concept of identity is mentioned, the determination of the others is central. Not the past is interpreted as “different”, but the cultural differences are seen as early medieval “foreignness” of various groups.

3. Recent perspectives: complex identities and contexts

Identity however, is actually present on a different level. The outlined “ethnic paradigm” presupposes groups, homogeneous and distinct. To postulate them in the early middle ages, is not only misunderstanding the political (rather than cultural) “nature” of ethnic attributions, but also overestimating the cultural homogenizing power of the Merovingian kingdom determined politically. Rather an expectation lays behind it, which results from modern conditions: the ideal of the nation-state aiming to linguistic, cultural and ethnic homogeneity. Differences are its central problem because they contradict its goal, and this also implies “minority issues” and “alienation fears”. Without question, there should have been frequent local and regional assignments, but these were usually less absolute and decisive, than they are among nation-state conditions. But nevertheless it is projected back to the early middle ages, and conceptualized as similar – one could also say identical – to the present. So the past becomes not different, but familiar, and it is measured by our standards.

Looking at the regional occurrence of early row grave cemeteries, it is noticeable that they are located almost exclusively within the previous late Roman empire: from Britain through Northern Gaul and the Rhineland up to Raetia, Noricum and Pannonia, as well as in the Iberian Peninsula, northern Italy and the East. Two exceptions – the Main area and Thuringia – should confirm the picture; both show intensive contacts with Rome. These are always peripheral regions and not the political centres where local societies buried their dead with grave goods. So far, all attempts have been unsuccessful, to identify earlier models in Germania beyond the frontiers (Brather 2014; Fehr 2008; Halsall 1997; Theuws 2009). All three observations (distribution, location, lack of earlier models) point out that the row grave cemeteries represented something culturally new without models, either within or outside the Empire (Fig. 4). The local population felt compelled, in view of increasing uncertainty, to emphasize social affiliations and differences at the periphery of the late Roman Empire, and funeral offered the best chance in doing so by exhibiting grave goods.

This is also the basis of the “ethnic paradigm” in prehistoric and early medieval archaeology (Brather 2004; Niculescu 2011). It presupposes homogeneity and consistency of space, culture, language, political organization and physical constitution. When this starting point is set, continuities can be tracked up to a supposed “origin” and vice versa migrations up to foreigners in a foreign region. This approach can be illustrated the one hand with a timeline (Brather 2004: 161, fig. 21), and on the other as a (double) circle (Fig. 3). Starting from texts an alleged “territory” is often reconstructed, and this is compared with archaeological distribution maps; matches are the basis for the assumption of “ethnic symbols”, and they serve as an argument for “foreigners” in case of sporadic occurrence far away (Hakenbeck 2011: 39, fig. 1). The central premise however, is the crucial problem: this

These considerations lead to an opposite perspective. It considers early medieval societies not primarily from the outside, but tries to look inside them to understand their structure and functioning. Since the conviction has been weak, tombs would be a “mirror of real life” and would reflect social structures directly, there seems to emerge an analytical problem. The performativity of burials means that grave furnishings as well as the layout of graves and cemeteries “tell” archaeologists something about the ideas of the involved contemporaries, rather than directly about social conditions. As such, the lamented disadvantage turns into an analytical advantage – to gain

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Chlothar I (511–561) or not. Although the majority of archaeologists advocates for the identity (including Périn et al. 2012), doubts remain: an archaeological point would be that the grave probably has to be dated later than the lifetime of Arnegunde (Roth 1986). And the monogram in the ring can not only be read as REGINE – which by the way would be very unusual, since otherwise only names have been abbreviated –, but also as a repetition of the name ARNEGUNDIS itself (Meier 2002: 153).

access to local identities of early medieval societies. Then it is of secondary importance, who deposited which grave goods from whose possession precisely (Brather 2008, 2009; Barbiera 2012). It is analytically helpful to ask for the addressee to whom the presentation of social belonging and assignment was directed. Who were the spectators, whose eyes saw the burials, and who were able to see the driven effort? There were no ethnic foreigners, but neighbours and thus the local society, who mainly looked at the burial of relatives. In this case identities due to specific situations does not mean, that significant reversals were missing; rather the burial should have provided an opportunity to show a comprehensive “picture” of the dead person and its family. If so, the reconstruction of identity groups requires a careful investigation; it should unravel the complex overlays, and thus achieve plausible results (Fig. 5).

3. Gender: Even if archaeology sometimes “identifies” women and men, a bio-anthropological analysis is essential. Only on that basis one can judge how gender roles have been marked culturally. For Central European expectations, it is probably surprising that pigtail clasps and earrings occur with Avar men. In the Merovingian West, a number of gender-specific grave goods can be identified: clothing components and jewellery for girls and women, weapons and belts for boys and men (Barbiera 2005). Based on similar observations, one can determine which aspects of social roles in local societies were important. In addition to grave goods limited (mainly) to one or the other gender, there were “neutral” furnishings that have been made both for women and men. These include vessels or furniture and are expected to have demonstrated primarily social affiliations.

Some identity groups can be distinguished using additional clues: 1. Religion: I already mentioned the suggested “pagan” character of grave goods. Late antique textual evidence does suggest that Christians do not need them in their graves from a theological point of view. But at the same time Christians buried their dead with grave furnishings, because it was not a religious statement for them, but an emphasis of social affiliation and mourning. Even Christians could perceive clothing as important afterlife equipment2. M. Müller-Wille sees “two religious worlds” represented in the tombs of Childeric († ca. 481) at Tournai and of his son Clovis († 511) near Paris primarily by their place: on a burial ground or in a church (donated by Clovis himself: St.-Apôtres like Constantine in Constantinople) (Müller-Wille 1998). Whether they were equipped differently, cannot be ascertained, as Clovis’ grave has not been found (yet)3. Probably however, the effort in Clovis’ burial was not less than for his father, because a king had to be buried appropriately. The differences may have been in the funeral ritual, which was held differently in the church 30 years later than that in Tournai. In any case, it is primarily the rituals that characterize burials religiously (Brather-Walter/Brather 2012), even if they are archaeologically difficult to grasp (Gärtner 2009).

4. Age: Different social roles can be seen from the fact that grave goods clearly depend on the age of death. This does not apply to all societies, but for the Merovingian period in a significant way (Brather 2009; Brather et al. 2009). For both genders, the size of the grave goods rises, starting with childhood; adults and matures got the maximum before they decrease again in old age. As a reason we may assume that age-specific roles rather than individual appraisals were important. To mention children, parents and farm owners as well as grandparents may sufficient here to outline the many aspects. Since these “functions” cannot strictly be bound to a calendaric or biological age – already the individual age at marriage depends on many conditions – interdependencies of grave equipment and age of death remain vague, but in their tendency quite clear. To examine them, biologicalanthropological age determinations are required, which are far more precise for younger than older individuals. 5. Kindredship: At row grave cemeteries, groups of graves suggest some relationships. Since other groups are possible, it requires additional evidence for kindredship. They can only partially be provided by anthropological analyse available, because they provide data only for descent (over two generations individually and globally for the female or male line). More important from an archaeological perspective is affiliation – the establishment of marriage alliances. Thus, further evidence must be obtained that is deduced from the structure of the grave groups: if the respective areas cannot be attributed to chronology or gender, age group or social group, it is likely to interpret them as kindred groups. To

2. Individual: Each grave contains – apart from multiple burials – an individual, so it also reflects its individual recognition and ability. Rarely the name of a historical figure can be determined by inscriptions and identified from contemporary texts. Sometimes, the identification remains problematic, such as for Arnegunde from St.Denis. Her name ring (with reading inscription) has triggered the debate about whether she is the wife of king 2 However Bierbrauer argue for Christian burials without grave goods (Bierbrauer 2012). 3 Patrick Périn suggests a probable place inside the church St.Étiennedu-Mont (Périn 1989, 1992).

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differentiate between families based on specific brooches or vessel types (Koch 2001: 374–389), is rather unlikely; they probably reflect fashion phases, such as F. Siegmund argues for the mid-6th century based on “Thuringian” finds (Siegmund 2004).

considerations pointing in the same direction; instead of long-distance migrations they mainly reflect microregional networks. Overall, it should be emphasized that conclusions about identities cannot be drawn directly from grave goods and their combinations, but only indirectly and based on available additional information (Tab. 1). Only when they make the context clearer, a step further is methodologically possible. For some aspects the contextualization succeeds (gender, age), while less well for other assignments (kinder ship, occupation, region), and for some perhaps hardly (religion, ethnicity) or never (legal status). Complex grave furnishing can reflect complicated relations and networks. These recent insights are important to be expanded. It is likely that further comparisons of different burial sites will allow identifying more clearly what aspects local features represented and what was the general trend of the time.

6. Rank: That extent and quality of grave goods refer to social rank, is a plausible assumption (Steuer 1982, 2010b). Reliable conclusions can only be reached if sex and age are taken into account before. Because of gender specific grave goods it remains difficult to establish a direct comparison between women and men, as clothing and weapons are difficult to compare in their “value”. With respect to age-related furnishings they can be compared only within the same age group, because children and old people are in most cases equipped differently than middle-aged adults. Under these conditions, “quality groups” can be established as a tool of classification, as proposed by R. Christlein 40 years ago (Christlein 1973). For large-scale comparison, they offer a still used aid, even if temporal and spatial limitations are obvious. For the reconstruction of local societies and their comparison one needs to look much more in detail.

However, it applies to all analyses that usually it remains vague whether a burial ground represents a local community: several cemeteries may have belonged to a settlement and also vice versa, and from the 7th century on there was several “complementary” burial sites – at the row grave cemetery, with separate graves, within the settlement or at the church (Theuws 1999: 345, fig. 6), which only together tend to represent the local society, but are discovered and investigated rarely simultaneously and in context. In addition, it depends on a detailed chronology to achieve more dynamic reconstructions than previously done (while avoiding an “over-precise” chronology).

7. Activity: Although “professions” were invented much later, there have been found some equipment and tools among the grave goods referring to certain economic activities. Especially noteworthy are “smith’s graves” with hammer, anvil and tongs. Therefore the deceased are considered generally as smiths (Henning 1991; Tobias 2009). Agricultural implements are surprisingly far rarer. The majority of the population was peasants who were familiar with agriculture and animal husbandry. It must therefore be considered whether a rare ploughshare or coulter in the grave means more than just ploughing – perhaps disposal of land (Fingerlin 1997). J. Henning has recently suggested that ploughshares pointed to a judicial ordeal passed – with glowing blades (Bartlett 1986: 10), although referring written sources appear later (Henning 2007). Overall, the connection of devices and thus the activities carried out is not as clear as is often thought, when it comes to whether the buried itself actually worked with them.

4. Conclusion: -emic or -etic perspectives –early medieval and modern. In comparing the two perspectives their opposite orientation becomes apparent. Culture-historical archaeology is interested in ethnic alterities of the early middle ages. But recent studies looking for diverse identities and groups in early medieval societies are increasing. They are interested in early medieval perceptions and possible actions, and that means a look inside4. The concept of “identity” has heuristic and analytical value in explaining constitution and action of social groups. “Otherness” is always included in discourses of identity – both are intertwined. However, identity groups within local societies can be reconstructed more easily than largescale alterities, because the recipients are tangible: the other gender, other age groups, and other families in the neighbourhood. There, we can observe how the local balance between fragmentation and totality was achieved (Straub 2004).

8. Region: The archaeological interpretation of regional clusters and differences remains a challenge. Because the causes stuck behind the mapping, could be explained only by additional arguments – but these can hardly be found. Whether regionally limited presence of certain types of items were relevant for identity or just revealed through communication and exchange, is rarely to decide. In addition, archaeological distribution maps reflect wider regions, which go much further than to regional or ethnic identities (apart from elite contacts). Identities should be expected in smaller regions, but then the archaeologically detectable differences become too little to be still detectible. Therefore, in most cases object distributions should be mainly described as communication phenomena. Isotope studies show a complex picture (Pollard 2011), which fits well with archaeological

Comparing regions with each other, it lacks reference points that can be attributed to different grave goods. And 4 von Rummel 2007, who demonstrates that the new military elite within the Roman empire was accused to be barbarian by the traditional elite.

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the larger the regions considered are, the less likely it is to link observable differences with identities and alterities – it is a matter of (spatial) scale too. Even in the early middle ages communication and mobility were expansive and intense, and therefore many distribution patterns of find categories do not have their reason in identities (Brather-Wotzka 2006). Identities constituted political associations, which were named by ethnic terms; they were culturally heterogeneous, more heterogeneous as modern ideas (up to suggested “national industries” of the migration period: Effros 2012: 145–187; Fehr 2010: 201– 204) suggested for a long time. This is confirmed by textual evidence; the politically defined Frankish Empire was culturally diverse.

gested central motif of action in the early Middle Ages – it should have determined the life of the people more than anything else. If one seeks to distinguish between ethnic interpretation and the search for ethnic identity from each other, as recently Chr. Eger does (Eger 2012: 280), one restricts himself to cultural relations beyond ethnicity which would be much more adequate to the material record; but in fact, it remains the ethnic point of view, as the chosen names for clothing accessories or grave forms as well as the questions raised reveal. The result would be a contradictio in adiecto. However, this view is based largely on a “geographical” argument – the spatial occurrence of certain grave goods. Geography, sociology and culture studies would call this a “container theory” of space. Identities, however, are determined by social conditions and perceptions, ethnic symbols are therefore “arbitrary” – and space a social construction (Löw 2001; Brather 2013). This leads to three conclusions: 1. region can only be an explanation, when it is viewed as socially determined; 2. it requires at least the consideration between ethnic and other interpretations; 3. far more than ethnicity – which probably played a role in political elites – common identities affected everyday life of early medieval people.

“Identity” is the guiding concept for actual approaches, but it has recently been used in other studies (Bierbrauer 2008: 63). There it is suggested to separate early medieval ethnic groups on the basis of grave goods. Such an approach seems to me inverting the meaning of the terms “identity” and “alterity”. Today the early medieval world is different to us – before we can reach a historical understanding of this time, it must be analysed in detail. Actions and habit of the contemporaries can only be explained if we reconstruct their own social and cultural perception; only then identities can be characterised as well as their importance for social and political action. In this perspective much more comes into view than the political distinction of Franks, Alamanni, Goths and Lombards – namely numerous situational group identities within local societies and regional contexts. The cultural image of the past becomes more complex and nuanced, closer to former „realities“.

Local and small regional identities seem to me more promising for early medieval archaeology than ethnic alterities – because archaeological features reflect social practices and agencies, and they derive directly from the population in question. The use of scientific analysis of aDNA and isotopes will show a more complex situation providing very interesting new insights into local societies – instead of answering old large-scale questions objectively as often expected and suggested in the public (Pollard 2011).

In a way, the “culture-historical” view in archaeology is equivalent to ancient ethnographies. Like them, it looks externally to those regions and groups – trying to categorise and order, describe and explain them (which of course is analytically important to reconstruct fundamental contexts and developments). But such a “total” perspective from outside has fundamental difficulties to understand its object, i. e. to become familiar with the internal perspective (Fig. 6). This was not the aim of antique observers; they wanted to establish a principle boundary between civilization and barbarism. This inevitably resulted in a dichotomous distinction – between Greek democracy and Persian despotism or between Romans civilisation and ancient Germanic barbarism (Dauge 1981).

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Unlike ancient ethnographies, a culture-historical archaeology does not conceive its object as different or as an alternative to its own world. In the contrary – its interpretation tends to presuppose culturally homogeneous and cohesive groups, and to approximate them to the familiar ideal of modern states. Differences or alterities are then provided between gentes, which should have expressed their differences among themselves in dress and habitus, which allow distinguishing settlement areas. The demarcation of “the other” becomes a sug-

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Brather, S. (2004): Ethnische Interpretationen in der frühgeschichtlichen Archäologie. Geschichte, Grundlagen und Alternativen (Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, Ergänzungsband 42), Berlin, New York, 97–117. (2008): « Bestattungsrituale zur Merowingerzeit. Frühmittelalterliche Reihengräber und der Umgang mit dem Tod », in: Ch. Kümmel – B. Schweizer – U. Veit (eds.): Körperinszenierung, Objektsammlung, Monumentalisierung. Totenritual und Grabkult in frühen Gesellschaften. Archäologische Quellen in kulturwissenschaftlicher Perspektive (Tübinger archäologische Taschenbücher 6), Münster, 151–177. - (2009): « Tod und Bestattung im frühen Mittelalter. Repräsentation, Vorstellungswelten und Variabilität am Beispiel merowingerzeitlicher Reihengräberfelder », EthnographischArchäologische Zeitschrift 50, 93 -115. - (2011): « Ethnizität und Mittelalterarchäologie. Eine Antwort auf Florin Curta », Zeitschrift für Archäologie des Mittelalters 39, 161–172. (2012): « ’Völker’, Stämme und gentes im RGA.Archäologische Interpretationen und ethnische Identitäten. », in: H. Beck - D. Geuenich - H. Steuer (eds.): Altertumskunde, Altertumswissenschaft, Kulturwissenschaft. Erträge und Perspektiven nach 40 Jahren Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde (Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, Ergänzungsband 77), Berlin/Boston, 401–428. - (2013): « Archäologische Kultur und historische Interpretation. Zwischen Raumklassifikation und Raumanalyse », in: J. Brandt – B. Rauchfuß (eds.): Das JastorfKonzept und die vorrömische Eisenzeit im nördlichen Mitteleuropa (Veröffentlichung des Helms-Museums 105), Hamburg, 19–34. - (2014): « Anfang und Ende der Reihengräberfelder. Der Wandel von Bestattungsformen zwischen Antike und Mittelalter », in: S. Brather – H. U. Nuber – H. Steuer – Th. Zotz (eds.), Antike im Mittelalter – Fortleben, Nachwirken, Wahrnehmung. 25 Jahre Forschungsverbund „Archäologie und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends in Südwestdeutschland“ (Archäologie und Geschichte. Freiburger Forschungen zum ersten Jahrtausend in Südwestdeutschland 21), Sindelfingen, 217–234.

Curta, F. (2013): « The elephant in the room. A reply to Sebastian Brather », Ephemerica napocensis 23, 163–174. Dauge, Y. A. (1981): Le barbare. Recherches sur la conception romaine de la barbarie et de la civilisation (Collection Latomus 176), Bruxelles. Effros, B. (2002): Caring for body and soul. Burial and the afterlife in the Merovingian world, University Park, Pa. - (2012): Uncovering the Germanic past. Merovingian archaeology in France 1830–1914, Oxford. Eger, Ch. (2012): Spätantikes Kleidungszubehör aus Nordafrika I. Trägerkreis, Mobilität und Ethnos im Spiegel der Funde der spätesten römischen Kaiserzeit und der vandalischen Zeit (Münchner Beiträge zur provinzialrömischen Archäologie 5), Wiesbaden. Fehr, H. (2008): « Germanische Einwanderung oder kulturelle Neuorientierung? Zu den Anfängen des Reihengräberhorizontes », in: S. Brather (ed.) : Zwischen Spätantike und Frühmittelalter. Archäologie des 4. bis 7. Jahrhunderts im Westen (Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, Ergänzungsband 57). Berlin/ New York, 67–102. - (2010): Germanen und Romanen im Merowingerreich. Frühgeschichtliche Archäologie zwischen Wissenschaft und Zeitgeschehen (Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, Ergänzungsband 68), Berlin/New York. Fingerlin, G. (1997): « Bräunlingen, ein frühmerowingischer Adelssitz an der Römerstraße durch den südlichen Schwarzwald », Archäologische Ausgrabungen in BadenWürttemberg, 146–148. Franken (1996) : Die Franken. Wegbereiter Europas, Mainz. Francs (1997) : Les Francs. Précurseurs de l’Europe, Paris. Gärtner, T. (2009): « Heidnisch oder christlich? Über Deponierungen von Gefäßfragmenten in frühmittelalterlichen Gräbern West- und Süddeutschlands », EthnographischArchäologische Zeitschrift 50, 215–234.

Brather, S. – Wotzka, H. P. (2006): « Alemannen und Franken? Bestattungsmodi, ethnische Identitäten und wirtschaftliche Verhältnisse zur Merowingerzeit », in: S. Burmeister/N. MüllerScheeßel (eds.) : Soziale Gruppen, kulturelle Grenzen. Die Interpretation sozialer Identitäten in der Prähistorischen Archäologie (Tübinger Archäologische Taschenbücher 5), Münster, 139–224.

Halsall, G. (1997): Early medieval cemeteries. An introduction to burial archaeology in the Post-Roman West, Glasgow ². Hakenbeck, S. (2011): « Roman or barbarian? Shifting identities in early medieval cemeteries in Bavaria », Post-classical archaeologies 1, 37–66.

Brather, S. et al. (2009) : « Grabausstattung und Lebensalter im frühen Mittelalter. Soziale Rollen im Spiegel der Bestattungen », Fundberichte aus Baden-Württemberg 30, 273– 378.

Hen, Y. (1995): Culture and religion in Merovingian Gaul, AD 481–751 (Cultures, beliefs and traditions 1), Leiden. Henning, J. (1991): « Schmiedegräber nördlich der Alpen. Germanisches Handwerk zwischen keltischer Tradition und römischem Einfluß », Saalburg-Jahrbuch 46, 65–82. - (2007): « ‚Heiße Eisen’ der frühen Rechtsgeschichte. Pflugschare als Grabbeigaben in der Merowinger- und Karolingerzeit », in: H. Brink-Kloke – K. H. Deutmann (eds.) : Die Herrschaften von Asseln. Ein frühmittelalterliches Gräberfeld am Dortmunder Hellweg, München/Berlin, 109– 114.

Brather-Walter, S. - Brather, S. (2012): « Repräsentation oder Religion? Grabbeigaben und Bestattungsrituale im frühen Mittelalter », in: N. Krohn – S. Ristow (eds.) : Wechsel der Religionen – Religion des Wechsels (Studien zu Spätantike und Frühmittelalter 4), Hamburg, 121–143. Brubaker, R. (2007): Ethnizität ohne Gruppen, Hamburg. Christlein, R. (1973): « Besitzabstufungen zur Merowingerzeit im Spiegel reicher Grabfunde aus West- und Süddeutschland », Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz 20, 147–180.

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religiöse Welten. Bestattungen Childerich und Chlodwig der Wissenschaften und der sozialwissenschaftliche Klasse

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Theuws, F. (1999): « Changing settlement patterns, burial grounds and the symbolic construction of ancestors and communities in the late Merovingian southern Netherlands », in: Ch. Fabech – J. Ringtved (eds.): Settlement and landscape, Århus, 337–349. - (2009): « Grave goods, ethnicity, and the rhetoric of burial rites in Late Antique Northern Gaul », in: T. Derks – N. Roymans (eds.) : Ethnic constructs in antiquity. The role of power and tradition (Amsterdam Archaeological Studies 13), Amsterdam, 283–319.

Périn, P. (1989): « La tombe de Clovis », in: Media in Francia (Recueil de mélanges offerts à Karl Ferdinand Werner à l’occasion de son 65e anniversaire par ses amis et collègues français), Paris, 363–378. - (1992): « The undiscovered grave of king Clovis I († 511) », in: M. Carver (ed.) : The age of Sutton Hoo. The seventh century in North-Western Europe, Woodbridge, 255–264. Périn, P . et al. (2012): « Die Bestattung in Sarkophag 49 unter der Basilika von Saint-Denis », in: E. Wamers – P. Périn (eds.) : Königinnen der Merowinger. Adelsgräber aus den Kirchen von Köln, Saint-Denis, Chelles und Frankfurt am Main, Regensburg, 100–121.

Tobias, B. (2009): « Eliten und Schmiedegräber. Untersuchungen zu frühmittelalterlichen Gräbern mit Schmiedewerkzeugen im Rahmen des Elitenprojektes », in: M. Egg – D. Quast (eds.): Aufstieg und Untergang. Zwischenbilanz des Forschungsschwerpunktes „Eliten“ (Monographien des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz 82), Mainz, 143–152.

Pollard, M. A. (2011): « Isotopes and impact. A cautionary tale », Antiquity 85, 631–638. Roth, H. (1986): « Zweifel an Arnegunde », in: Gedenkschrift für Gero von Merhart zum 100. Geburtstag (Marburger Studien zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte 7), Marburg, 267–276. Siegmund, F. (1998): Merowingerzeit am Niederrhein. Die frühmittelalterlichen Funde aus dem Regierungsbezirk Düsseldorf und dem Kreis Heinsberg (Rheinische Ausgrabungen 34), Köln/Bonn. - (2000): Alemannen und Franken (Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, Ergänzungsband 23), Berlin/New York. - (2004): « Die Alemannia aus archäologischer Sicht und ihre Kontakte zum Norden », in: H.-P. Naumann (ed.): Alemannien und der Norden (Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, Ergänzungsband 43), Berlin/New York, 142– 164. - (2009): « Ethnische und kulturelle Gruppen im frühen Mittelalter aus archäologischer Sicht », in: D. Krauße – O. Nakoinz (eds.): Kulturraum und Territorialität. Archäologische Theorien, Methoden und Fallbeispiele (Internationale Archäologie – Arbeitsgemeinschaft, Symposium, Tagung, Kongress 13), Rahden, 143–157.

Von Rummel, Ph. (2007): Habitus barbarus. Kleidung und Repräsentation spätantiker Eliten im 4. und. 5. Jahrhundert (Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, Ergänzungsband 55), Berlin/New York. - (2013a): « The fading power of images. Romans, Barbarians, and the uses of a dichotomy in early medieval archaeology », in: W. Pohl – G. Heydemann (eds.) : Post-Roman transitions. Christian and barbarian identities in the early medieval West (Cultural encounters in Late antiquity and the Middle ages 14), Turnhout, 365–406. - (2013b): « Unrömische Römer und römische Barbaren. Die Fluidität vermeintlich präziser Leitbegriffe der Forschung zum spätantiken Gallien », in: S. Diefenbach – G. Michael Müller (eds.) : Gallien in Spätantike und Frühmittelalter. Kulturgeschichte einer Region (Millenium-Studien 43), Berlin/Boston, 277–296.

Stein, F. (2004): « Kulturelle Ausgleichsprozesse zwischen Franken und Romanen im 7. Jahrhundert. Eine archäologische Untersuchung zu den Verhaltensweisen der Bestattungsgemeinschaft von Rency/ Renzig bei Audun-leTiche in Lothringen », in: D. Hägermann – W. Haubrichs – J.

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FIGURES

Fig. 1. Identity as unity of differences. Both ends of the scale are just theoretically possible, illustrating the position of identity in the centre, but they must fail in social reality (based on information by Straub 2004).

Fig. 2. Audun-le-Tiche, dep. Moselle, France. During the 7th century grave goods became rare, which rather should be interpreted as the result of changing social representation during burial than as “Romanisation” of the local Frankish population.  many grave goods;  few grave goods;  no grave goods (simplified after Stein 2004: fig. 5–6).

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Fig. 3

Fig. 4

Fig. 3. The “ethnic paradigm”. A double circle illustrates how suggestions of archaeology and historiography are closely linked and determine each other. The time line shows that from a starting point – the identification of ethnic group and its territory – further suggestions are made up to ethnogenesis and foreigners (double circle changed and rearranged after Hakenbeck 2011: 39 fig. 1). Fig. 4. Row grave cemeteries as cultural reorientation along the periphery of the late Roman Empire, second half of the 5th century.

Fig. 5

Fig. 6

Fig. 5. Identities in local societies. Everybody belongs to several groups, and therefore diverse assignments are overlapping. It is an analytical challenge to differentiate between them. Fig. 6. Confrontation of views from outside made by antique observers and contemporary research, and views from inside by the observed people. The point of view coins the observation and catches thus a part of “realities”.

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TABLES

Identity groups Gender

Archaeology (Sex/gender goods)

Anthropology Skeletal characteristics

Historiography Gender roles

Age

–

Dentition and ossification

Social roles in families

Family

(Groups of graves)

(Epigenetics and aDNA)

Families’ consciousness

Hierarchy

Effort of grave goods and architecture

(Nutritional status and marriage patterns)

Social representation and identity

Origin

(Spatial distribution)

(Ratio of Strontium isotopes)

Ethnic identities (and its symbols)

‚Occupation’

(Instruments)

(Specific exposure markers)

Economic division of labour

Religion

(Christian symbols and amulets, place, ritual)

–

Religious conceptions and church organisation

legal status

–

–

Legal regulations

specific

grave

Tab. 1: Different identities within local and small regional societies as reflected in graves, possible sources of archaeology, anthropology and historiography.

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LE REFUS DE L’ALTÉRITÉ DANS LA LOI ROMAINE DU BRÉVIAIRE D’ALARIC Michel ROUCHE

___________________________________________________________ Abstract: The Breviary of Alaric snatched to the Visigoths by the Gallo-Roman majority is a manifest refusal of foreigners. It is a creation of pontiffs and lawyers for a thousand years; it is a demonstration of the superiority of the Roman people over all others in its claim to universality. This natural law ignores the other in his otherness. It erects as supreme instance, goes independent of political power, and submits the entire social groups by defining them as minors: women, young people, slaves. He even put aside two groups of public officials, judges and clerks. It is therefore a denial of history. No, there was no fall of Rome. There was creating of a natural and structural Romanism in perpetuity. And their incredible posterity is there to prove it. The Merovingian royal edicts and Carolingian Chapters are impregnated. Key Words: Alaric – Breviary – Gallia – Visigoths

aucun mariage entre un provincial, quelque soit son ordre ou son rang, et une femme barbare, et qu’une femme provinciale ne soit unie à aucun des gentils. Si des liens de parenté entre les provinciaux et les gentils naissent de ce genre de noces, que ce qui est suspect ou nocif en elles soit expié par la peine capitale ». L’interprétation est encore plus dure que la loi: « qu’aucun Romain ne prétende épouser une femme barbare d’un quelconque peuple et que les femmes romaines ne s’unissent pas en mariage à des barbares. S’ils font cela qu’ils se sachent soumis à la peine capitale » 1 . L’opposition est franche entre Romain et barbare, tandis que la peine est maximale. Le refus de l’autre est moins explicite avec les juifs puisqu’ils sont citoyens romains et qu’ils vivent sous le régime de la seule religio licita. En effet ils doivent être soumis au droit romain, mais s’ils aboutissent à un accord mutuel devant les anciens de leur religion, cela peut être validé par le juge romain 2 . Nous sommes ici dans le cadre du régime de l’union de l’Eglise et de l’Etat avec cet unique cas particulier.

*** Fruit de luttes internes et résultat d’un compromis favorable aux Romains d’Aquitaine et d’Espagne, le Bréviaire d’Alaric promulgué en 506-507, est, trente ans après la chute de l’Empire romain d’Occident, une affirmation de l’ identité romaine. Œuvre conjointe d’anciens fonctionnaires en poste et d’évêques plus ou moins hostiles aux nouveaux venus Wisigoths et à leur roi Alaric II, le Bréviaire d’Alaric a pour but de procurer aux administrés des textes de lois adaptés à la nouvelle situation politique de royaume germanique, mais sans rien changer à la conception désormais millénaire du droit romain. Il s’agit d’une affirmation intransigeante de l’intangibilité et de l’éternité de la loi. Pour ce faire, ces experts sortirent du Code Théodosien de 438 des lois impériales auxquelles ils ajoutèrent une interprétation. Le texte de loi était intouchable et irréformable par luimême, mais l’interprétation avait valeur d’explication d’une obscurité ou de réponse à la situation du moment. L’ensemble aboutit au refus de l’altérité, au refus de l’étranger dans la négation des migrations germaniques et, finalement, à la prééminence de l’Etat, ce qui explique sa longue survie médiévale.

En revanche et en application du compromis conclu avec le roi des Wisigoths, la religion arienne de ces derniers n’est jamais évoquée. Toutes les lois antiariennes du Livre XVI du Théodosien ont été omises, ce qui aboutit au silence sur la question et au renforcement de l’exclusion. Les Goths sont relégués non seulement dans leur ethnicité mais aussi dans leur religion, ce qui correspond d’ailleurs à leur propre définition de leur identité à la fois sociale et religieuse, la lex gothica. D’autres preuves de leur refus tournent autour du thème toujours latent de la « sauvagerie barbare ». L’expression : « Quiconque s’unit aux barbares pour dépouiller les Romains » devient dans l’interprétation : les ennemis et les pillards. Or la peine était terrible: le feu 3 . Cette édulcoration du refus par le biais de l’interprétation se remarque dans d’autres cas. Les expressions « sauvagerie barbare » ou encore « ravages des barbares » sont gommées, car dans certain cas les soldats pillards peuvent se révéler être des Goths donc l’armée désormais officielle 4 . L’anarchie, les guerres civiles les refus des autorités nouvelles ou anciennes inclinent les auteurs des interprétations vers plus d’imprécisions dans le refus de l’autre.

Le refus de l’étranger Alors que le VIème siècle voit se créer les royaumes germaniques en Europe occidentale, les rédacteurs du Bréviaire d’Alaric profitent de la concession du roi des Wisigoths pour l’ignorer lui et son peuple. Déjà le concile d’Agde n’avait fait allusion aux Goths que par référence à leur hérésie, l’arianisme. Le nom des vainqueurs de Rome n’apparaît nulle part, pas même dans la loi qui interdit les mariages mixtes entre les deux populations. « Qu’il n’y ait

Cette censure des peuples étrangers, censure atténuée par des termes péjoratifs, n’en reste pas moins une 1 Bréviaire d’Alaric in : Libri theodosiani, éd. T. Momsenn, Berlin, 1905, III, 14. 2 Ibid., II, 1, 10. 3 Ibid., VII, 1 ,1. 4 Ibid.,V, 5, 2; IX, 11, 2; XV, 3, 2.

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Michel Rouche Nous sommes ici devant une caractéristique du droit romain ancien : l'absence de l'accusateur public. La séparation de la justice avec l'Etat est totale. Les accusateurs (delatores) sont des personnes privées, d’autant plus intéressées à la condamnation de leur victime qu’ils touchent partie ou totalité des biens du condamné. L’accusé n’est couvert par la présomption d’innocence qu’avant le dépôt de la plainte ou dans le cas d’une attaque par des soldats (terme remplacé dans l’interprétation par pillards)12. Le bras de l’Etat est donc fort court.

affirmation de la supériorité du peuple romain et chrétien. La preuve en est donnée par le maintien absolu et sans aucune concession du droit du postliminium. Tout prisonnier de guerre fait par les barbares transféré à l’extérieur des limites (en latin limen, liminis) de la patrie romaine, possède un droit au retour absolu. Libéré et revenu chez lui après de longues années d’exil, il doit récupérer tous ses biens y compris sa femme, même remariée, et ses enfants. Le texte de la loi porte « barbares » mais l’interprétation remplace par « ennemis » 5 . Cela veut dire que les droits du citoyen romain sont imprescriptibles, quels que soient les circonstances, le temps et le lieu. Le cas le plus célèbre de l’application de ce droit est évidemment le retour des hommes d’Aquilée, six années après la prise de la ville par Attila en 451. L’évêque de la ville s’adressa au pape Léon pour savoir ce qu’il devait faire des épouses qui ne voulaient pas quitter leur second mari 6 . En somme les Romains sont non seulement supérieurs aux barbares mais ils ne peuvent jamais devenir des étrangers. Le lien avec la mère patrie est indestructible.

Au total le refus de toute nouveauté est tranquillement affirmé 13 . La loi est éternelle. Elle ne peut donc être amendée ou modifiée par personne et encore moins par le prince, puisque les crimes imprescriptibles (infamie, parricide, sacrilège, etc.) sont au dessus de lui14. Le roi des Wisigoths et ses trognes armées n’ont rien à dire. Ils n’ont qu’à regarder la mécanique romaine fonctionner sous leurs yeux. Le refus des mineurs

Le refus du roi

Cette marginalisation et ces refus aboutissent à l’expression d’une constante supériorité y compris sur les Romains qui ne sont pas citoyens. Les principes du droit romain démontrent la logique imperturbable du refus de l’autre qui n’est pas le modèle parfait. Ce sont, et j’abrège, à partir de l’autonomie de la loi: nul n’est censé ignorer la loi, la loi ne peut pas être rétroactive ; personne ne peut être juge et partie; les avocats ne peuvent être juges, la preuve écrite est supérieure à la preuve orale, testis unus testis nullius, etc. il en résulte une incapacité en justice pour les moins de vingt cinq ans alors que la majorité chez les peuple germaniques est de quatorze ans. Cet âge est tellement élevé que la loi prévoit un droit d’appel au prince pour obtenir le privilège de l’émancipation15. Cette absence de personnalité juridique concerne non seulement les impubères, mais aussi les femmes. Elles ne peuvent pas se marier librement, contrairement à l’adage d’Ulpien: consensus facit nuptias, puisqu’elles sont mariées impubères. Devenues veuves, elles n’en sont pas moins soumises pour se remarier à l’autorisation de la famille16. De toute façon elles sont obligatoirement sous la tutelle de leur oncle maternel. Elles ne peuvent en aucun cas porter une accusation publique, ce qui est logique puisqu’elles sont mineures. Toujours aussi mineurs sont les esclaves 17 . Leurs enfants sont esclaves, même si le père est un libre en vertu du principe partus sequitur ventrem18. Ce sont des bâtards (spurii). Au fond puisqu’ils ne peuvent ni succéder ni léguer, juridiquement, ils n’existent pas.

Le Bréviaire d’Alaric étant un acte de décès de l’Empire romain d’Occident, on aurait pu croire qu’il introniserait le pouvoir et l’autorité nouvelle, celle du roi wisigoth. Il n’en est rien. Bien qu’Alaric II promulgue cet abrégé du droit romain, il n’en est jamais l’auteur au contraire des empereurs romains dont les noms doivent être mentionnés obligatoirement en même temps que le lieu et la date. Le terme de rex n’apparaît jamais, sauf deux exceptions postérieures à 506 7 . Il est remplacé par les vocables moins précis de princeps ou de dominus. Cela veut dire que le pouvoir en place est un simple garant. La loi est indépendante du prince. Coupée du pouvoir politique, elle est autonome, elle salue symboliquement l’existence du prince lors de la fête de son anniversaire8 ou de la première année de son règne (initium regni). De même elle sanctionne les crimes de lèse-majesté déclarés imprescriptibles9, mais c’est une manière de le reléguer dans le domaine du sacré. En effet le prince n’intervient pas dans la loi, encore moins dans l’interprétation. Ce sont les jurisconsultes qui, dans les interprétations, tranchent les obscurités et les difficultés. La preuve en est que ces autorités figurent textuellement, ajoutées au Bréviaire proprement dit, dans l'ordre : Gaius, Papinien et Paul 10 . Ceci ne veut pas dire que le prince n’a aucun droit. Ses biens privés lui sont reconnus, ainsi qu’un droit d’appel concernant ses dons gracieux 11 . Mais dès qu’il s ‘agit de droit public et de droit privé, il n’est jamais partie prenante.

Ibid., V, 5,1. Rouche, M. (2009): Attila, Paris, 214-215. 7 Une loi de Theudis conservée dans le palimpseste d’Oviedo et le terme de rex dans les tituli A chaque fois il s’agit d’un hapax. 8 Bréviaire d’Alaric, II, 8, 2. 9 Ibid., IX, 27: IX, 28. 10 Ibid., I , 4. 11 Ibid., IX, 3 et 4. 5

Ibid., IX, 11, 2. Ibid.,V, 2, 1. 14 Ibid., VI, 1. 15 Ibid., II, 19. 16 Ibid., III, 7. 17 Ibid., X, 5, 5. 18 Ibid., IV, 8.

6

12 13

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Le refus de l’Altérité La zone du droit privé est donc très réduite. Celle du droit public est en revanche immense. Il suffit pour s’en convaincre de comparer dans ce code abrégé la part respective de chacun des deux types de droit. Sur un total de seize livres, le droit privé, malgré un gros livre IX, n’en comporte que cinq contre onze en faveur du droit public. Comparons avec le Pacte de la loi Salique. Elle contient seulement huit articles de droit public. Ce refus de l’autre est d’autant plus étonnant que, malgré l’union de l’Eglise et de l’Etat, la christianisation du Bréviaire d’Alaric II est très faible. Seules quelques allusions au repos du dimanche dans les prisons et à l’interdiction des procès pour cause de sang durant le Carême19, prouvent qu’une certaine attention est portée à la personne humaine. Mais au total la place de l’Etat est primordiale. Il protège l’individu, jamais le groupe. Au contraire des lois germaniques, les co-jureurs sont absents. Il n’y a pas de justice collective pour les proches. Bien plus, et nous touchons ici du doigt l’opposition frontale du droit romain à l’égard de la conception germanique de l’homme en conflit avec son voisin, c’est à l’accusateur qu’il appartient de fournir les preuves de son accusation selon l’adage bien connu : actori incumbet probatio ou encore actor forum sequatur20. Cela veut dire que le citoyen romain accusé n’a pas à prouver son innocence, comme cela est obligatoire dans les lois germaniques et le droit anglo-saxon en général. En somme l’identité juridique romaine est une forteresse qui protège un seul individu, le citoyen romain, majeur et masculin qui, seul, jouit de la liberté romaine. Conclusion Le Bréviaire d’Alaric arraché aux Wisigoths par la majorité gallo-romaine est un manifeste du refus des étrangers. Création des grands pontifes et des jurisconsultes depuis mille ans, il est une manifestation de la supériorité du peuple romain sur tous les autres dans sa prétention à l’universalité. Ce droit naturel ignore l’autre dans son altérité. Il s’érige en instance suprême, se rend indépendant du pouvoir politique, se soumet des groupes sociaux entiers en les définissant comme mineurs: les femmes, les jeunes, les esclaves. Il va même jusqu’à mettre à part deux groupes de fonctionnaires, les juges et les clercs. Il s’agit donc d’un refus de l’Histoire. Non, il n’y a pas eu de chute de Rome. Il y a eu création d’une Romanité naturelle et structurelle à perpétuité. Et son incroyable postérité est là pour le prouver. Les édits royaux mérovingiens et les capitulaires carolingiens en sont imprégnés. Les épitomés et les decurtati ont multiplié les utilisations du Bréviaire. On le retrouve chez Fulbert de Chartres et Yves de Chartres. Il constitue la base des Décrétales et du Décret de Gratien. Il inspire enfin la Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et surtout le Code Civil. Le particulier s‘incline devant l’universel.

19 20

Ibid., IX, 25, 1. Ibid., IV, 30 et XI, 14, 4 et encore Novelle de Marcien, 303.

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BARBARIA, BARBARICUM AND THE LOCATION OF THE BARBARUS Michael KULIKOWSKI _______________________________________________________ Abstract: The changes in the vocabulary of barbarism in the Roman world belong to the history of ideas, but at another level they need to be studied for the impact they had on the actual behaviour of Roman government and the governed. We should not try to think of the vocabulary of barbarism as a transparent reflection of reality but ss a cognitive map through which the hegemonic Graeco-Roman culture sources represented that world. We need, however, to maintain a constant awareness of the distinction between the cognitive map and the historical territory. One main impact of the creation of a separate barbarian space was to allow for the great ethnic and regional diversity that characterized late antiquity far more than had been the case in the early empire. Key Words: Barbaria – Barbaricum – Barbarus – Late Antiquity

very early stage, before it is traceable historically. There is no single native Latin word to convey the semantic content of the Greek bárbaros. Externae gentes or exterae gentes may have been the periphrases in general use, but the absence of a native word is what made the loan attractive. Thus the Latin barbarus and its adjectival form barbaricus are simple transliterations of the Greek words, and appear in the evidence simultaneously, in the earliest Latin literature still extant. Latin soon produced derivatives from the borrowed barbar- stem that had no equivalents in Greek. Thus barbaria is a secondary derivative from barbarus formed within a Latin context. By the first century BC, it was regularly used as a substantive for “barbarian land” or “barbarian place,” which is to say a space in which there dwelt non-Greeks and non-Romans. That fact might seem to imply that, by the age of Cicero, Roman thought mapped its world with reference to a Roman space on the one hand and a barbarian space on the other. In one way, that is no doubt quite true, but there is an important caveat. Barbaria has an abstract rather than a concrete valence. It connotes space that pertains to barbarians in an existential fashion, but does not imply geography. That is to say, it implies moral space, not physical space, still less any specific physical space, hence its ready transposition into other contexts: Cicero can speak scornfully of haec turba et barbaria forensis. The abstractness of the Latin barbaria is not simply a result of natural linguistic evolution. The historical circumstances that might fix “barbarian space” in geographical terms did not exist before the third century, when a new word was coined to describe that space, as we shall see. Before that, however, barbarian space could be anywhere, not least because the Roman world was occupied by a great many Latini and peregrini who were clearly not Romans in legal terms (and not Greeks in cultural or legal terms), but who were, equally clearly, inhabitants of the Roman empire and subject to its emperor. There was no necessary reason for these people to be described as barbarians, but by the same token, they might be; and if they were, then the space where they were was barbaria.

The vocabulary of barbarism in the Roman world changed dramatically over time, in its semantic valences, the people to whom it applied, and the geographic extent of its application. At one level, these changes belong to the history of ideas, but at another they need to be studied for the impact they had on the actual behaviour of Roman government and the governed. In looking at this evidence we should not try to think of the vocabulary of barbarism, and of the Romano-barbarian divide, as a transparent reflection of reality on the ground; rather, it a cognitive map through which the hegemonic Graeco-Roman culture that survives in the extant sources represented that world. A map, however, is not the same thing as the territory and we need to maintain a constant awareness of the distinction between the cognitive map that survives for us, and the historical territory that contemporaries actually experienced while producing the map (Smith 1978: 289-309). The cognitive map is made up of words, from which our discussion can begin. The word bárbaros is Greek, and along with its adjective, barbarikós, forms the oldest segment of the GraecoRoman vocabulary of the barbarian (Weidner 1913). The Greeks themselves believed the word to be onomatopoieic, coined from the braying sound -- bar, bar, bar -- made by those who did not speak Greek.

The semantic content of this vocabulary of barbarism has been heavily researched and there is no space to go into details here (Dauge 1981). All Greek and Roman visions of different sorts of barbarian share one epistemological characteristic -- their essentialism. The barbarian, of whatever type, is represented as having qualities that are inherent and fixed, essential to his being. Whether through a native savagery or a native slavishness, the barbarian is ontologically different from the Greek or the

Although it now seems likely that the root is actually Sumerian (Rousseau 1995), borrowed into Greek by way of Anatolia, that does not alter the historical significance of the Greeks’ own etymology of bárbaros, and its definition of the barbarian as, in the first instance, one who did not speak Greek (Skoda 1981; Lévy 1984). Latin borrowed the Greek vocabulary for the barbarian at a

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Barbaria, Barbaricum and the Location of the Barbarus Roman (Hölscher 2000b; Maderna-Lauter 2000). For reasons of space, we may leave here aside the question of how Greeks and Romans were thought to differ from each other, but suffice to say that by the last century of the Republic, both Greeks and Romans had more or less learned to place themselves on one side of the ontological divide between a Greek and Roman “us” and a barbarian “them” . Greek and Roman stereotypes of the barbarian were slowly elided, and before very long it becomes impossible to separate them from one another (Polito 1999).

terrain: we have eloquent, indeed moving, testimony to this fact in the long funerary inscription of one Murranus, a Pannonian immigrant to central Italy who calls himself a hominem barbarum natu Pannunium, and describes the way in which his life’s many sorrows had taught even him, a rude barbarian, the quality of mercy (AE 1989: 247). His lament is in many ways a familiar variation on the monitory themes of the early imperial lege nunc viator genre, but it is interesting insofar as this is the sole place in Latin literature that someone identifies themselves as a barbarian – more interesting still in that Murranus is no ingénu, but rather almost certainly a man who gained the citizenship after his father was recruited into Septimius Severus’ Legio II Parthica, settled in Italy (the II Parthica was stationed at Albano Laziale south of Rome), and eventually married into the Italian municipal class. The Murranus inscription thus speaks to what has been called the absence double experienced by immigrants (foreign both to their old and their new homes [Sayad 2004]) – a double absence that could be remembered by the peregrinus who died a civis and psychologically assimilated by him to the condition of barbarism.

The themes around which discussion of barbarians revolved had become fixed by the late Republic. For a short period during the reign of Augustus, we find writers like Vergil and Livy articulating the idea of Romans as an elect, with a mission to civilize. Yet despite the fact that Augustan writers were instantly taken into the canon of Latin literature, this idea of a Roman mission has no afterlife in the literature of the empire -- not even in the hundred years after Augustus, during which the empire continued to grow. Florus (2.30.27) described how the sun itself shone more brightly upon Germany after the conquests of Drusus had rendered that savage land peaceful; but he does not suggest that Drusus or anyone else was fated thus to conquer, or that Rome had any mission to civilize those it conquered. Thus instead of development, we see the passing on of stereotypes from century to century. That is not accidental: for Greeks and Romans, an intrinsic fact of the barbarian was that he did not change. Examples are so numerous as to defy comprehensive citation. Take, for instance, the Gallic fury of Cicero: it has not changed four hundred years later in Ammianus, who gives us the same catalogue of vice -- ferocia, leuitas, infirmitas, and mobilitas animi -that Caesar had spent his Gallic War delineating. Indeed for several centuries, there was only one ambiguity in the essentialism with which Greeks and Romans viewed the barbarian, and that was his physical location.

Oddly, when Murranus died and his grandson put up his inscription the world his inscription envisaged no longer existed – there were no more auxilia, no more peregrini. The Roman Empire had changed almost out of all recognition. Responsibility for that lay with the measure that we call the Antonine Constitution (Sasse 1958; Wolff 1976), by which the emperor Caracalla extended Roman citizenship to the whole population of the empire in the year 212. With a few small exceptions, every free inhabitant of the empire became a Roman citizen, gaining all the Roman law privileges associated with that status. The details of the measure, and more particularly its motive, are hopelessly obscure and may have had much to do with that undoubtedly bizarre emperor’s habitual megalomania. But over the course of a generation, the effects of the Constitution were significant. For one thing, they gave the universalism inherent in Roman imperial ideology a practical reality and required jurists like Ulpian to articulate what that meant in practical terms (Honoré 2002). The edict also encouraged hitherto unimaginable attempts at conformity -- the notion of a single and uniform Roman religion, to take just one example, was only formulated in the generation after Caracalla, and it then led directly to the persecution of Christians under Decius and Valerian (Rives 1999). For present purposes, the most important consequence of the Antonine Constitution was the change it wrought on the meaning of the barbarian. Put simply, the conversion of the whole imperial population into Roman citizens gave the idea of barbarian space a fixed geographical content for the first time since the Romans adopted the Greek vocabulary of barbarism and civilization.

The possibility of conquest by Rome meant that barbarism had no necessary geographical connotation. Barbarians might readily be brought inside the empire and civilized – by culturally Romanising themselves, as large tranches of the Gallic elites did during the first century AD (Woolf 1998), regardless of legal status, or more formally through the various paths to enfranchisement (Sherwin-White 1973). The Roman army, and particularly service in the auxilia, was likewise a widespread, highly effective manner of bringing foreigners into the Roman polity (Haynes 2013). By the same token, as we saw already, the fact that one had been taken inside the Roman Empire by the conquest or annexation of one’s territory brought with it no necessary legal rights. In the eyes of Romans, the peregrinus was a foreigner, even on the land in which he lived and died. One was not ipso facto subject to the rhetorical tropes of barbarism, but the experience of foreignness and enforced alterity was no doubt a part of the experience of the peregrinus, and not just when he moved outside his natal

Symbolic of this change is the appearance in late antiquity of a word wholly unknown to the early empire: barbaricum. The morphology of the word is that of a

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Michael Kulikowski Latin toponym, formed like so many Latin place-names in the neuter suffix -cum. This geographical term referred not just to a barbarous land, wherever that might be, but rather to the land of the barbarians and was thus used exclusively for territory beyond the imperial limes. It therefore stood in explicit semantic opposition to the imperium of the Romans. Just as barbaria had both abstract and concrete application, so had imperium long been both an abstract attribute of Roman magistrates and at the same time the physical territory they governed (Richardson 2008). The Antonine Constitution transformed both words, leaching them of much of their ambiguity. While the abstraction intrinsic to imperium survived to some extent, barbaricum was purely concrete, even in its very morphology connoting geographical space. And rather than coexisting with the potentially abstract barbaria, barbaricum seems to replace it, the older word virtually disappearing. The contexts in which barbaricum is used prove revealing as well.

um, who defended the frontiers of a territorial imperium and who defended those frontiers against the inhabitants of an equally concrete barbaricum. Given such origins, we should not be surprised that it took some years for the word to pass into official contexts. The first extant evidence of its having done so comes from a law issued between 310 and 314, which regulates the punishment of imperial slaves apprehended ad barbaricum transeuntes . By the Constantinian era, then, the usage of the camps had entered the vocabulary of the government. By the 360s, it had slipped into the literary usage of an inelegant stylist like Eutropius who had himself served in the imperial bureaucracy. Soon thereafter, it had become so casually normal a part of the vocabulary that naturally erudite writers like St Ambrose, and very deliberate stylists like Ammianus, saw no difficulty in deploying it . What is more, the word was borrowed back into Greek, which had hitherto lacked a word for “barbarian space,” but which now accepted barbarikón as a loan from the Latin.

Unlike barbaria, which is very much a literary term, barbaricum is first attested on inscriptions. The very first occurrence of the word comes from the 220s, in an inscription found at Preslav in the Balkans. The inscription invokes the numen of an unknown divinity to whom the author had made a vow when a young recruit -now, at the end of a distinguished career, having faced many periculis in barbarico, he dedicates this stone to the god in fulfillment of his vow . Soon thereafter, we read of one Aurelius Ditusanus, a junior officer who died aged 38 fighting in barbarico . The inscription comes from Sacidaua, a military headquarters in modern Rumania, not far from the Danube River and the imperial frontier. It shows us that, within a decade or so of the Antonine Constitution, one of the men thereby made a citizen was commemorated for his disappearance in what his wife, and thus presumably he and his comrades, called the barbaricum.

Here then is one of the underappreciated consequences of Caracalla’s Antonine Constitution: it made barbarian space real. By making all the inhabitants of the empire into Roman citizens, Caracalla implicitly set a limit to the space that was Roman, giving the limes a potentially greater significance than it had formerly possessed. Episodes such as imperial treaties signed in mid-Rhine with barbarian kings demonstrate an acceptance of the barbaricum as a politically separate environment from an empire filled with Romans . And although it is perhaps counterintuitive, the creation of a barbaricum also rendered the tropes of barbarism more free-floating than ever before – deprived of any meaningful legal or status content within the Roman frontiers, the tropes of barbarism could be applied abusively to nearly anyone. The fourth-century histories of Ammianus make that clear, as a whole group of military men from the far side of the limes (generals of Frankish and Alamannic origin, for the most part) are neither called nor portrayed as barbarians, whereas the Pannonians from among whom sprung the Valentiniani are indeed systematically denigrated as barbarous. That in turn shows, that not every person from the opposite side of the limes was automatically constructed as a barbarian, thought of as such, or subjected to the commonplace rhetorical tropes of barbarism. On the contrary, the lands beyond the northern and along the African and Caucasus frontiers were in functionally the same situation as the Balkan provinces had been prior to Marcus’ Marcommanic wars: collectively, their population was thought of as barbarian, but elites were fully a part of the Roman political economy. Even legal issues, while not especially clear in our sources, were quite clear to contemporaries (Mathisen 2006), and men of Sarmatian, Caucasian-Iberian, Gothic, Frankish, Moorish and Alamannic origin were all integral parts of the late Roman high command, which was so crucial to the running of the empire in this period (Potter 2004: 533-52; Kelly 2013). Paradoxically, then, one main

The chronological proximity of this reference to the citizenship edict of Caracalla suggests more than mere coincidence. It would seem that, whether or not the word barbaricum was in common use before 212, that year gave it a new currency. By the mid-third century, we find it designating not just the territories opposite the lower Danube frontier, but also the trans-Rhenan lands of Germany, as is shown by two other inscriptions: in one, a protector named Viatorinus is commemorated at Cologne, after having been killed in barbarico near Deutz beyond the Rhine . In the other, the brother and fellow-soldier of a man killed at Frunino, an unknown site somewhere in barbarico, sets up his memorial near their Italian home . The word would thus seem to reflect the usage of the camps, spreading along frontiers in the common parlance of the soldiery. It was not a literary coinage or a conceptual abstraction such as already existed in the word barbaria. Rather it was a vulgarism or colloquialism, coined by men who were used to marching between various places with names ending in -

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Barbaria, Barbaricum and the Location of the Barbarus impact of the creation of a separate barbarian space was to allow for the great ethnic and regional diversity that characterized late antiquity far more than had been in the case in the early empire.

hellenistischen und römischen Zeit,” in: Hölscher 2000a: 43566. Malkin, I., (ed.) (2001): Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, Washington, DC and Cambridge, MA. Mathisen, R. W., (2006): “Peregrini, barbari and cives Romani: Concepts of citizenship and the legal status of barbarians in the later Roman Empire”, American Historical Review 111, 101140.

Bibliography Dauge, Y.-A., (1981): Le Barbare. Recherches sur la conception romaine de la barbarie et de la civilisation, Brussels.

Polito, E., (1999): I Galati vinti. Il trionfo sui barbari da Pergamo a Roma, Rome.

Goldhill, S., (ed.) (2001): Being Greek under Rome: Cultural Identity, the Second Sophistic and the Development of Empire, Cambridge.

Potter, D. S. (2004): The Roman Empire at Bay, AD 180-395, London.

Halfmann, H., (1979): Die Senatoren aus dem östlichen Teil des Imperium Romanum bis zum Ende des 2. Jh. n. Chr. (Hypomnemata 58.), Göttingen.

Richardson, J. (2008): The Language of Empire. Rome and the Idea of Empire from the Third Century BC to the Second Century AD, Cambridge.

Hall, E. (1989): Inventing the Barbarian. Greek Self Definition through Tragedy, Oxford.

Rives, J. B. (1999): “The decree of Decius and the religion of empire,” Journal of Roman Studies 89, 135-54.

Hall, J. M., (1997): Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge. - (2002): Hellenicity: Between Ethnicity and Culture, Chicago.

Rousseau, A. (1995): “Le mot barbare dans le vocabulaire indoeuropéen,” Études inter-ethniques, n.s. 10, 15-26. Sasse, C. (1958): Die Constitutio Antoniniana, Wiesbaden.

Haynes, I., (2013): Blood of the Provinces: The Roman Auxilia and the Making of Provincial Society from Augustus to the Severans, Oxford.

Sherwin-White, A.N. (1973): The Roman Citizenship, 2nd ed., Oxford.

Hölscher, T., (ed.) (2000a): Gegenwelten zu den Kulturen Griechenlands und Roms in der Antike, Leipzig. - (2000b): “Feindwelten--Gluckswelten: Perser, Kentauren und Amazonen,” in: Hölscher 2000a: 287-320.

Skoda, F. (1981): “Histoire du mot bárbaros jusqu’au début de l’ère chrétienne,” Actes du colloque franco-polonais d’Histoire: Les relations économiques et culturelles entre l’Occident et l’Orient, Nice, 111-26.

Honoré, T., (2002): Ulpian: Pioneer of Human Rights, 2nd ed., Oxford.

Sayad, A. (2004): The Suffering of the Immigrant, London. Smith, J. Z. (1978): Map is Not Territory. Studies in the History of Religions, Leiden.

Kelly, G., (2013): “The Political Crisis of AD 375-376,” Chiron 43, 357-409.

Weidner, E. (1913): “Βάρβαροι”, Glotta 4, 303-304.

Lévy, E. (1984): “Naissance du concept de barbare,” Ktèma 9, 5-14.

Wolff, H. (1976): Die Constitutio Antoniniana und Papyrus Gissensis 40 I, 2 vols., Cologne.

Lloyd, G.E.R., (2014): The Ideals of Inquiry. An Ancient History, Oxford.

Woolf, G. (1998): Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul, Cambridge.

Maderna-Lauter, C., (2000): “Unordnung als Bedrohung. Der Kampf der Giganten gegen die Götter in der Bildkunst der

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LA CONVERSION AU CHRISTIANISME COMME UN MÉCANISME D’IDENTITÉ ET D’ALTÉRITÉ CHEZ LES BARBARES Bruno DUMÉZIL

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Abstract: The religious identity of the Barbarians, like the other identities with which they associated themselves, was a marker that could be activated or not, as required. If there is some unique quality to barbaric times, it probably lies in their striking pragmatism, which in most cases did not lead to a search for unity at all costs. The synthetic identity of the late Roman world, if it ever really existed beyond the official discourse, was composed of plural identities, political, ethnic, social and religious: identities whose relationship was constantly negotiated by princes, the Church and the various elites. Keywords: Barbarians – Conversion – Identity – Christianity

En outre, pendant deux siècles, les marqueurs politiques, ethniques et religieux interagirent de façon complexe, contribuant à forger l’unité de certains groupes mais perturbant également les critères de reconnaissances d’autres. Or, comme le souligne Walter Pohl, la notion même d’identité pose problème, notamment pour des périodes où l’appartenance de l’individu à un groupe ne présentait pas nécessairement une très grande netteté et où les concepts dénotant la communauté nous apparaissent fuyants (Pohl 2013: 1-67). Le terme de « peuple barbare » constitue en lui-même une facilité de l’historien qui ne reflète que mal les nuances de la terminologie des sources et les variations entre les auteurs (Zientara 1986: 11-20; Goetz 2003: 39-64). Il n’en reste pas moins qu’au sein du bouillonnement social, ethnique et politique qui participe au processus d’ethnogenèse 2 , l’élément religieux a pu constituer un marqueur présentant une importance réelle et permettant des exploitations diverses. Au sein de ce sujet vaste, objet d’une riche historiographie, le présent article se contentera de présenter quelques éléments de réflexion, sans souci d’exhaustivité.

Au regard des auteurs ecclésiastiques qui fournissent une large majorité de nos textes narratifs, le passage des Barbares au christianisme apparaît comme l’événement majeur des Ve-VIIe siècles. Si la focalisation des sources anciennes présente assurément des effets déformants, l’originalité du phénomène demeure. Pendant longtemps, ce processus de conversion a été décrit comme rapide, inéluctable et définitif 1 . Depuis un demi-siècle, le contexte et les motivations de ces conversions massives ont en revanche fait l’objet d’analyses nouvelles et souvent contradictoires mettant en avant la politique, l’ethnicité, la sociologie, l’histoire culturelle et même l’histoire des genres (Settimane 1967 ; Lutz von Padberg 1995; Nolte 1995; Wood 2001; Dumézil 1995; König 2008). Les historiens actuels s’accordent au moins pour constater que la période considérée voit le remplacement d’un monde romain tardif largement multiconfessionnel par une mosaïque de royaumes catholiques, où la seule diversité religieuse représentée est le judaïsme —altérité faible, puisque son statut mental se trouve intégré à la pensée chrétienne depuis l’époque patristique (Blumenkranz 1960). Curieusement, l’Europe a perdu en unité politique, mais elle a gagné en unité religieuse, tout en permettant l’émergence de « micro-chrétientés » autonomes telles que les définit Peter Brown (Brown 1996). L’unification religieuse a ainsi accompagné l’unification interne de chaque royaume, sans amener au rétablissement d’une construction impériale autour de l’oikumene nicéenne. Malgré le caractère généralisé de ces conversions barbares, on ne saurait de parler de processus linéaire. Des rétro-conversions purent avoir lieu, sans que l’on doive trop rapidement les cataloguer comme des « réactions païennes » et y voir des épiphénomènes.

Le fond culturel des élites du haut Moyen Âge était pétri de pensée gréco-romaine (Riché 1982; Hen 2007). Or, même si la notion moderne de « religion » n’exista pas avant le milieu du IVe siècle, le monde antique avait été capable de concevoir, dans une certaine mesure, les notions d’identité et d’altérité religieuse (Cracco Ruggini 1987: 187-205); celles-ci prenaient notamment appui sur des éléments de reconnaissance rituels et éthiques (Rives 1995: 63-85). Depuis l’époque républicaine, les Romains entretenaient ainsi une identification forte entre la pratique d’un mos maiorum réglant les rapports entre les hommes et les dieux et l’appartenance à une entité ethnopolitique forte, qu’il s’agisse de la cité ou du peuple. « Sua cuique ciuitati religio », écrivait Cicéron en 59 3 . Dans ce cadre, le critère religieux avait pu fréquemment servir à soutenir la rhétorique de différenciation entre les Romains et les populations inassimilées, dites « barbares » (Cracco Ruggini 1987: 187-205). Dans la mesure où les textes vétérotestamentaires opéraient une identification comparable entre le peuple de référence et les « nations » (peuples différents à la fois ethniques et religieux)4, la christianisation de l’Empire ne changea rien à cette vision du monde. Les auteurs de Utile synthèse dans: Pohl 2005: 183-208. 3 Cicéron, Pro Flacco, 28, 69. 4 Cette identification était en elle-même sujette à variations; voir: Heydemann 2013: 143-208. 2

1 Cela reste le point de vue dominant de l’historiographie d’inspiration catholique jusqu’au XXe siècle; voir not. Delacroix 1956.

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La conversion au Christianisme Kulikowski 2009) 8 . Les Burgondes installés dans la région de Worms firent également le choix de la religion impériale entre 410 et 430, si l’on en croit les récits concordants d’Orose et de Socrate le Scolastique9. Le roi suève Rechiarius (448-456) passa également au catholicisme à une date précoce, sans doute dans l’espoir de profiter de l’appui impérial contre ses compétiteurs en Espagne10. Dans tous ces cas, la conversion correspondait à un changement d’affichage vis-à-vis de Rome : le peuple baptisé s’affirmait moins « barbare » et moins autonome, en échange de quoi il s’estimait en droit de bénéficier d’un surcroît de protection impériale dans un contexte d’extrême difficulté. Au Ve siècle, les Lombards revendiquèrent ainsi l’alliance impériale contre le Gépides, arguant qu’ils étaient un peuple orthodoxe à la différence de leurs ennemis11.

l’époque ambrosienne n’hésitèrent donc pas à traiter le paganisme germanique ou l’hérésie arienne comme des éléments de distinction entre les Romains et les éléments allogènes (Chauvot 1998). Au milieu du Ve siècle, Salvien fit de même, même si cet auteur écrivit à contrecourant de l’idéologie dominante en valorisant le Barbare plutôt que l’indigène (Maas 1995: 275-284). Par la suite, les sources du haut Moyen Âge continuèrent fréquemment de relier l’appartenance à un peuple pensé en termes biologiques à l’adhésion à un culte ancestral. Les modèles romains (les Troyens errant de l’Énéide) et chrétiens (le peuple hébreux de l’Ancien Testament) concordaient pour affirmer que même une migration ou une quasi-extinction n’interdisait pas le maintien de cette identification entre peuple et religion (Coumert 2007). En somme, l’adhésion à un mos majorum nécessairement immuable apparaissait à tous comme le gage de la stabilité ethnique, et réciproquement.

Naturellement, plusieurs rois barbares firent un choix opposé, en se revendiquant d’une religion différente de celle de l’Empire afin de mieux marquer leur altérité. Chez les Goths danubiens, lorsqu’il y eut rupture diplomatique avec Rome entre 369 et 372, le chef Athanaric mena une politique de persécution du christianisme et de promotion du paganisme (Schwarcz 1999: 454). Après leur installation définitive en Occident en 418, alors qu’ils ne cherchaient plus l’intégration à tout prix, les Wisigoths entretinrent également l’arianisme à la fois comme élément identitaire par rapport aux populations romaines et comme marqueur de leur défiance envers Rome et Byzance (Wolfram 1990: 131-185). Pendant deux siècles, cette confession continua d’exister chez eux par opposition à la religio romana qu’était l’orthodoxie nicéenne. Une telle stratégie de distinction permettait en effet de réduire les interrelations sociales et matrimoniales avec les sédentaires romains, tout en utilisant l’élément religieux pour entretenir en interne des caractères jugés ancestraux comme la langue ou l’écriture gothique. Ne pas avoir à dépendre du clergé romain facilitait également la séparation symbolique par rapport à l’Empire (Dumézil: à paraître). Certains observateurs semblent toutefois avoir été conscients que cette religion proclamée par les Barbares n’était pas une croyance, mais un usage social ou politique ; ils évoquent alors le terme de consuetudo, refusant l’appellation de fides12.

On ignore quel pouvait être le point de vue des Barbares de l’Antiquité sur une telle question. Pour beaucoup d’historiens et d’archéologues actuels, la plupart des identités ethniques étaient de toute façon peu marquées, ou du moins très plastiques avant le IVe siècle5. Beaucoup de groupes habitant au nord du limes rhéno-danubien n’avaient pas d’histoire commune, sans doute pas d’idéologie unifiée, et n’avait qu’épisodiquement le sentiment de former une entité cohérente ou solidaire. En somme, leur identité était en cours de construction 6 . Parmi ces Barbares, les seuls individus dont nous connaissons l’attitude sont ceux qui ont vécu au plus près du sol impérial et qui ont été romanisés plus ou moins profondément au contact de la civilisation méditerranéenne. Or ces hommes semblent avoir adhéré au point de vue romain, à savoir que l’unité religieuse confortait l’unité politique, tandis que la divergence cultuelle entretenait l’altérité. Dès lors, on constate que les « Barbares impériaux »7 les plus proches du pouvoir romain demandèrent fréquemment la conversion à l’orthodoxie du moment. Tel fut par exemple le cas pour la famille de Stilichon (Janssen 2004). Ce mécanisme d’intégration s’accompagna d’une ferveur démonstrative dans la pratique de la foi chrétienne, qui visait peut-être à faire oublier les origines réelles des intéressés (Pietri 2000: 2134-2135).

Dans quelques cas, il est possible que le choix d’une religion non catholique ait constitué un facteur de rassemblement pour des populations composites dont le culte aurait constitué l’un des rares facteurs d’unité objectif. Il a ainsi été avancé par Peter Amory que la

La situation semble être la même pour les chefs barbares qui vivaient en-dehors des frontières de l’Empire et qui avaient besoin de l’alliance de Rome pour survivre. Au milieu du IVe siècle, les Goths danubiens semblent ainsi s’être largement ouverts au christianisme impérial, même si les conditions de la conversion de leur chef Fritigern restent sujettes à débat (Thompson 1966; Heather 1991;

8 Pour une conversion de Fritigern sous l’influence de Valens: Régerat 1997: 171-184; Liebeschuetz 1980: 49; contra: Simonetti 1980: 376379. 9 Orose, Historia adversus paganos, VII, 32, 11-13 (éd. M.-P. ArnaudLindet, Paris, 1990-1991, 86-87); Socrate, Historia ecclesiastica, VII, 30 (PG 67, col. 805-808) (trad. ang. par A. C. Zenos, Grand Rapids, réimpr. 1983, 169-170). 10 Hydace de Chaves, Chronique, 137; voir : Tranoy, 1981: 445-446. 11 Procope, Guerres, VII, 34, 24. 12 Sidoine Apollinaire, Ep. 1, 2; Avit de Vienne, Ep. 46.

5 Sur l’approche historique, les principaux apports de ce modèle interprétatif se trouvent dans les volumes Transformation of the Roman World. Sur l’approche archéologique, voir not. Brather 2004. 6 Discussion récente sur cette élaboration progressive dans: Halsall 2007. 7 Sur la définition de ce terme: Chauvot 1992: 173-184.

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Bruno Dumézil urgent d’unité interne ou au contraire de rapprochement ou d’intégration à un groupe plus vaste. Or le contexte se montre géopolitique des Ve-VIIe siècles particulièrement changeant, ce qui pouvait entraîner des repositionnements rapides, inacceptables pour les clercs mais indispensables pour les élites menacées. Ainsi, la défaite des Burgondes face à Aetius conduisit à leur abandon du catholicisme, tandis que leur implantation en Sapaudia, sous la double protection probablement de Ricimer et des Wisigoths de Toulouse, les invita à faire le choix de l’arianisme (Dumézil 2005: 201-202). Par la suite, la menace des Francs sur leur frontière nord inquiéta les rois de Lyon, qui cherchèrent à retrouver des soutiens solides à Constantinople. Un nouveau passage au catholicisme pouvait être perçu comme opportun, ce qui permet de comprendre les tentations de Gondebaud et la conversion de son fils Sigismond ; devenu seul roi, ce dernier s’empressa d’ailleurs d’envoyer à Constantinople une déclaration d’allégeance politique et religieuse14. De même, un usurpateur comme Herménégild, qui était en quête de soutiens étrangers pour poursuivre son aventure, n’hésita pas à se présenter comme un coreligionnaire de ses puissants voisins byzantins et suèves (Saitta 1979: 81134). Dans un sens inverse, l’impérialisme de certains peuples pouvait entraîner des transformations religieuses rapides. Dès le milieu du Ve siècle, on devine ainsi la pression diplomatique opérée par les Wisigoths de Toulouse pour obtenir la conversion à l’arianisme de peuples clients15. Dans certains cas, et notamment pour les groupes barbares les plus fragiles ou les plus menacés, on peut même parler de nomadisme religieux sous pression extérieure : les Suèves et les Lombards changèrent ainsi cinq fois d’appartenance religieuse pendant la période considérée.

société ostrogothique d’Italie n’abritait que bien peu de « véritables » Goths dans ses rangs (Amory 1997: not. p. 236-276 sur la question arienne); l’arianisme officiel aurait alors apporté, avec la royauté unitaire, un marqueur précieux permettant de distinguer les Barbares des Italoromains (Brown 2007: 417-441). Les clercs de Ravenne évoquaient ainsi leur doctrine en termes ethniques, la présentant comme la « loi des Goths » (Tjäder 1982 : 102, l; 98, 108 et 122). Il est également possible de comprendre de cette façon les innovations théologiques menées par le roi Léovigild au début des années 580. Une profession de foi reconnaissant la pleine divinité du Christ mais refusant ce caractère au Saint-Esprit aurait permis au souverain d’unifier ses sujets wisigoths et hispano-romains tout en marquant sa totale différence vis-à-vis des Byzantins contrôlant l’exarchat de Carthagène (Orlandis 1985: 51-64). Dans de telles politiques, on ne perçoit rien de « barbare » : durant l’Antiquité Tardive, en Égypte ou en Syrie, beaucoup de professions de foi alternatives avaient connoté ou soutenu une volonté d’autonomie régionale, tandis que les compromis théologiques imposés par le pouvoir impérial s’efforçaient de maintenir l’unité du monde romain. Visà-vis de ses sujets espagnols, la politique de Léovigild se rapprochait d’ailleurs de la politique religieuse de Justinien puisqu’elle tentait de créer de l’unité pour soutenir un État territorial par-delà les divisions ethniques et les régionalismes (Díaz 1999: 337). Parfois, il est également possible qu’un groupe barbare ait choisit d’afficher son adhésion à un culte exotique pour revendiquer une origine migratoire, que celle-ci ait été réelle ou fantasmée (Dumézil 2010: 217-227). Le paganisme teinté d’influences scandinaves dont témoigne le tumulus 1 de Sutton Hoo a pu ainsi être interprété comme une réaction identitaire des élites d’East Anglia face à un contexte de christianisation et à l’augmentation des influences franques dans le sud de la GrandeBretagne (Care Evans 1986; Carver 1998). Plus largement, dans un espace où les origines barbares étaient valorisées face à un substrat britto-romain sans doute dominant (Gerrard 2013), le paganisme permettait à l’élite sociale se légitimer sa domination. Un choix confessionnel inattendu permettait également de maintenir une distance prudente par rapport à des pouvoirs gênants : la sympathie de certains rois lombards pour le schisme d’Aquilée sauvegardait leur autonomie par rapport à Rome ou à Constantinople (Bertolini 1958 : 746-754).

Il resterait évidement à comprendre qui était concerné par cet affichage qui faisait d’un groupe barbare un peuple catholique, hérétique ou païen. En suivant une tradition qui infusait à la fois les textes scripturaires, Eusèbe de Césarée (Barnes 1981) et le très diffusé Actus Sylvestri (Pohlkamp 1984: 357-400; 1992: 115-196), les auteurs catholiques considéraient généralement que la religion d’une gens était celle de son roi. En outre, la stratégie de conversion « par le haut » supposait que le chef se montre capable de convertir vite et efficacement l’ensemble de son peuple (Schäferdiek 1987: 24-26). Grégoire de Tours envisage ainsi une conversion rapide de tous les Francs à la suite du baptême de Clovis. De même, Bède le Vénérable estime que la politique de promotion du catholicisme menée par les rois anglo-saxons fut généralement un succès, sans totalement passer sous silence les contre-exemples (Yorke 2006: 127-128). Dans tous les cas les chroniqueurs déduisent la religion du peuple barbare de la confession qu’a proclamée le

Dans un tel contexte, lorsque les chroniqueurs catholiques évoquent des conversions rapides mais aussi des apostasies brusques, le problème ne doit pas être posé en terme de sincérité des individus. Naturellement, au moment du baptême, des motivations personnelles purent intervenir13; mais qu’en savons-nous ? Il est en revanche perceptible que, dans de nombreux cas, le positionnement religieux d’un groupe barbare répondait à un besoin

14 Avit, Ep. 93 (Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Auctores Antiquissimi, VI/2, p. 100): « Vester quidem est populus meus (...). Cumque gentem nostram uideramur regere, non aliud quam milites uestros credimus ». 15 Les Suèves sont ainsi invités par les Wisigoths à se convertir à l’arianisme, si l’on en croit Hydace de Chaves, Chronique, 226, 230 et 232.

13 Une étude exemplaire des motivations possibles de la conversion d’un roi dans Moorhead 1985: 329-339.

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La conversion au Christianisme mais à nette dominante arienne. Pour tenter de mettre fin à cette situation jugée honteuse, Sisebut argumenta en exposant une vision organique du corps social, expliquant que le souverain en représentait la tête et que les membres devaient suivre sa volonté19.

dirigeant politique du moment. Il est à noter que sur le plan diplomatique, ce marqueur semble avoir été réellement opératoire. Par exemple, à partir du moment où un chef barbare était baptisé, Constantinople considérait que ce dirigeant était le fils du basileus, que son peuple était résolument chrétien et que son royaume constituait un allié préférentiel (Dölger 1964: 34-69). D’où l’intérêt pour certains souverains de ne pas déclarer trop clairement leur choix religieux, lorsque les choix d’alliances devaient rester le plus longtemps possible ouverts. Plusieurs rois lombards de la seconde moitié du VIe siècle s’ingénièrent ainsi à maintenir l’ambigüité quant à leur religion d’appartenance de façon à ne compromettre aucune option (Fanning 1981: 241-258).

Pourquoi certains Barbares continuaient-ils ainsi d’adhérer à des cultes qui n’était plus ceux de leur chef, et qui parfois même était désapprouvés par ce dernier ? Peut-être les envisageaient-ils, à tort ou à raison, comme un mos maiorum et, à ce titre, comme une nécessité identitaire. Sur la longue durée, on peut toutefois constater l’impuissance de tels marqueurs religieux anciens (paganisme ou confession non-nicéenne) à maintenir une ethnicité barbare spécifique. En effet, dans tous les royaumes européens qui ne furent pas oblitérés par une invasion, une conversion générale au catholicisme se produisit avant la fin du VIIe siècle. Sur le continent, intervinrent des facteurs sociaux : les Barbares étaient une faible minorité perdue dans un environnement catholique. Pour l’élite, on peut aussi avancer des éléments culturels, puisque la civilisation modèle, celle qui influençait l’idéologie du nouveau pouvoir royal, était la monarchie constantinothéodosienne. Construire un modèle d’État de type romain tardif sans adhérer à la religion consubstantielle à cet État était un exercice difficile. Certes, quelques rois barbares s’y risquèrent. Ainsi, Théodoric le Grand chercha à construire un royaume d’Italie avec deux ethnicités, celles-ci étant plus ou moins corrélées à deux religions d’États également favorisées (Piccoti 1956: 173226); l’expérience fut grandiose mais elle montra vite ses limites. De leur côté, les Vandales tentèrent de reprendre le modèle unificateur impérial en substituant l’arianisme au catholicisme, lequel se trouva en situation de religion persécutée ; même si cette expérience africaine présentait certaines originalités, elle reprenait beaucoup d’éléments romains, ceux de l’époque de Constance II ou de Valens (Modéran: 2014; Vössing 2014).

En pratique, l’unité du groupe barbare ne peut pas être déduite de l’affichage cultuel du roi, dans la mesure où cette religion officiellement déclarée ne correspond pas forcément à la religion réelle des individus. Ainsi, chez les Ostrogoths, peuple officiellement arien, on connaît de nombreux catholiques ; la mère du roi Théodoric était elle-même nicéenne 16 . De même, les élites burgondes apparaissent extrêmement mêlées, avec des ariens, des catholiques et peut-être quelques bonosiens (Dumézil 2005: 202-205). Dans les régions les mieux documentées, l’épigraphie funéraire témoigne de ce brouillage, avec des individus chrétiens appartenant à des gentes officiellement païennes. L’épitaphe d’un nommé Sigsmundus, probable membre du peuple ostrogoth, indique que le défunt appartenait à la religion juive (Frascati 1992-1993: 55-80). Un peu partout, l’hagiographie confirme l’existence de Barbares convertis à des dates précoces. Si les besoins idéologiques ou théologiques interdisent aux chroniqueurs d’insister sur cette mixité religieuse, certains observateurs ne manquent pas de noter le décalage entre la religion du groupe, la religion du chef et les appartenances religieuses réelles. Dans sa correspondance, Grégoire le Grand sut ainsi faire la part entre la théorie missionnaire tardo-antique et la réalité du terrain qu’il avait entrepris d’évangéliser. Par exemple, il savait fort bien que le chef des Barbaricini de Sardaigne avait reçu le baptême, mais que ce dirigeant n’avait rien fait pour pousser les hommes de son peuple à l’imiter17. Le pape insista aussi auprès d’Æthelberht, roi du Kent, pour que ce dernier travaillât à convertir ses sujets à la foi catholique, tout comme Constantin l’avait fait en son temps ; mais il restait visiblement beaucoup de travail à accomplir18. En la matière, le texte le plus remarquable est sans doute la lettre que le roi des Wisigoths Sisebut écrivit à son homologue Adaloald, roi catholique qui régnait sur des Lombards aux cultes extrêmement variés

En somme, le modèle de la double unité politique et religieuse, sans être aussi universel que ce que voulurent affirmer les chroniqueurs ecclésiastiques, eut de réels effets sur le terrain européen : lorsqu’une domination barbare commençait à prendre une dimension territoriale, le contrôle des populations imposait que le roi devienne un princeps de type romain et, à ce titre, qu’il devienne le garant de l’orthodoxie à l’échelle du royaume. Ce furent ainsi les souverains barbares — et non le clergé — qui réunirent les grandes assemblées de conversion : le Wisigoth Reccared organisa le concile de Tolède III en 589, Edwin de Northumbrie l’assemblée d’York de 627, le Lombard Cunicpert le concile de Pavie en 698. L’unité religieuse y constitua un geste politique beaucoup plus

Anonymus Valesianus, 58 ; Ennode de Pavie, Panégyrique de Théodoric, 42 ; Jordanès, Getica, LII, 269. 17 Grégoire le Grand, Ep. IV, 27 (Corps Christianorum 140, p. 246) : « Sed fidem quam percepisti etiam bonis actibus exsequi debetis, et Christo, cui credis, offere quod praeuales, ut ad eum quoscumque potueris, adducas eosque baptizari facias, aeternam uitam diligere admoneas ». 18 Grégoire le Grand, Ep. XI, 37. 16

19 Epistolae Wisigothicae, 9 (éd. J. Gíl, Miscellanea Wisigothica, Seville, p. 21) : « Unde praecamur uestram clementiam uerbis, praecamur uotis, praecamur et mentibus puris, tantorum praemiorum uestram fore gentem participem et adunatam in Christi corpore simul uobis esse consortem. Intolerandum nimis et adunatam nec ferendum est, tot copiosis caput uirtutibus sublimatum, quamlibet exiguum, membra torpentia consequantur ».

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Bruno Dumézil après les années 600 (Reimitz 2008: 51-70). Avec un siècle de décalage, la conversion au catholicisme semble également avoir contribué à la stabilisation de plusieurs royaumes anglo-saxons (Tugène 2001). Devenue religieusement acceptable, l’ethnicité barbare avait absorbé ou évacué les identités romaines ou indigènes. Au terme du processus, apparut soudain en pleine lumière la situation particulière des juifs : leur intégration à la synthèse nationale se mit à poser problème non en raison d’une ethnicité inacceptable ou d’une religion intolérable, mais à cause d’un statut qui les faisait échapper à la tutelle du roi chrétien. Dès lors, les juifs furent victimes de campagnes de conversions forcées, ponctuelles chez les Francs ou les Lombards, et nettement plus soutenues chez les Wisigoths où le processus d’intégration nationale apparaît comme le plus abouti (García Moreno 1993).

que spirituel (Dumézil 2005: 351-353). Bien sûr, de telles interventions n’allaient pas sans risque pour le roi qui devait non seulement imposer sa volonté aux Barbares, mais qui allait parfois affronter un épiscopat romain peu enthousiasmé par le retour d’une monarchie de type constantino-théodosien. Ainsi, alors que l’hérétique Gondebaud avait rallié les suffrages des prélats galloromains, son fils, le catholique Sigismond, dut affronter la colère de l’épiscopat qui n’entendait pas voir en lui un fidèle au-dessus de leur pouvoir canonique. Au demeurant, dès qu’un roi baptisé parvint à se stabiliser, s’imposa rapidement une identification entre le peuple qu’il gouvernait et le groupe des baptisés soumis à sa responsabilité religieuse. Une identification du populus subjectus au populus christianus est ainsi présente chez les Mérovingiens dès le règne de Childebert Ier fils de Clovis 20 . Là où les lettres pontificales circulaient, il semble que Rome ait appuyé ce mouvement de promotion du pouvoir royal : aux yeux du pape, la domination d’un gouvernant sur un peuple est justifiée lorsqu’elle n’existe que pour assurer le salut de ce peuple 21 . L’idée de cette responsabilité eschatologique irrigua partout l’activité législative et permit aux rois de fixer la norme au nom du salut qu’il leur fallait offrir à leurs sujets, quelles que soient les origines objectives de ceux-ci. Ce fut cette dimension chrétienne du pouvoir royal, beaucoup plus sans doute que sa composante ethnique ou justicière, qui amena à une multiplication des « lois » barbares après le changement de religion (Martin: à paraître). Dans le cas du Kent par exemple, l’œuvre législative constitua un effet direct de la conversion d’Aethelberht et de son repositionnement comme roi chrétien (Wormald 1995: 969-973). Bien souvent, les mesures de législation religieuse émises par les souverains convertis minoraient les éléments ethniques et rétablissaient au contraire des éléments de droit territorial au nom du salut universel des âmes. C’est notamment le cas avec les édits royaux francs et avec les lois des rois de Tolède au VIIe siècle.

L’identification du « peuple sujet » au « peuple chrétien » produisit également des effets significatifs sur les marges des royaumes chrétiens. Chez les Francs, dès le règne de Clotaire II, l’unité religieuse et la défense de l’orthodoxie servirent en effet d’argument pour la reprise en main de régions périphériques : les principaux pouvoirs régionalistes agissant sur les marges du royaume deviennent, dans la rhétorique officielle, des marginaux religieux qu’il s’agit de faire rentrer dans le rang (Dumézil: à paraître). Dans le monde anglo-saxon, on observe également des entreprises de conversions forcées menées par les rois sur leurs zones de conquête23. Partout, l’intégration politique des marges devint synonyme de l’unification religieuse. Collérativement, l’ « autre » religieux apparut bientôt comme la cible désignée des entreprises d’annexion, dans la mesure où le conquérant pouvait justifier son offensive en arguant que le prince local n’avait pas rempli correctement sa mission de dirigeant pour assurer le salut de son peuple. Les Pippinides exploitèrent au mieux ces nouvelles définitions afin de légitimer la conquête des bouches du Rhin et la mise au pas des dominions orientaux du royaume franc (Dumézil 2010b: 113-126).

Si la conversion nationale des Barbares contribua au renforcement du pouvoir royal, elle conduisit aussi à une redéfinition des identités. Ainsi, lorsque les Wisigoths se convertissent au catholicisme en 589, ils sont encore dépeints comme très différents des Romains. Mais trois générations plus tard, les observateurs considèrent que tous les Chrétiens espagnols appartiennent à la nation gothique 22 . Des transformations similaires, quoique moindres, s’observent en Gaule, où le qualificatif de « franc » fut adopté par l’ensemble de l’élite du nord

Les peuples menacés par l’expansionnisme franc comprirent très tôt le sens de la religion chrétienne qui leur était proposée par des missionnaires agissant avec le soutien de pouvoirs guerriers. En Frise, autour de l’an 700, le paganisme devint soudainement le point de ralliement pour les élites locales qui refusaient l’intégration au sein du monde franc (Lebecq 2000: 429451). En Saxe, région qui servait depuis deux siècles de défouloir aux armées franques et qui avait été fréquemment soumise à tribut, le refus du christianisme prit également une vigueur particulière : dès les années 690, deux missionnaires anglo-saxons y furent massacrés24. Il est d’ailleurs à noter que ce fut dans ces espaces d’expansion militaire de la chrétienté que l’on assista à la réapparition des violences religieuses, alors

20 Praeceptum Childeberti (A. Boretius, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Capitularia, I, Hanovre, 1883, 2-3). 21 Grégoire le Grand, Ep. VIII, 4 à la reine franque Brunehaut (Corupus Christianorum 140A, 518) : « Decet enim uos, excellentissimae filiae, decet tales existere, ut subiectae possitis esse dominatori. In eo enim regnum potestatis uestrae et subectis gentibus confirmatis, in quo timori omnipotentis Domini mentis colla subicitis, et unde uosmetipsas seruitio creatoris subditis, inde uobis uestros subiectos ad seruitium deuotius obligatis ». 22 Voir, malgré quelques affirmations excessives, Teilllet 1984.

23 C’est notamment le cas lors de la conquête de l’Île de Wight par Caedwalla, roi de Wessex (Bède le Vénérable, Histoire ecclésiastique du peuple anglais, IV, 16; Etienne de Ripon, Vita Wilfridi, 41. 24 Bède le Vénérable, Histoire ecclésiastique du peuple anglais, V, 10.

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La conversion au Christianisme ainsi une littérature qualifiée parfois d’origo gentium 27 , présentant presque toujours des traits d’histoire providentialiste (Heinzelmann 1994; Wood: à paraître) et empruntant ses thèmes aux grands modèles antiques et judéo-chrétiens (Coumert 2007). Le schéma narratif que proposent ces textes se montre relativement uniforme. Tous les récits racontent en effet comment un peuple biologiquement stable a longtemps erré à travers l’Europe, franchissant des marais et des fleuves, avant de trouver une province romaine où il fonda un royaume. En la matière, l’exercice de référence reste celui de Bède le Vénérable : ses Anglo-Saxons, partis du Jutland, débarquent en masse en Grande Bretagne sous la conduite de deux frères. Les réminiscences de l’Ancien Testament se conjuguent ici à celles de l’Énéide. Une fois arrivé à destination, le peuple barbare est appelé à se convertir à la foi catholique sous la direction d’un roi protégé par Dieu. Généralement ce souverain profite de son adhésion à la vraie foi pour obtenir du Ciel un miracle, de préférence sous la forme d’un succès militaire. Tel est le cas des Francs de Grégoire de Tours, qui se convertissent sous Clovis et battent les Wisigoths à la bataille de Vouillé en 507. De même, les Wisigoths de Jean de Biclar et d’Isidore de Séville abandonnent l’arianisme en 589 puis obtiennent en cette même année une grande victoire contre les armées franques en Septimanie. Quant aux Lombards de Paul Diacre, leur conversion au catholicisme leur permet enfin de tenir tête à leurs vieux ennemis, les Avars et les Byzantins. Dans cette relation entre la conversion et la victoire, on devine l’importance de la tradition eusébienne, qui réactivait elle-même un motif vétérotestamentaire : Dieu donne la victoire à son peuple fidèle et aux souverains qui, comme Constantin, font alliance avec lui (MacCormick 1986). Notons que dans le cadre de cette histoire guidée par la Providence, la reconnaissance d’un état originel de paganisme ne constituait pas un motif de honte : cette idolâtrie témoignait simplement de l’éloignement primitif par rapport à Dieu et, par contraste, de l’état de proximité actuel. Ce n’est donc généralement que dans l’origo gentium que l’on trouve des développements quelque peu consistants sur les cultes barbares et sur leurs liens avec l’identité ethnique. Malheureusement pour nous, les descriptions empruntent très souvent aux sources antiques et au fond mythologique gréco-romain. Ainsi, il est difficile de penser que le monstre marin invoqué par Frédégaire comme ancêtre des rois mérovingiens correspond à une véritable croyance païenne franque, alors que tout laisse à penser qu’il s’agit d’une fantaisie d’érudit qui connaissait ses classiques.

que le phénomène de conversion avait été généralement apaisé lorsqu’il s’était déroulé à intérieur des royaumes barbares. Au demeurant, les rois conquérants surent souvent rester prudents : si le christianisme fut imposé comme marqueur de l’intégration politique, les élites locales les plus conciliantes furent généralement ménagées. En Frise par exemple, les familles aristocratiques qui acceptèrent la conversion reçurent des postes dans l’administration ou dans l’Église franque; elles perdirent un peu de leur autonomie, mais sauvegardèrent leur position sociale 25 et leur identité ancienne ne fut pas oblitérée. Dans l’ensemble, la conversion des régions périphériques ne bouleversa donc pas les sociétés locales : la plupart des ethnonymes se maintinrent et les cadres socio-juridiques furent adaptés aux nouvelles réalités. Presque partout, les identités ethniques purent ainsi continuer d’exister par-delà la conquête. Seule l’adhésion à la religion royale était réellement exigée comme signe d’intégration. Dans la plupart des espaces, une fois que la communauté ethnique se trouvait redéfinie sur une base politique (soumission au souverain) et religieuse (unité autour de la foi de ce dernier), on assistait à des efforts pour réinterpréter l’histoire du groupe comme ayant été appelé de longue date à parvenir à ce statut d’État territorial chrétien. Les enjeux de l’entreprise étaient multiples. Sur un plan idéologique, il s’agissait d’insister sur la légitimité de ce royaume, voulu par Dieu et défendu par lui, membre d’une chrétienté plus vaste mais totalement justifié dans son établissement séparé. Défendre le royaume exigeait aussi de démontrer son haut niveau culturel, qui lui permettrait de rivaliser avec Byzance ou avec des voisins plus fortunés. Des motivations politiques purent également jouer dans la mesure où la dynastie en place était souvent à la recherche de légitimité ; pour les propagandistes, les ancêtres du roi présent devaient donc avoir participé au passage des ténèbres de l’erreur à la vérité de l’orthodoxie26. Sur le plan théologico-historique enfin, la communauté nouvellement constituée entendait démontrer son ancienneté, et éventuellement se présenter comme un nouveau Peuple Élu qui, comme les Hébreux, était resté stable et avait de tout temps été appelé par Dieu et guidé par sa volonté. Quoique souvent mise en valeur par l’historiographie, cette identification du peuple barbare à un nouvel Israël reste toutefois relativement rare et généralement tardive. Pour servir de tels besoins idéologiques, les lois royales n’offraient pas un champ d’expression suffisant. Apparut

Dans l’ensemble, chaque œuvre relevant de l’origo gentium permettait de donner aux contemporains un sentiment rassurant de communauté de destin — à la fois ethnique, politique et religieux — en gommant au besoin

25 Vita Liudgeri, 2 (Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores, II, 405) : « Tunc Wursingus una cum coniuge sua Adalgarda, et filio uno quem habebant, Nothgrimo nomine, et cum paucis domesticis suis occulte fugiens, ad ducem Francorum, nomine Grimoaldum, peruenit. Qui benigne ab eodem duce susceptus, habitauit in regione Francorum, et imbutus fide catholica, baptismi consecutus est gratiam una cum coniuge sua et filio ac domo reliqua. Post praefati uero ducis obitum singuli duces Francorum uenerabilem Wursingum honoratum benefitiis retinuerunt secum ». 26 Voir notamment, chez les Lombards, le Carmen de synodo Ticinensi (éd. G. Waitz, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores rerum Langobardicarum et Italicarum saec. VI-IX, Hanovre, 1878, 190-191).

Wolfram et al. 2003: 174-210. La source a longtemps été considérée comme une des principales bases de compréhension du processus d’ethnogenèse, avant d’être réévaluée comme étant essentiellement une création littéraire; voir notamment l’article polémique de Goffart 2002: 21-37.

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Bruno Dumézil les traumatismes identitaires. Le passage progressif des Anglo-Saxons au christianisme permet ainsi à Bède d’éluder la question des indigènes britto-romains, ancêtres pourtant d’une part importante des « AngloSaxons » de son temps, et qui avaient apostasié en masse au cours du Ve siècle (Dark 1994). De même, Paul Diacre dresse une geste des Lombards comme unis par le sang, sans envisager que ce peuple ait pu aussi rassembler des Romains déclassés, vaincus et humiliés par les guerres italiennes du VIe siècle.

Léandre de Séville : « Au sein d’une même foi, une coutume différente ne nuit pas à la sainte Église»30. En matière religieuse, le siège apostolique s’estimait ainsi capable de juger de l’identité ou de l’altérité, et il n’hésitait pas à en jouer pour servir sa politique. Par exemple, en 597, le pape déclara que le messager envoyé par la reine catholique Brunehaut s’était révélé après examen être hétérodoxe ; voilà qui permettait de faire échouer l’ambassade, sans insulter l’interlocutrice ni compromettre à long terme les relations avec les Francs31.

Il reste bien sûr difficile d’estimer la portée de l’Historia gentium dans la construction des identités vécues, dans la mesure où l’on connaît mal la réception de ces textes à des dates anciennes. La Chronique de Frédégaire semble avoir été peu diffusée, éclipsée qu’elle fut par le Liber Historiae Francorum, lequel avait été composé au début de VIIIe siècle à une époque où la synthèse franque constituait déjà un fait ancien (Gerberding 1987). Seule l’Histoire ecclésiastique du peuple anglais de Bède put prétendre à un rapide et indiscutable succès, dans la mesure où les identifications ethniques, politiques et religieuses que l’œuvre posait étaient appelées à s’imposer dans la conscience collective (Lebecq et al. 2005). L’impact de l’Histoire des Lombards de Paul Diacre ne doit pas non plus être négligé, même si l’œuvre apparaît bien tardive : elle influença sans doute plus les historiens des Lombards que les Lombards eux-mêmes (Bougard 1994).

Dans l’ensemble, l’identité ou l’altérité religieuse demeurent au haut Moyen Âge des éléments rhétoriques, dont on joue au mieux, au gré des circonstances, des besoins intérieurs ou des pressions extérieures. Le meilleur reflet de cette situation peut se trouver dans les lettres diplomatiques où l’idéologie tardo-antique se mêle au pragmatisme le plus débridé. Par exemple, dans l’imposant corpus des Lettres austrasiennes, les souverains francs du VIe siècle exposent à leurs interlocuteurs byzantins que les Mérovingiens sont certes des rois chrétiens et des fils du basileus, mais que leur christianisme militant et leur soumission fervente ne constituent pas pour autant des éléments d’intégration dans l’Empire. On trouve un bon exemple de ce jeu autour de cette communauté chrétienne unique et diffractée dans une lettre envoyée par Théodebert Ier à Justinien dans les années 540: « Voici que vous avez daigné nous demander dans quelles provinces nous habitons et quels sont les peuples qui, avec l’aide de Dieu, sont soumis à notre domination: par la miséricorde de notre Dieu, les Thuringiens ont été soumis avec succès et leurs provinces annexées, la lignée de leurs rois s’étant alors éteinte; le peuple des Suèves du nord nous a été soumis, offrant son cou à notre majesté au moyen d’édits; en outre, par la bonté de Dieu, les Wisigoths habitant en Francie, et la région septentrionale de l’Italie, la Pannonie, les Saxons aussi et les Eucii qui se sont livrés à nous de leur propre volonté. Sous la protection de Dieu, notre pouvoir s’étend du Danube et des frontières de la Pannonie jusqu’aux rivages de l’Océan. Et comme nous savons que votre auguste Majesté se réjouit de tout cœur, comme vos lettres en témoignent, des progrès des catholiques, voici ce que nous vous envoyons, selon votre volonté, par une simple description de tout ce que Dieu nous a accordé. Nous espérons ardemment que votre Gloire prenne d’heureuses décisions afin de conserver l’ancienne amitié des précédents souverains et la faveur que vous nous promettez souvent ; unissons-nous pour l’utilité commune »32.

Si l’on sort de ces constructions érudites, la perception que l’homme commun pouvait avoir de la communauté ou de l’altérité religieuse demeure généralement dans l’angle mort de notre perception. La notion de paganisme apparaît moins claire qu’il n’y paraît, dans la mesure où les critères définissant l’infidélité changeaient selon le système de droit que l’on invoquait (Dumézil 2010c). L’hérésie elle-même est affaire de perception et un Wisigoth arien des années 580 pouvait de bonne foi affirmer croire « ce que croient les catholiques »28. Dans tous les cas, la définition de ce qui était même et de ce qui était autre ne relevait pas de la compétence de l’homme ordinaire. Or si le roi châtiait la déviance et s’arrogeait à l’occasion le droit de reconnaître ses coreligionnaires, la définition de la norme restait généralement sous le contrôle de l’Église, qui imposait ses propres critères. Certains clercs voyaient ainsi la marque du paganisme chez des individus dont les croyances semblent parfaitement orthodoxes, mais dont la religiosité échappait à la médiation cléricale et apparaissait donc comme inacceptable29. Mais un prélat pouvait tout aussi bien minimiser l’altérité si besoin était ; au moment de la conversion des Wisigoths, alors que certaines pratiques liturgiques espagnoles posaient problème, Grégoire le Grand n’hésita pas à écrire à

La domination chrétienne sur un territoire n’abolit donc ni ses frontières, ni les ethnicités préexistantes. Une

Grégoire de Tours, Dix Livres d’Histoires, VI, 40. Sur les veillées privées en l’honneur des saints considérées comme des pratiques païennes : concile d’Auxerre (561-605), c. 3 (éd et trad. J. Gaudemet et B. Basdevant, Les canons des conciles mérovingiens (VIeVIIe siècles), Paris, 1989, 488); voir également c. 5 sur les veillées privées à saint Martin.

30 Grégoire le Grand, Ep. I, 41 : « In una fide nil officit sanctae ecclesiae consuetude diversa ». 31 Grégoire le Grand, Ep. VIII, 4. 32 Epistolae austrasicae, 18. Une nouvelle édition accompagnée d’une traduction italienne a été récemment proposée par E. Malaspina, Il Liber epistolarum della cancellaria austrasica (sec. V-VI), Rome, 2001.

28 29

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La conversion au Christianisme formulation tout aussi brillante de cette unité dans la diversité peut se lire dans une lettre du comte wisigoth Bulgar, négociant une alliance avec les Francs d’Austrasie vers 612:

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« Même si l’on voit bien que, sous la voûte céleste, la masse des terres a été formée par le Seigneur Créateur et qu’elle a été partagée, on le sait bien, entre le pouvoir des puissants selon Sa merveilleuse mise en ordre, il est nécessaire, pour les gardiens de Sa voix évangélique, de s’enquérir de ceux qu’une même foi en le Christ unit ainsi que de les aimer. Et, bien que nous soyons séparés du point de vue du pouvoir temporel, il convient que nous ne soyons pas désunis pour ce qui concerne les préceptes du Souverain Éternel »33.

Barnes, T. D. (1981): Constantine and Eusebius, Cambridge (Mass.)-Londres, 1981.

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Bertolini, O. (1958): « Riflessi Politici delle Controversie religiose con Bisanzio nelle vicende del sec. VII in Italia », in: Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 5, Spolète, 1958, t. II, 746-754. Blumenkranz, B. (1960): Juifs et chrétiens dans le monde occidental 430-1076, Paris. Bougard, F. (1994): Paul Diacre, Histoire des Lombards, Turnhout.

Une génération après la conversion de son peuple au catholicisme, Bulgar, chef de la diplomatie tolédane, acceptait volontiers d’offrir de l’aide à ses nouveaux coreligionnaires austrasiens qui s’apprêtaient à combattre les infidèles Avars. Du moins était-il prêt, disait-il, à donner de l’argent à ses alliés et à organiser des prières publiques en leur faveur…Mais il s’agissait surtout de rappeler aux Austrasiens qu’une même adhésion religieuse ne permettait pas de tout demander, et que l’unité dans la foi ne signifiait pas l’unité absolue des objectifs. L’oikuménè romaine était bien morte et différents royaumes chrétiens pouvaient coexister sans se fondre.

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En somme, l’identité religieuse des Barbares, comme les autres identités auxquelles ils participaient, constituait un marqueur que l’on activait ou non, selon les besoins. Ceci n’implique pas, soulignons-le, que la foi des hommes des Ve-VIIe siècles ait été moins intense ou sincère que celles des chrétiens de l’Antiquité. Simplement, la communauté religieuse ne recouvrait plus la communauté politique et un certain décalage pouvait s’introduire entre la croyance personnelle et la religion ethnique affichée. On connaît le passage célèbre où Bède le Vénérable rapporte, avec une certaine complaisance, l’histoire du roi Raedwald. Bien que baptisé, ce dernier n’avait pas réussi à convaincre son peuple d’adhérer au christianisme ; il continua donc de sacrifier aux dieux païens en tant que roi, mais pratiqua le christianisme comme un culte privé dans la chapelle de son palais34. S’il faut chercher une originalité aux temps barbares, elle réside sans doute dans cet étonnant pragmatisme qui, dans la plupart des cas, n’amenait pas à rechercher l’unité à tout prix. L’identité synthétique de la romanité tardive, si jamais elle avait réellement existé audelà du discours officiel, s’était recomposée en identités plurielles politiques, ethniques, sociales et religieuses, des identités dont la relation était constamment négociée par le prince, l’Église et les différentes élites.

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DID THE GOTHS REALLY COME FROM POLAND? Changing Interpretations in Changing Political Situations Jörg KLEEMANN

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Abstract: Despite the fact that Goths never lived in modern Poland, or its medieval predecessors, it is was a very exciting task to confront a historical myth with the history of research in the last century in what is today the Republic of Poland and also their actual political dimension. This long story of German and Polish political intended research should be described to a greater audience to reflect the crucial and ambivalent role of archaeological research and their historical interpretation on the construction of identities. Key Words: Goths – Poland – Political contexts – Identities

Europe. Analysing their characters and functions would need some books, but it could be summarized by the strinking term ‚Roman Barbarians‘, which was introduced by the last title from R. Steinacher (Steinacher 2014). The before is only told in the amalian tale of the so-called Ostrogoth by Jordanes Getica, written about AD 551, which contains the following steps: -Scandinavian origin - Landing of Ostro- and Wisigoths as also Gepids in three ships at the southern Baltic Sea coast and victories against Rugii, Burgundians and Vandals, - Migration to the Black Sea, - Gothic kingdom destroyed by the Huns AD 375 and - Crossing into the Roman Empire after the end of the Huns‘ rule AD 456 (cf. still fundamental Wolfram 1990). Even if the where about, not to mention the problem of their pure existence, between 375 and 456 AD is unknown (cf. Bierbrauer 2008: 10), the historical interpretation of the Sântana de Mureş–Chernyakhov culture northeast of the Roman border at the Danube as a multi-ethnic society ruled by Gothic kings is at least (still) justified (cf. Bierbrauer 1999 and Bierbrauer 2008: 29). Caused by this multi-ethnic background there are slight differences in the burial customs between this culture and the Wielbark culture (named by Wołągiewicz 1974) in Northern and Eastern Poland, but through the works of R. Wołągiewicz (still fundamental Wołągiewicz 1993) and A. Kokowski (Kokowski 1999a) it was possible to connect the development of the Sântana de Mureş-Chernyakhov culture with the expansion from elements of the Wielbark culture towards southeast, which is dated before the first mention from Goths at the Black Sea area. So, like in the view by V. Bierbrauer (from 1994), the late tale of Jordanes seems to be backed, concerning the move to the Black Sea. But attempts to distinguish certain tribes within the Wielbark culture (Bierbrauer 1998) or foreign Scandinavian elements within the autochthonous Wielbark culture (Grabarczyk 1997) failed. Already V. Bierbrauer (Bierbrauer 1994) doubted in a general cultural change from the Oksywie culture, with only cremation graves and a clear weapon burial rite, to the Wielbark culture, with mixed cemeteries with inhumations as also cremations without any weapons, around the beginning of the era based on the continuous use of the grave yards and therefore identical spread of these cultures, which was interpreted earlier as arrival of the Scandinavian Goths.

This contribution originates from the Polish-German theatre project ‚Titus Andronicus‘ by the authors W. Shakespeare and H. Müller at the ‘Teatr Polski’ in Wrocław and the Staatsschauspiel Dresden. The famous modern polish director Jan Klata had cast all Roman characters with German actors and all Gothic ones with Polish actors. I was asked in this context as a Polish professor of German origin to analyse scientifically the question, if the Goths really came from Poland. Despite the fact that Goths never lived in modern Poland nor in its medieval predecessors, and based on my own interpretation of the archaeological sources expressed years ago that the historical Goths never had seen the nowadays Polish territories (cf. Kleemann 2005), it was a very exciting task to confront a historical myth with the history of research in the gone century in what is today the Republic of Poland and also their actual political dimension. This long story of German and Polish political intended research should be described to a greater audience to reflect the crucial and ambivalent role of archaeological research and their historical interpretation on the construction of identities. Goths entered the world history with the capture of Rome by the Visigoths in 411 AD (cf. recently Von RummelLipps-Machado 2012), but more influentially on European history was the sack of Rome by the Vandals in 455 AD (cf. Steinacher 2006, Steinacher 2009). Within or bordered to the Roman Empire, Gothic tribes founded kingdoms in Gallia and Hispania (de Palol, Ripoll 1988), in Italia (still fundamental Bierbrauer 1974) and on Crimea (cf. Aibabin 1999, Chajredinowa 1999, Gürcay Damm 1999, Kazanski 1999 with Bierbrauer 2008), all of which disappeared after a shorter or longer period within the transformation towards medieval

Recent excavations produced unexpected results like grave 35 from Różyny, which is an inhumation grave

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Did the Goths Really Come from Poland? with lance head of the phase A2 of the Oksywie culture at about 100 BC (Tuszyńska-Stąporek 2005: 354, pl. 1), or the grave 335 from Opalenie, which is an inhumation grave under a small barrow with a single-sided sword of the phase B1b of the Wielbark culture at about 50 AD (Adamska-Tuszyńska 2011: 369, pl. 1-2), thereby showing close ties between both cultures, forcing me to see them only as different chronological stages of the same culture, that we may start to understand.

deutsche Ostmark, ein Heimatboden der Germanen to influence German politics at the peace negotiations in Versailles and the same under the title Das Weichselland. Ein uralter Heimatboden der Germanen at ‚Danzig‘ to promote local resistance. Under the last title it was reedited until the fourth edition in 1943 as permanent claim for changing the German-Polish border, maybe comparable with the intention of the third edition of the book by J. Kostrzewski from 1955, claiming Slavonic lands.

Looking at attempts to localize Roman ethnonyms from Tacitus at the first (Herrmann 1990) and Ptolemy at the second century AD (Herrmann 1991, map 2a) in the area of the Wielbark culture in northern Poland, we must consider that only Rugii and Burgundians are old names also used by Jordanes, but his for us important Goths and Gepids are like the Vandals new creations unknown to the Roman authors in the both first centuries (cf. Kleemann 2005, fig. 1). Therefore my conclusion that the Goths were created on the move into the Black Sea area, with splitted parts from the Wielbark culture as catalyst in a new environment.

However, in reality archaeology could not determine politics and the Treaty of Versailles in 1919 fixed the borders between Germany, Poland and the Free State Danzig in the lower Vistula region. After the League of Nations‘ vote on June 11, 1920, some border districts on the right side of the Vistula rest by Germany and were attached to the province of East Prussia. The Marienburg district lost most of his territory to the Free State Danzig and so the Villages of Willenberg and Sandhof came from the bordering Stuhm district to the town of Marienburg. In 1925 the Town Museum Marienburg and the Heimatmuseum West Prussia in Marienwerder were founded to promote the German culture in the border districts.

This interpretation seems to be far away from the interpretations developed in the first fundamental works on archaeology of the late pre-Roman and the Roman period in Northern Poland from the early 20th century by J. Kostrzewski (Kostrzewsk 1919; cf. Kostrzewski 1962: 13) and E. Blume (Blume 1912), but at least depends on material and archaeological methods presented by these authors. In his introduction E. Blume (Blume 1912: 1-11) formulated the methodological framework of the socalled ethnographical method, which is commonly ascribed to his teacher G. Kossinna, as his theoretical approach applied then on the archaeological sources of the roman period in northern Poland. As all modern theoretical works he constructed the trap to interpret the archaeological sources only within the given theoretical framework. Nevertheless this ethnographical interpretation was common in the academic dispute at this time (cf. Åberg 1919: 1-11; Kostrzewski 1919: 1-11) and we may criticize too specific theoretical approaches, but some fundamental basics of archaeological research used by E. Blume like chronological divisions or analyses of grave rituals are still necessary and should not be labelled as old fashioned single-sided theoretical approach (like the tendency by Gauß 2008: 43-50, even if he also could not prevent to use a theoretical approach given by Blume 1912: 5: „Häufig bringen nämlich die Bestattungssitten große Unterschiede in das uns vorliegende Fundmaterial...“).

In 1927 the Town Museum Marienburg started under the leadership from K. Voigtmann big scale excavations on the site 1 from Willenberg ‚Heidnische Preußen‘ only about 100 meters from the German border, which ended 1932 with the object number 1733. With the political break in 1933, the politically engaged K. Voigtmann was forced to leave his duties and was replaced by party members, who made smaller excavations in 1934 (Nowothnig: 40 graves) and in 1936 (Ruppelt: 87 graves). The excavations were mostly funded by the province administration of East Prussia, but in 1928 and 1936 they received also support from the state agency ‚Notgemeinschaft‘, what shows a clear political interest in this archaeological investigations. But also on the local level this excavation were used in the frontier battle as also for tourism advertising (Pawelcik 1930). The main excavator K. Voigtmann, who studied meanwhile prehistoric archaeology at Königsberg, planned the publication of this key site but this failed due to political reasons. Consequently the materials from Willenberg excavation were used and partly published in two dissertations by D. Bohnsack (Bohnsack 1938) concerning the late pre-Roman period and R. Schindler (Schindler 1940a) concerning the Roman period. The ethnic interpretation of this burial place by D. Bohnsack as Burgundian might be only stupidity or even a joke about the usual ethnical attribution (Bohnsack 1938: 120121), because he stated, that except the old names of Burgundians and Rugians all other historical names were already been assigned and that Burgundian sounded prettier than Rugian (cf. Kostrzewski 1962: 17).

At the end of WW I the discussion about ethnic interpretation of archaeological sources left the academic sphere (Kostrzewski 1914; cf. Kostrzewski 1968: 9) and was used for claims to set new borders in particular between Germany and the - in 1918 re-established Poland. First of all we have to mention G. Kossinna, 1902-1927 associate professor for German Archaeology in Berlin, who published in 1919 in Berlin the book Die

Contrary to that, R. Schindler believes deeply in ethnic interpretation and stated - more or less following E.

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Jörg Kleemann Blume - a sequence of settlements from Rugians to Goths and then Gepids. Furthermore he was transforming archaeology into a legitimacy science, stating that the replacement of Rugians by Goths could well be compared with the ethnic cleansing of the Polish corridor after the defeat of Poland 1939 and later: „Damit eröffnen sich der Vorgeschichtsforschung im neuen Reichsgau [DanzigWestpreussen] gänzlich neue Aufgabengebiete, die seit der Befreiung der Ostgebiete mit gesteigertem Eifer in Angriff genommen werden müssen“ (Schindler 1940b: 54). Concerning his mapping of the deserted Rugian settlement area on the Pomeranian coast - west of Gdańsk (Schindler 1940b, map 1) one could only remark that this mapping is a result of the lack of research in this region. The only continuously used graveyards are the - at this time new and in a bigger scale researched - cemeteries of Oksywie (Schindler 1940a: 125) and Lubowidz (Wołągiewicz 1995). Recent excavations in that area revealed more continuously used graveyards like Rumia (Pietrzak 1987), Czarnówko (Krzysiak 2013) or Brzyno (Strobin 2013).

first century came the Goths from Scandinavia, ruled the local people and left at the end of the second century for Ukraine, followed by another century of rulership by Gothic Gepids. The Goths came and left after a short period of rulership, and only the autochthonous Slavonic people stayed in Poland all that time (Kostrzewski 1917; Kostrzewski 1955; Kostrzewski 1962: 26-31). Guided by the ‚Big Brother‘ the autochthonous argumentation left the official political discussion in the late 1940s (Brier 2003: 70) but survived within the archaeological discourse. Motivated by the research for the Slavonic ethnogenesis (cf. Godłowski 1979), K. Godłowski from Kraków worked first of all on questions concerning an exact chronology (cf. Godłowski 1970), which forced him to neglect any ties between the culture groups of the Roman and early migration period in Poland and historically known Slavonic tribes. Consequently he started against the current academic rules to analyse problems concerning the localisation of ethnic groups and their migrations taking into consideration other barbarians than Slavonic tribes (cf. Godłowski 1976; Godłowski 1985; Godłowski 1992). Almost at the same time R. Wołągiewicz from Szczcecin created the Wielbark culture and shifted their multiethnic interpretation towards the reoccurrence of Goths and Gepids (cf. Wołągiewicz 1974; Wołągiewicz 1981). It was also in the late 1970s that A. Kokowski from Lublin started his research excavations in the Masłomęcz area in the southeast corner of Poland, a region that had never been tackled by the dispute about Goths in Poland. Even there he found the ‚missing link‘ for J. Kostrzewski (Kostrzewski 1962: 30), which, in addition to the results of J. Andrzejowski’s research (Andrzejowski 1989) in eastern Mazovia, allowed him to develop the concept of ‚cultures in the the Gothic circle‘ (Kokowski 1995; Kokowski 1998).

With the ‘new tasks of archaeology’ begins a process of mystification of the Wielbark site, which in general was and stayed unpublished, pushed forward for example by a research proposal from E. Petersen 1939 for the SSresearch organisation ‘Ahnenerbe’ (homepages.unituebingen.de/gerd.simon/Petersen Ernst.pdf). He was familiar with these excavations (cf. Petersen 1939), but claimed the documentation of nearly 3000 graves (in reality it was only about half of that), and outlined the new directions of research - territorially towards Ukraine and temporally towards the early medieval ages, meaning the search for remaining Goths, for which in reality the results from Wielbark site 1 gave no hints. The result of this political embedded archaeology was a disaster, first of all for the people in Europe, but also for archaeology itself. For example more than 90 % of the findings from the Wielbark cemetery were destroyed or disappeared after the defence of the Marienburg castle against the Red Army in 1945 as also most of its documentation. As a result the re-established Polish state get a nearly erased cultural heritage from the Germans, like it also happened with the key site of Oksywie, which was excavated 1924 by J. Kostrzewski (cf. Karpińska 1927; Jasnosz 1972). Also the first scientific excavations of barrow graves in Odry in 1926 were conducted by J. Kostrzewski (cf. Grabarczyk 1997: 15), who as long-time professor for archaeology in Poznan (1919-1969) had an enormous influence on the development of archaeology in Poland. As master mind of the ‚Autochthonous School‘ he argued for his whole life for a Polish origin of the Slavonic tribes at least since the Lusatian culture in the Late Bronze Age with its continuation by the Pomeranian culture in the early and the nearly twin cultures of Oksywie and Przeworsk in the late pre-Roman Iron Age, which lead to the first historically known Slavonic tribes in the early Middle Ages. Only for the Pomeranian coastal area he believed in Jordanes: In the

It was certainly not by accident that, following the German-Polish border treaty of 1990 (Bundesgesetzblatt 1991, Teil II, 1329-1330) and the German-Polish neighbourhood treaty of 1991 (Bulletin des Presse- und Informationsamtes der Bundesregierung vom 18. Juni 1991, Nr. 68, 541-546), the still academic discussion about shifting ethnic interpretations suddenly went into a phase of public propaganda using the term ‚cooperation in European cultural heritage‘; by means of participation in European exhibitions (I Goti 1994 in Milano), the organisation of bilateral exhibitions (Schätze der Ostgoten 1995 in Bevern and Zamość or Die Vandalen 2003 in Bevern, Berlin and Warszawa), or the publication of popular science books (Kokowski 1999b; Kokowski 2007a). In the academic world have remained a lot of problems (Kokowski 2007b with a summary of the research history from his view), mainly caused by a still slow progress in the reconstruction of the destroyed old German sources with local (Wołągiewicz 1995) as well as regional analysis (Cieśliński 2010), but also the analysis of the huge amount of new source material, which might at least in particular change our minds. A

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Did the Goths Really Come from Poland? common opinion? Even in the ethnic interpretation neutral press statements would pick up, as a common reflex, the Gothic topic (trojmiasto.gazeta.pl/trojmiasto/1,35636,15898632,Arche olodzy_z_czterech_krajow_beda_kopac_w_Malborku.ht ml; archeowiesci.pl/2014/04/29/miedzynarodowa-letniaszkola-archeologiczna-w-malborku-wielbarku/).

combination of both attempts is the ERASMUS-IP Wielbark Archaeological Field School 2012-2014, which tries to make the mystic key find place accessible again for the research and forms my personal background1. In the Constitution of the Republic of Poland, approved by the National Assembly on 2 April 1997 (http://www.sejm.gov.pl/prawo/konst/angielski/kon1.htm ), we find the new base for handling the ethnic question: „Article 5 The Republic of Poland safeguard the independence and integrity of their territory, (...) safeguard the national heritage (...)“, which means that after the above mentioned treaties with Germany, there are safe borders and now the safeguarding of the national heritage is a central task of the Polish state. After all: „Article 6 1. The Republic of Poland creates the conditions for the spread and equal access to culture, which is the source of the identity of the Polish people, its existence and its development“, express the national heritage as central for the identity of the Polish people. Or, to say it in the words of the former Polish President A. Kwaśniewski (Kwaśniewski 2003: 11) „Regardless of which tribes and peoples inhabited the ground, we reverently call our native soil, we now remain heirs of their culture“. This statement was made in the context of the exhibition about the Vandals.

Bibliography: Adamska, A. - Tuszyńska, M. (2011): “Dalsze odkrycia na cmentarzysku w Opalenie, gmina Gniew, stanowisko 1”, in: M. Fudzyński, H. Paner (eds.): XIV Sesja Pomorzoznawcza Vol. 1. Od epoki kamienia do okresu rzymskiego, Gdańsk, 367-374. Aibabin, A: (1999): “Hunnen, Alanen und Goten, Chasaren und Polowzen”, in: Th. Werner (ed.): Unbekannte Krim. Archäologische Schätze aus drei Jahrtausenden, Heidelberg, 56-75. Andrzejowski, J. (1989): “Zagadnienie kontynuacji cmentarzysk we wschodniej strefie kultury przeworskiej”, in: J. Gurba, A. Kokowski (eds.): Kultura wielbarska w młodszym okresie rzymskim II, Lublin 1989, 103-125. Åberg, N. (1919): Ostpreussen in der Völkerwanderungszeit, Uppsala. Bierbrauer, V. (1974): Die ostgotischen Grab- und Schatzfunde in Italien, Spoleto. - (1994): “Archäologie und Geschichte der Goten vom 1.-7. Jahrhundert. Versuch einer Bilanz”, Frühmittelalterliche Studien 28, 51-171. - (1998): “Gepiden in der Wielbark-Kultur (1.–4. Jahrhundert n. Chr.)? Eine Spurensuche”, in: A. Wesse (ed.): Studien zur Archäologie des Ostseeraumes. Von der Eisenzeit zum Mittelalter (Festschrift für M. Müller-Wille), Neumünster, 389403. - (1999): “Die ethnische Interpretation der Sîntana de MureşČernjachov-Kultur”, in: Gomolka-Fuchs (ed.): Die Sîntana de Mureş-Černjachov-Kultur (Kolloquien zur Voru. Frühgeschichte 2), Bonn, 179-209. - (2008): “Ethnos und Mobilität im 5. Jahrhundert aus archäologischer Sicht”, in: Vom Kaukasus bis Niederösterreich (Vorgetragen in der Sitzung vom 5. Mai 2006. Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften Philosophisch-Historische Klasse Abhandlungen N.F. 131), München.

Given the European cultural memory, it is now easier for many Poles to identify with Goths than with Vandals. Consequently many local initiatives have been using the Gothic heritage to promote tourism, as well as for entertainment, for example at the graveyard of Grzybnica (festival ‚Goths at the Stone Circles‘) in Pomerania or in the Hrubieszow region (festival ‚Antique Culture in the Goths‘ land‘) at the eastern border of Poland. Over the last few years, the very poor Hrubieszow border region developed a tourism initiative, funded by the European Community and Swiss, called ‚Gotania‘ sub-region (www.gotania.pl), which features an annual festival as well as week-end activities. Their slogan in 2012 was: ‘Not only Olympics. Visit the Gothic Weekend in Masłomęcz‘ (cf. Kokowski 2012). After all this I was not surprised when the Deputy Mayor of the City of Malbork issued a press statement after our first cooperation, expressing that ‚Students will excavate the cemetery of Goths‘, adding that this would promote local tourism (www.dziennikbaltycki.pl/artykul/481383,malbork studenci-beda-badac-cmentarzgotow,id,t.html?cookie=1). This statement seems in the line of though, in which the former German Mayor of Marienburg B. Pawelcik, backed the first large-scale excavations at this site. Should I criticize participating students (Wiadomości Uniwersytecki UMCS Lublin, wrzesień 2013: 63) for adhering to this nowadays-

Blume, E. (1912): Die germanischen Stämme und Kulturen zwischen Oder und Passarge zur römischen Kaiserzeit, Teil 1 (Text. Mannus-Bibliothek 8), Würzburg. Bohnsack, D. (1938): Die Burgunden in Ostdeutschland und Polen während des letzten Jahrhunderts v. Chr. (Quellenschriften zur ostdeutschen Vor- und Frühgeschichte 4), Leipzig. Brier, R. (2003): Der polnische „Westgedanke“ nach dem zweiten Weltkrieg (1944-1950) (Digitale Osteuropa-Bibliothek: Geschichte 3, www.vifaost.de/digbib/brier-west). Chajredinowa, E. (1999): “Die Tracht der Krimgoten im 6. und 7. Jahrhundert”, in: Th. Werner (ed.): Unbekannte Krim. Archäologische Schätze aus drei Jahrtausenden, Heidelberg, 84-93.

This project has been funded with support from the European Commission. This publication reflects the views only of the author, and the Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained therein. 1

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Jörg Kleemann Kleemann, J. (2005): „Die Trägen kamen zu spät – Zur ethnischen Interpretation ostgermanischen Fundstoffes”, in: B. Päffgen - E. Pohl - M. Schmauder (eds.): Cum grano salis. Beiträge zur europäischen Vor- und Frühgeschichte (Festschrift für Volker Bierbrauer zum 65. Geburtstag), Friedberg, 219-237.

Cieśliński (2010): Kulturelle Veränderungen und Besiedlungsabläufe im Gebiet der Wielbark-Kultur an Łyna, Pasłęka und oberer Drwęca (Berliner Beiträge zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte N.F. 17), Berlin. Palol, P. - Ripoll, G. (1988): Los Godos en el occidente de Europa, Madrid.

Kokowski, A. (1995): Grupa Masłomęcka. Z badań nad przemianami kultury gotów w młodszym okresie rzymskim (Wydział Humanistyczny, Rozprawy habilitacyjne 83), Lublin. - (1998): “20 lat archeologii w Masłomęczu”, in: J. Ilkjær - A. Kokowski (eds.): 20 lat archeologii w Masłomęczu I. Weterani, Lublin, 11-26. - (1999a): “Vorschlag zur relativen Chronologie der südöstlichen Kulturen des „Gotenkreises“ (Die Forschungsergebnisse zur Masłomęcz-Gruppe in Polen)”, in: G. Gomolka-Fuchs (ed.): Die Sîntana de Mureş-ČernjachovKultur (Kolloquien zur Vor- u. Frühgeschichte 2), Bonn, 179209. - (1999b): Archeologia Gotów. Goci w dolinie Hrubieszowskiej, Lublin. - (2007): “Kultura Wielbarska – 25 lat po Słupsku”, in: M. Fudzyński, H. Paner (eds.): Nowy materiały i interpretacje. Stan dyskusji na temat kultury wielbarskiej, Gdańsk, 29-52. - (2007a): Goci. Od Skandzie do Campi Gothorum (od Skandynawii do Półwyspu Iberyjskiego), Warszawa. - (2012): Gocka duma Masłomęcza/The Gothic pride of Masłomęcz, Hrubieszow.

Kokowski, A. - Leiber, Chr. (eds.) (2003): Die Vandalen. Die Könige. Die Eliten. Die Krieger. Die Handwerker, Nordstemmen (Polish edition: J. Andrzejowski - A. Kokowski, Chr., eds.: Leiber, Wandalowie. Strażnicy bursztynowego szlaku, Lublin-Warszawa, 2004). Godłowski, K. (1970): “The chronology of the late roman and early migration periods in central Europe”, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego 217 (Prace Archeologiczne 11), Kraków. - (1976): “Strefy kulturowe w okresie rzymskim w Europie Środkowej”, in: K. Godłowski (ed.): Kultury archeologiczne i strefy kulturowe w Europie Środkowej w okresie wpływów rzymskich (Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego 422, Prace Archeologiczne 22), Kraków, 13-38. - (1979): Z badań nad zagadnieniem rozprzestrzeniania Słowian w V-VII w.n.e., Kraków. - (1985): Przemiany kulturowe i osadnicze w południowej Polsce w młodszym okresie przedrzymskim i w okresie rzymskim. Polska Akademia Nauk - Oddział w Krakowie (Prace Komisji Archeologicznej 23), Wrocław/Warszawa/Kraków/Gdańsk/Łódź. - (1992): “Die Przeworsk-Kultur”, in: G. Neumann (ed.), H. Seemann, Beiträge zum Verständnis der Germania des Tacitus. 2 (Bericht über die Kolloquien der Kommission für die Altertumskunde Nord- und Mitteleuropas im Jahre 1986 und 1987), Göttingen, 2-90.

Kostrzewski, J. (1914): Wielkopolska w czasach przedhistorycznych, Poznań. - (1919): Die ostgermanische Kultur der Spätlatènezeit (Mannus-Bibliothek 18), Leipzig-Würzburg. - (1955): Wielkopolska w pradziejach. Zmienione trzecie wydanie Wielkopolska w czasach przedhistorycznych, Warszawa-Wrocław. - (1962): “Le problème de séjour des germains sur les terres des Pologne”, Archaeologia Polona 4, 7-44.

Grabarczyk, T. (1997): Kultura wielbarska na pojezierzach krajeńskim i kaszubskim, Łódż.

Krzysiak, A. (2013): „Czarnówko, stan. 5, gm. Nowa Wieś Lęborska, pow. Lębork. Wyniki badań wykopaliskowych przeprowadzonych w latach 2009–2010 roku”, in: E. Fudzińska (ed.): XVIII Sesja Pomorzoznawcza, Vol. I, Malbork, 133-156.

Gürcay Damm, I. (1999): “Völkerwanderungszeitliche Frauentracht”, in: Th. Werner (ed.): Unbekannte Krim. Archäologische Schätze aus drei Jahrtausenden, Heidelberg, 76-83.

Kwaśniewski, A. (2003): “Grusswort”, in: A. Kokowski, Chr. Leiber (eds.): Die Vandalen. Die Könige. Die Eliten. Die Krieger. Die Handwerker, Nordstemmen, 11-13.

Herrmann, J. (ed.) (1990): Griechische und lateinische Quellen zur Frühgeschichte Mitteleuropas bis zur Mitte des I. Jahrtausends u. Z. Zweiter Teil, Tacitus – Germania (Schriften und Quellen der Alten Welt 37, 2), Berlin. - (ed.) (1991): Griechische und lateinische Quellen zur Frühgeschichte Mitteleuropas bis zur Mitte des I. Jahrtausends u. Z. Dritter Teil, von Tacitus bis Ausonius (2. bis 4. Jh. u. Z.) (Schriften und Quellen der Alten Welt 37, 3), Berlin.

Pawelcik, B. (1930): Marienburg, Berlin. Petersen, E. (1939): “Eine gotische Kanne Weichselmündungsgebiet”, Gothiskandza 1, 14-18.

aus

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Pietrzak, M. (1987): Rumia. Cmentarzysko z młodszego okresu przedrzymskiego i wpływów rzymskich, Gdańsk.

I Goti (1994): Bierbrauer, V. - Hessen, O. von - Arslan, E. A. (eds.): I Goti, Milano.

Schätze der Ostgoten (1995): Chr. Leiber (ed.): Schätze der Ostgoten (Eine Ausstellung der Marie Curie-Skłodowska Universität Lublin und des Landesmuseums Zamość), Stuttgart.

Jasnosz, S. (1972): “Ocalałe materiały z cmentarzyska w Oksywiu”, Fontes Archaeologici Posnanienses 21, 148-167.

Schindler, R. (1944a): Die Besiedlungsgeschichte der Goten und Gepiden im unteren Weichselraum auf Grund der Tongefäße (Quellenschriften zur ostdeutschen Vor- und Frühgeschichte 6), Leipzig. - (1940b): “Die Goten und Gepiden im Raum der unteren Weichsel”, Weichselland 39, 49-54.

Karpińska, A. (1927): “Nowe nabytki Działu Przedhistorycznego Muzeum Wielkopolskiego w latach 19231925 z 8 rycinami”, Przegląd Archeologiczny 3, 234-347. Kazanski, M. (1999): “Die Krim und ihre Beziehungen zu Mittel- und Westeuropa im 5. und 6. Jahrhundert”, in: Th. Werner (ed.): Unbekannte Krim. Archäologische Schätze aus drei Jahrtausenden, Heidelberg, 94-101.

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Did the Goths Really Come from Poland? Von Rummel, Ph. – Lipps - Machado, J. C. (eds.) (2012): The Sack of Rome in 410 AD. The Event, its Context and its Impact (Proceedings of the Conference held at the German Archaeological Institute at Rome, 04-06 November 2010, Palilia 28), Wiesbaden.

Steinacher, R. (2006): “Rex oder Räuberhauptmann. Ethnische und politische Identität im 5. und 6. Jahrhundert am Beispiel von Vandalen und Herulern”, in: B. Burtscher-Bechter, P. W. Haider, B. Mertz-Baumgartner, R. Rollinger (eds.): Grenzen und Entgrenzungen. Der mediterrane Raum (Saarbrücker Beiträge zur Vergleichenden Literatur- und Kulturwissenschaft 36), Würzburg, 309-330. - (2009): “Geiserichs Langer Schatten. Das Bild der Vandalen in Mittelalter und Neuzeit”, in: Badisches Landesmuseum Karlsruhe (ed.): Erben des Imperiums in Nordafrika. Das Königreich der Vandalen, Wiesbaden, 402-410. - (2014): Die Vandalen. Aufstieg und Fall römischer Barbaren, Stuttgart

Wolfram, H. (1990): Geschichte der Goten. Von den Anfängen bis zur Mitte des sechsten Jahrhunderts. Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie, München. Wołągiewicz, R. (1974): “Zagadnienie stylu wczesnorzymskiego w kulturze wielbarskiej”, in: Studia Archaeologica Pomeranica, Koszalin, 129-152. - (1981): “Kultura wielbarska problemy interpretacji etnicznej”, in: T. Malinowski (ed.): Problemy kultury wielbarskiej, Słupsk, 79-106. - (1993): Keramika kultury wielbarski między Bałtykiem a Morzem Czarnym, Szczecin. - (1995): Lubowidz. Ein birituelles Gräberfeld der WielbarkKultur aus der Zeit vom Ende des 1. Jhs. v. Chr. bis zum Anfang des 3. Jhs. n.Chr. (Monumenta Archaeologica Baltica).

Strobin, A. (2013): “Wielokulturowe stanowisko w Brzynie, pow. Pucki”, in: E. Fudzińska (Hrsg.), XVIII Sesja Pomorzoznawcza Vol. I, Malbork, 165-170. Tuszyńska, M. - Stąporek, M. (2005): Badania na cmentarzysku w Róźynach, gm. Pszczółki w latach 2001-2002, in: M. Fudzyński - H. Paner (eds.): XIV Sesja Pomorzoznawcza Vol. 1. Od epoki kamienia do okresu rzymskiego, Gdańsk, 353-361.

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Jörg Kleemann FIGURES

Fig. 1. Cast list of Titus Andronicus by Teatr Polska Wrocław/Staatsschauspiel, Dresden 2012.

Fig. 2. The Petersen proposal from 1939 (after homepage: uni-tuebingen.de/gerd.simon/PetersenErnst.pdf).

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Did the Goths Really Come from Poland?

Fig. 3. Battle of Gotania (after: Gazeta Wyborcza.pl 2012); more videos on youtube.

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FORENSIC ANTHROPOLOGY, IDENTIFICATION AND IDENTITY How It Can Help the Identity and Otherness Problematic Luis RÍOS FRUTOS

______________________________________________________________ ABSTRACT: Bioarchaeology and Forensic Anthropology focus on the study of human skeletal remains with two objectives, gaining knowledge about the social dynamics of past societies, and naming a deceased through the comparison of ante mortem and post mortem data respectively. The most common level of analysis in forensic anthropology is the individual, while bioarchaeology has been traditionally more focused on the comparative study of groups defined by one or more biological and cultural variables (sex, age, burial location, etc.). Recent developments in techniques potentially applicable to the study of human remains have increased the probabilities for individual identification in forensic anthropology, and the possibility of obtaining information related to different stages of the life history of individuals in bioarchaeological research. Additionally, recent developments in International Law have posed questions to forensic anthropology related to victim group identity, for instance in genocide investigations, where establishing membership to a national, religious, ethnic or “racial” group is paramount for prosecution. These groups might be similar to those studied in classic archaeology. Both disciplines, bioarchaeology and forensic anthropology, have been strongly influenced by new and enhanced techniques applicable to their common subject of study, burials and human remains, and now both share questions at the individual and group level of analysis related to identification and identity. The objective of this contribution is to provide a brief reflection on these questions. Key Words: Forensic Archaeology – Identification – Identity – Otherness

difficulties, numerous inquiries on the concept of identity in past populations as elaborated from studies of mortuary practices and human skeletal remains are available from different cultural contexts of diverse chronological and geographical locations (KnudsonStojanowski 2010). Research on identity through the study of burials and human remains, as defined by one or several of the biological and cultural categories shown in Figure 1 (age, sex, gender, ethnicity, etc.), allows gaining knowledge of the social dynamics of past societies, and is the main objective of bioarchaeology (Larsen 1997). To accomplish this goal, as argued by Zvelebil and Weber (Zvelebil-Weber 2013), bioarchaeology has generally focused on “cultural and biological conditions of large groups of people, rather than individuals”. This approach has offered numerous insights into the structure and dynamics of past populations, and it is based in the differences between bioculturally defined groups of burials, where each human remain provides one data to its group. Bioarchaeology has thus focused classically in the concept of identity as applied to groups of people from the past, yet, as indicated by Zvelebil and Weber (Zvelebil-Weber 2013), there is a major variation between conditions of existence among individuals, and building on numerous previous research they propose a new focus based on the “…biological condition and cultural circumstances of individuals or small groups”, which they refer to as Bioarchaeology of individual life histories. We illustrate here both kinds of studies, the population based, where identity is ascribed at the group level, and the individual based, where knowledge of life history details displays variation among individuals within the group, with an example from an ongoing research on diet at the Monastery of San Millán de la Cogolla (Spain). Human remains were recovered from two different locations within the Church, identified respectively as the place of burial of monks and layman, and the result of the study of the stable isotopes of carbon and nitrogen displays a clear dietary variation between both groups of remains (García-Rubio et al. 2014), differences that could be explained due to adherence of the Benedictine community to dietary norms as well as due to better access to specific aliments (Figure 2). This interesting result can be enriched through a life history approach such as that defined by Zvelebil and Weber (ZvelebilWeber 2013), gaining knowledge of the diversity within the group defined as monks. Diet during infancy can be studied through the analysis of different sections of

Identity is a concept made up of the interaction between social categories such as age, sex, gender, ethnicity, health status and occupation among others. It can be applied to individuals or groups, and it can be constructed as a self-perceived concept, or as a concept developed by the perception of others (Figure 1). The diversity of categories and approaches that constitute identity implies a potential for changing during the lifetime of an individual, and obviously along larger periods of time when applied to groups of people, making the concept of identity a complex subject of study. This complexity is exacerbated when the objective is the reconstruction of identity in the past through the study of mortuary practices and human skeletal remains, since it can be said that a burial constitute a snapshot of the final result of an elaborated ritual, whether of veneration or violation, made up by the living for the dead. Notwithstanding these

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Forensic Anthropology, Identification and Identity dentine of the same tooth, each corresponding to a successive time interval of infancy, a technique defined by Beaumont et al. (Beaumont et al. 2013) as analysis of incremental dentine, whereas diet during the last years of life is represented by the value obtained from the ribs (values displayed in Figure 2). In Figure 3 it can be observed that two of the skeletons belonging to the group of monks come from families with a clear difference in access to animal protein for children. In fact, data from further individuals clearly displays an interesting variation in this regard (Higuero and Beaumont, 2015), pointing to a community of monks comprised of individuals who come from families with different socioeconomic status. This result opens the path to further questions related to the norms ruling the enlisting of new novices in terms of age and family background (Higuero-Beaumont 2014). Further analysis could be applied to these human remains from San Millán, for instance the study of other isotopes in dental tissues in order to ascertain differences in places of birth and residence before adult age (e.g. strontium, oxygen). In fact, there is a plethora of new or enhanced techniques applicable to the analysis of human remains that increase the quantity and quality of information that can be obtained (Zvelebil-Pettitt 2013), including the study of isotopes of different elements (carbon, nitrogen, sulphur, oxygen, strontium) for the study of place of birth, and mobility and diet at different periods of life; the study of DNA for the determination of sex, ancestry and kinship relationships; the application of new histological techniques for the refinement of estimations of age at death, physical activity and pathological conditions both ante-, peri- and postmortem, to name those most widespread.

common focus on the individual can be exemplified through the use of the isotopic signature to assign geographic origin to an unidentified corpse in a forensic case (Rauch et al. 2007), or to assign geographic origin to the skeleton from a royal burial at the Maya city of Tikal, with implications for political history of this important Mesoamerican city (Wright 2005). DNA technology, which meant an important qualitative leap forward in identification in forensic anthropology, is also being applied to solve bioarchaeological questions regarding kinship patterns of individuals or small groups of people from very different time periods (Gamba et al. 2011; Lalueza-Fox et al. 2011). But beyond its focus on the individual, forensic anthropology has been recently involved with the concept of identity at the group level in different contexts, thus developing a similar double approach to human remains and burials in bioarchaeology (group and life history levels). One of the most important links to identity at the group level stems from recent developments of International Law and Transitional Justice as related to genocide investigations by national and international courts. Articles II and III of the 1948 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of Genocide (Resolution 260 of the United Nations General Assembly), defines genocide as the “intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group”, which are defined as follows: a national group is defined by common country of nationality or origin; an ethnic group shares common cultural traditions, language or heritage; a racial group is defined by physical characteristics; a religious group shares common creeds, beliefs, doctrines, practices or rituals. In a series of interesting articles, Debra Komar has investigated and reflected on the questions raised by victim group identity in genocide research from the point of view of forensic anthropology (Komar 2008a; 2008b; 2008c), inquiries that could be of interest to bioarchaeology since the four protected groups in genocide investigations might resemble the identity groups studied in classic bioarchaeology. According to this scholar, establishing victim group identity in cases of genocide depends on two non-mutually exclusive but epistemic different approaches, namely, scientific and legal. If establishing victim group identity is a question of science, victims should conform a defined group “distinct from both the perpetrators and all other geographically relevant populations”, a group not only recognizable within the society as a whole but that should also “exist in a form verifiable through scientific observation and measurement of the defining class characteristics”. But victim group identity could be only “a matter of law and the perpetrator’s state of mind”, and in an investigation of genocide the prosecutors could considered enough evidence to show that “the perpetrators identified the victims as a group, irrespective of whether the group self identified as such or society shared the perpetrator’s definition”. Komar exemplifies the difficulties associated to determining victim group identity, and thus establishing whether or not a specific case qualifies as

The focus on the individual and its life history is a common link between the bioarchaeology proposed by Zvelebil and Weber (Zvelebil-Weber 2013) and forensic anthropology, a convergence driven by the aforementioned technological advances applicable to human remains, the common subject of study. The latter discipline presents two main objectives: identification (Ríos et al. 2010, 2014), and determination of cause and manner of death. The second, less related to the topic of the present work, is based on the detection and description of signs of peri mortem trauma (trauma sustained around the time of death) to the skeleton (Ríos et al. 2013), and interpretation of the cause and manner of death (Baraybar-Gasior 2006). The first goal, identification, can be defined as the act of establishing the decedent’s name to a scientific degree of certainty through the comparison of antemortem data (e.g. dental records, physical characteristics) with evidence derived post mortem (biological profile and morphological features obtained from the study of the human remains). A more diverse and accurate information extracted from human remains is the common objective of both bioarchaeology and forensic anthropology, which subsequently contrast that information with evidence of material culture or antemortem data respectively. The

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Luis Ríos Frutos genocide, in her research on the large-scale violence in the Darfur region of former Sudan (Komar 2008a). Her conclusion is that victims of Darfur do not self-identify in any way and are not united by language, cultural practices or biology but rather by subsistence strategy, and therefore do not constitute a protected group, except if the prosecutors would determine that all that matters is that in the mind of the perpetrators they represent some “sort of cohesive entity, a form of other to the perpetrator’s self”.

created burials. In an interesting exercise, Komar (Komar 2008c) applies her analysis of mortuary practices in forensic contexts to two archaeological cases of multiple burials, the battle of Towton (England, 1461) and the Crow Creek massacre site (USA, approximately 1325 AD). We have observed similar findings in our work with mass graves from the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939), where beyond erratic position of the skeletons recovered indicative of lack of respect for the dead (Figure 4), organized and purposeful arrangements have been observed such as prone position of corpses of victims of firings squads buried inside cemeteries (Figure 5), a clear instance of denial of a resting place for the dead marking the difference between self (perpetrators) and other (victims).

Other instances of investigations of victim and even perpetrator group identity can be drawn from forensic sciences. Komar and Lathrop (Komar-Lathrop 2008) studied the use of material culture associated to forensic cases in order to establish its utility for the deceased ethnic identity in the American Southwest. These authors studied 3.430 autopsy records of decedents who died unnatural deaths (homicidal and accidental), were positively identified and were over 18 years of age, with material culture including items such as clothing, currency, documents and religious objects. The authors concluded that clothing and personal effects allow for the accurate classification of unknown decedents to their appropriate ethnic group, White Hispanic or White nonHispanic. From a more archaeological oriented perspective, Suasnávar et al. (Suasnávar et al. 2001) and Komar (Komar 2008c) analyzed mortuary practices from mass graves from the Guatemalan armed conflict and from Bosnia and Iraq respectively. In the three case studies the authors found differences between burial agents and the arrangement of bodies inside the grave. In Guatemala, thousands of persons, mostly civilians from rural areas and Maya cultural identity, were killed by the army and paramilitary squads, the latter comprised of local people and called “patrulleros” (CEH, 1999). The inhumation of the corpses was carried out by four groups, namely relatives, neighbors, “patrulleros” and members of the army. Suásnavar et al. (Suásnavar et al. 2001) observed clear differences primarily between the three former groups and the army: supine position and westeast orientation were observed in mass graves excavated by relatives, neighbors and “patrulleros” (perpetrators of the killings but members of the local community), while random position of the skeletons was observed in those mass graves where the army killed the victims and inhumed the corpses. In mass graves resulting from recent conflict in Bosnia and Iraq, Komar (Komar 2008c) found that archaeological evidence of veneration honoring the memory of the deceased (presence of a grave marker, a coffin or additional body covering, and orderly position of the body inside the grave), were without exception associated with self- or neutralcreated burials, meaning that the agents of burial were of similar ethnicity or excluded from membership in any of the ethnic groups involved in the conflict respectively. On the contrary, all acts of violation understood as denying the dead a resting place (e.g. absence of coffins, clothing, or body covering, erratic commingling of individuals in the grave, etc) was associated to other-

Final remarks Bioarchaeology and Forensic Anthropology have been related since the origin of Physical Anthropology during the XIX century by the study of human remains (mostly skeletonized), and numerous scholars have simultaneously practiced both disciplines (Stewart 1979). The increase in the number of available techniques (and their accuracy) applicable to human remains has meant an important increase in the quantity and quality of the information that can be obtained from bones and teeth (e.g. Irish-Nelson 2008). Basic variables such as sex and age at death can be better estimated, sometimes even determined, through genetic and histological studies respectively. More complex questions such as ancestry and kin relationships, or where and when people lived and what was their diet at different times of their lives, can be approached from biochemical studies of bone and teeth. Cross-linking this information with antemortem data in forensic cases or with data from mortuary practices in archaeological contexts is central for the task of identification and for a more accurate interpretation of human biocultural variation in the past. Both disciplines, bioarchaeology and forensic anthropology, share the level of analysis of the individual (more closely related to identification), the latter as its main task since its origin, and the former increasingly as summarized by Zvelebil and Weber (Zvelebil-Weber 2013). And both disciplines also shared the level of analysis of the group (more closely related to identity), bioarchaeology since its origin and forensic anthropology increasingly due to new scenarios related to International Law and worldwide migration (Figure 6). The concept of identity at any level, group and individual, is complex to analyze due to its aforementioned multifactorial and possible dynamic nature even within the lifetime of an individual. Questions as specific as the sex of the individual could present potential complications involving both identity and identification, due to discrepancies between DNAdetermined biological sex, registered gender and gender identity (von Wurmb-Schwark et al. 2007). As recently stated by Gowland and Thompson (Gowland-Thompson

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Forensic Anthropology, Identification and Identity 2013) “The significance of the physical remains of the body as an essential source of data for reconstructing past lifeway has been a focus of study in bioarchaeology for many years. The more explicit theorization of these remains as the physiological embodiment of social processes and integration with social theory has only surfaced more recently”. Similar interesting new theorizations have been also recently developed with regard to specific mortuary practices. Another layer of identity ascribed to human remains start to elaborate with mortuary practices, which in some cases are a complex snapshot of the intersection of the factors involved in building identity at the individual and group level, a photograph that could be less, equally or more informative of the agents of burial than of the deceased. Even the elaboration of identity crystallized with the inhumation might be the beginning of the so-called postmortem lives of the human remains (Verdery 1999). A recent area of research, the afterlives of human remains focuses on the inhumations and exhumations of war casualties and victims of war crimes and political violence, associated to mass graves, cemeteries, pantheons and memorials. Concepts of identification and identity are merged and re-elaborated with influences from religion, ethnicity, politics and nationalism, offering new avenues of research related to human remains and burials (Anstett et al. 2013; Stepputat 2014).

Gamba, C. – Fernández, E. – Tirado, M., Pastor, F. - ArroyoPardo, E. (2011): “Brief communication: Ancient nuclear DNA and kinship analysis: The case of a medieval burial in San Esteban Church in Cuellar (Segovia, Central Spain)”, American Journal of Physical Anthropology 144, 485–491. García-Rubio, A. – Martínez, B. – Ríos, L. (2014): “Osteological and palaeopathological study of burials from San Millán de la Cogolla. Spain”, Poster presented at the 16th Annual Conference of the British Association for Biological Anthropology and Osteoarchaeology, Durham. Gowland, R. – Thompson, T. (2013): Human identity and identification, Cambridge. Higuero, T. – Beaumont, J. (2015): “Investigating the transition from pre-monastic to monastic diet in post-medieval male individuals”, American Journal of Physical Anthropology (submitted) Irish, J. D. – Nelson, G. C. (2008): Technique and Application in Dental Anthropology, Cambridge. Knudson, K. J. – Stojanowski, C. M. (2010): Bioarchaeology and Identity in the Americas, Florida. Komar, D. (2008a): “Is victim identity in genocide a question of science or law? The scientific perspective with special reference to Darfur”, Science and Justice 48, 146–152. - (2008b): “Variables influencing victim selection in Genocide”, Journal of Forensic Sciences 53, 172–177. - (2008c): “Patterns of Mortuary Practice Associated with Genocide Implications for Archaeological Research”, Current Anthropology 49 (1), 123–133.

In summary, mortuary practices and human remains are studied in order to answer questions related to identification and identity in bioarchaeology and forensic anthropology, in several cases with the help of other disciplines such as cultural anthropology, history and law. With shared techniques between the two former, in each case different questions are posed and diverse perspectives are employed to answer those questions, and the interpretations we develop in our respective fields of study can be enriched through the knowledge of the convergences and divergences between those disciplines. The objective of this contribution has been to provide a brief reflection on that direction.

Komar, D. – Lathrop, S. (2008): “The use of material cultures to establish the ethnic identity of victims in genocide investigations: a validation study from the American Southwest”, Journal of Forensic Sciences 53, 1035–1039. Larsen, C. S. (1997): Bioarchaeology: Interpreting behavior from the human skeleton, Cambridge. Rauch, E. – Rummel, S. – Lehn, C. – Büttner, A. (2007): “Origin assignment of unidentified corpses by use of stable isotope ratios of light (bio-) and heavy (geo) elements – A case report”, Forensic Science International 168, 215–218.

Bibliography

Ríos, L. – Casado, J. I. – Puente, J. (2010): “Identification process in mass graves from the Spanish Civil War I”, Forensic Science International 199, e27–e36.

Anstett, E. – Dreyfus, J. M. – Garibian, S. (2013): Cadáveres impensables, cadáveres impensados. El tratamiento de los cuerpos en las violencias de masa y los genocidios, Buenos Aires.

Ríos, L. - García-Rubio, A. – Martínez, B. – Herrasti, L. – Etxeberria (2013): “Patterns of peri mortem trauma in skeletons recovered from mass graves from the Spanish Civil War (19361939)”, in: The Routledge Handbook of the Bioarchaeology of Human Conflict (Knüsel, C. – Smith, M., eds), Routledge, 621–640.

Baraybar, J.P. – Gasior, M. (2006): “Forensic anthropology and the most probable cause of death in cases of violations against international humanitarian law: an example from Bosnia and Herzegovina”, Journal of Forensic Sciences 51, 103–108. Beaumont, J. – Gledhill, A. - Lee-Thorp, J. – Montgomery, J. (2013): “Childhood diet: a closer examination of the evidence from dental tissues using stable isotope analysis of segmental human dentine”, Archaeometry 55, 277-295.

Ríos, L. – Martínez, B. - García-Rubio, A. – Herrasti, L. – Etxeberria (2014): “Marks of autopsy and identification of victims of human rights violations exhumed from cemeteries: the case of the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939)”, International Journal of Legal Medicine 128, 889–895.

CEH: Comisión para el Esclarecimiento Histórico (https://web.archive.org/web/20130505175022/http://shr.aaas.or g/guatemala/ceh/mds/spanish/>).

Stewart, T. D. (1979): Essentials of Forensic Anthropology, Especially as Developed in the United States, Springfield.

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Luis Ríos Frutos Stepputat, F. (2014): Governing the dead. Sovereignty and the politics of dead bodies, Manchester.

Wright, L. (2005): “In search of Yax Nuun Ayiin I. Revisiting the Tikal Project’s Burial 10”, Ancient Mesoamerica 16, 89– 100.

Suasnávar, J. S. – Salado, M. M. – Díaz, M. – Quezada, H. – Archila, R. – Guzmán, D. – Vásquez, G. – Doradea, R. (2001): “Patrones funerarios en época de crisis: El caso de Chiche, Quiché”, in: XIV Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Guatemala, 2000 (Laporte, J. P. –Suasnávar, A. C. – Arroyo, B., eds.) (Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología), Guatemala, 949–959.

Zvelebil, M. – Pettitt, P. (2013): “Biosocial archaeology of the Early Neolithic: Synthetic analyses of a human skeletal population from the LBK cemetery of Vedrovice, Czech Republic”, Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 32, 313– 329.

Verdery, K. (1999): Political lives of dead bodies, reburial and post-socialist change, New York.

Zvelebil, M. – Weber, A. W. (2013): “Human bioarchaeology: Group identity and individual life histories – Introduction”, Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 32, 275–279.

Von Wurmb-Schwark, N. – Bosinski, H. - Ritz-Timme, S. (2007): “What do the X and Y chromosomes tell us about sex and gender in forensic case analysis?”, Journal of Forensic and Legal Medicine 14, 27–30.

Lalueza-Fox, C. – Rosas, A. – Estalrrich, A. – Gigli, F. – Campos, P. F. - García-Tabernero, A. - García-Vargas, A. Sánchez-Quinto, F. – Ramírez, O. – Civit, S. – Bastir, M. – Huguet, R. – Santamaría, D. – Gilbert, M. T. –

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Forensic Anthropology, Identification and Identity FIGURES

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

Figure 1. The concept of identity is made up of a combination of different variables, some of which are shown in this figure. Simultaneously, identity can be self-attributed or a perception of others, and it can be applied to groups and individuals. Obviously, variables shown in this figure change within the lifetime of an individual and along longer periods of time. Figure 2. Values of isotopes of carbon and nitrogen from the ribs of adult skeletons exhumed in San Millán de la Cogolla (Spain, Ríos, unpublished). Due to the rate of bone remodelling, these values represent an average of the dietary intake during the last years before death. A clear difference can be observed between monks and laymen, probably associated to religious norms and differential access to specific foods.

Figure 3. Values of isotopes of nitrogen from teeth of two monks included in Figure 2. High values of nitrogen for SM-39 during first years of life are associated to breastfeeding, and its decrease with weaning. These two monks grew up in families with different access to nitrogen rich food, pointing to differences in socioeconomic status. Individual SM-43 had similar access to nitrogen rich food throughout his life, while regular intake of these foods started later for individual SM-39, probably associated to his recruitment in the Monastery, that could happened around 9 years old (see: Higuero-Beaumont 2015 for further details).

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Figure 4. Mass grave from the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939), where 15 skeletons where recovered. The random position of the skeletons can be observed, indicative of the disrespectful disposal of the corpses by the perpetrators (Photograph of the author).

Figure 5. Prone position in the skeleton of a victim of a firing squad executed during the immediate post-war period in Spain. This is an intentional disposal of the corpse inside a catholic cemetery, with the main purpose of denial of a resting place (photograph courtesy of Dr. Francisco Etxeberria).

Figure 6. Relationship of (bio)archaeology and forensic anthropology with identity and identification, concepts mainly related to the group and the individual. Development of new techniques applicable to human remains, as well as new contexts of research, increasingly connects (bio)archaeology with the individual level of analysis (life history of individuals), and forensic anthropology with the group level of analysis.

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BONES DON’T LIE Bioarchaeological Identity and Entangled Social Identities in Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe Jorge LÓPEZ QUIROGA

________________________________________________________________________ Abstract: In this paper we want to present some biomolecular and bioanthropological research concerning Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages in Europe. Limiting ourselves to this subject we highlight how Science can help archaeologists, and of course historians, through analytical methods regarding issues such as geographical origin, migration, social mobility, kinship, diet, disease and in the same way address questions such as Ethnicity, Identity and Otherness. We want to underline how Science can help us in this way, with an analytical methodology, to rethink, through interdisciplinary and interdisciplinary analysis, issues with a high ideological content in historical and archaeological research such as Ethnicity and Identity. Key Words: Bioarchaeology – Identity– Late Antique – Late Antiquity – Early Middle Ages – Europe

2012). In all these biomolecular and bioanthropological disciplines researchers have always spoken freely about ethnicity, identity, migration, and geographical and social mobility. Between historians and archaeologists the divergences (and on occasion visceral ideological debates) about questions such as Ethnicity and Identity had more to do with recent scholarly and political histories that with Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. This is the reason that we have metaphorically titled this paper: Bones don’t lie. * * * Since the use of radiocarbon dating for bones and archaeological artefacts began around 1950, the role of Science in archaeology has grown exponentially. In the same way, since 1985, the manner in which biological remains have been studied by scientific archaeologists has seen a remarkable revolution through the use of techniques in which the biomolecular content of bones and artefacts is analysed. In fact, a new and complex discipline was born: the so-called Biomolecular Archaeology 3 (Larsen 1997) and, more recently, Social Bioarchaeology4 (Agarwal-Glencross 2011).

* * * It is impossible to present a synthesis here of the important research already done in this new and relatively recent field of study. We limit the scope of this paper to presenting some general questions (for the interested reader, rather than for the specialist) about the possibilities and limitations of various biomolecular and bioanthropological disciplines through some selected examples from Late Antique and Early Medieval Europe. Surprisingly for this period the scientific production is now considerable. Our aim here is to highlight how Science can help archaeologists, and of course historians, through analytical methods regarding issues such as geographical origin, migration, social mobility, kinship, diet, disease and in the same way address questions such as Ethnicity, Identity and Otherness 1 . Nevertheless, biomolecular and bioanthropological methods and techniques provide objective data without the straitjacket of ideological preconceptions2.

We have structured this paper into five sections that correspond to five biomolecular and bioanthropological sub-disciplines: Ancient DNA, Isotopic Analysis, Forensic Anthropology, Paleopathology and Archaeoentomology. We want to expose synthetically how Science can help us in this way, with an analytical methodology, to rethink issues with a high ideological content in historical and archaeological research such as Ethnicity and Identity, and also to consider seriously the biocultural interpretations of skeletal and associated burial treatment data (Knudson-Stojanowski 2008). Biological Identity and the origins’ mantra: aDNA Analysis, Migrations and Kinship.

As A. Holobinko correctly says: “While subjectivity is inherent in the above approaches (historical and archaeological), standardization of methods and logical evaluations based on multiple lines of hard evidence are paramount in order to posit feasible interpretations that are inclusive of associated material culture” (Holobinko

The study of ancient DNA (aDNA) today offers remarkable possibilities for determining biological sex in 3 The term Bioarchaeology is sometimes linked to osteoarchaeology and we can define this type of research as the use of a range of biological techniques on archaeological material in order to learn more about past populations through the study of human and animal bones (BuikstraBeck eds. 2006: 13-14). 4 Jane Buikstra was the first to use the term ‘bioarchaeology’ in reference to the merging of physical anthropological methods with archaeology (Buikstra 1977).

1 A critical point of view with respect to the limits and possibilities of genetic evidence for Early Medieval historians in: Lynette 2008. 2 In respect to mortuary practices and Bioarchaeology see: Goldstein 2006.

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Jorge López Quiroga

inherited solely through the maternal line, so siblings and their mother share the same haplogroup, but the father’s might be different8.

non-adult, fragmentary adult and cremated remains; geographical mobility; migration; kinship relationships; presence of disease; and of course, patterns of human evolution. In the last 20 years there has been an extraordinary advance in the ability to extract and amplify ancient DNA fragments from human remains, using polymerase chain reaction (PCR) through techniques from Molecular Biology (Pääbo-HiguchiWilson 1989). As is well known, each cell contains a set of chromosomes and inside each chromosome there is a single nuclear DNA, which encloses a genetic code. Mitochondrial DNA is found outside the cell’s nucleus. The genome of an organism can be used to describe the whole hereditary information encoded in the DNA, or the complete DNA sequence of one set of chromosomes 5 . Several types of DNA profiling have been used in human geographical mobility studies. Nuclear DNA (nuDNA) and mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) are both accessible in a cell, but different genetic information is available from each type of DNA. Nuclear DNA 6 represents the combined parental genetic material (i.e., one copy of nuDNA inherited from each parent), whereas the nonrecombinant nature of mtDNA means it is maternally inherited and, theoretically, is traceable back to a single female ancestral type. Similarly, the non-recombinant properties of Y-chromosome DNA mean it is passed from a male to his male offspring, and thus has been of interest in genetic studies due to its potential to trace paternal lineage and to investigate population mobility and migrations7.

Particularly interesting for us is the study of kinship through aDNA (Pääbo-Poinar et al. 2004), because kinship provides crucial information about personal and collective identities, which means, the place of an individual in the society. In hierarchical societies, as occur in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, some individuals, frequently from an important lineage, assume positions of power and leadership. The aDNA analyses of skeletons allow us to infer this type of relationship among the members of one elite. Not only hierarchical relationships could be inferred through aDNA analysis, but especially familial (large or small) relationships between, for instance, individuals buried in the same cemetery or in the same burial. We can find an example of this type of research, in regard to large familial kinship and ancient DNA (aDNA), in the study of the human remains deposited in Merovingian sarcophagi in seventh and eighth century France (Deguilloux et al. 2014) (Fig. 1). This research provides evidence of the existence of family kinship among the individuals buried in the same sarcophagi; but this family relationship is in the sense of a ‘large family’, not only genetically related, as the written sources indicate (Deguilloux et al. 2014). Family lineage is essential in the study of Late Antique and Early Medieval societies and probably, as Heinrich Härke proved through the study of 47 Anglo-Saxon cemeteries in England (from Kent to Yorkshire) between the fifth and seventh/eighth centuries, elite warrior status in those societies was based, at least in part, on family lineage (Härke 1992). In this study Härke also proves that the presence of weapons in burials, and their increase in the middle of the 6th century, seems to be completely independent of military activity. The correlations between skeletal data and weapon burial in respect to sex, stature and epigenetic traits are interesting. To be precise, the epigenetic data from two cemeteries shows that weapon burial was limited to certain families. Nevertheless, there are not connections between weapon burial and physique, indicators of stress, trauma, malnutrition or other pathologies. In fact, the rite is, above all, a symbolic act that was determined by descent, not for the ability to fight, and is an indicator of social status (Härke 1992; see also: Halsall 1995).

For the study of mortuary practices in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages the chances that aDNA offers are enormous. Through aDNA analysis it will be possible to know: what is the biological relationship between individuals buried in the same and neighbouring cemeteries; how these cemeteries are structured, by kinship, gender, social status or other criteria; if biologically different, or gene flow between, mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA, maternal lineage) or Ychromosomes (paternal lineage) exists in a cemetery group etc. Mitochondrial DNA is habitually used to study kinship because a series of sequence variants exist, called haplotypes, almost 7000 of which are known in the modern human population. Mitochondrial DNA is 5 Watson and Crick discovered the structure of DNA in 1953 and it was a veritable revolution in biological sciences. In 1985 Alex Jeffreys discovered significant individual variation between individuals in particular regions of DNA. Also in 1985 Pääbo reported the first human DNA from a 2400-year old Egyptian mummy. In 1989 Hagelberg reported the first amplification of mitochondrial DNA from ancient bone sites dated between 300 and 5500 years of age in England. The recent research, especially that conducted by Pääbo’s team in Göttingen, has allowed the so-called ‘Neanderthal Gene’ to be reported (Pääbo et al. 2010). 6 Nuclear DNA is crucial with respect to the problem of estimating sex in juvenile skeletal remains (Stone et al. 1996). For example, female infanticide (not attested in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages), was traditionally an explanation for the presence of infants in ‘unusual’ contexts, nevertheless through analysis of nuDNA it is possible to determine the sex and surprisingly the majority were male (Lagia 2007). 7 Well known are the studies about migrations in the Neolithic and the Bronze Age (Martínez et al. 2008).

Another piece of research that examines familial kinship was made in the necropolis of St Denis basilica, where the Queen Aregundis is buried (Périn et al. 2006; Gallien 2012). Analysis of mitochondrial DNA from Aregundis has been compared to 15 other individuals buried around 8 One of the most publicised cases involving mtDNA analysis was the identification and assignment of kinship to the Romanov family, which proved the extraordinary possibilities of mtDNA in the identification and establishment of kinship in bone samples.

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her. Thirteen of these 15 individuals analysed belong to macro-haplogroup r, which is characteristic of populations of Central Asian origin. The study established family ties in three groups of individuals; however Aregundis (belonging to haplogroup U5a1) is not related to any of them (Fig. 2). Aregundis therefore seems not to have been buried in a specific area of the cemetery reserved for members of her family.

evidence of large family groups, not only biologically associated, but “social groups of both related and unrelated members of households” (Alt et al. 2014: 11) (Fig. 5). This interpretation of the term familia in Late Antique and Early Medieval societies is well known from historical research through the written sources, and now aDNA analysis undoubtedly confirms this historical explanation. These large family groups (by kinship and social relations) are characteristic of resettlement and migration periods.

Migration and geographical mobility is another issue that we could study through aDNA. It is necessary to say that geneticists always underline that overall there is a “substantial genetic homogeneity”, and in the same way that it is “often difficult to link a cline of gene frequencies with a precise historical expansion” (CavalliSforza et al. 1994: 294). A common idea in aDNA studies, and of course between geneticists, is that settlement history is a long-term process, with individuals moving at different times and from different directions: mobility is a constant in the History of Humanity. Nevertheless, we must also emphasise that geneticists try to explain changes and heterogeneity in genetic flow through historical events. Research on Y-Chromosome haplotypes (paternal lineage) in a sample of 313 males from seven towns located in an east–west transect from East Anglia to North Wales, compared with 177 sampled collected in Friesland and Norway, shows genetic evidence of mass migration and continuous gene flow of Anglo-Saxon Y-Chromosomes in Central England (Weale et al. 2002).

Also concerning the Lombard migration, well attested by the texts, a recent study about the genealogical relationships between Early Medieval and Modern inhabitants of Piedmont (North Italy) showed that aDNA can be successfully extracted from Early Medieval European samples from Northern Italy, and provided the first data concerning the genetic variation in a human group defined as Lombard by material culture (Fig. 6). In this work the authors have sampled 102 specimens from five burial sites in North-Western Italy, archaeologically classified as belonging to Lombards or Longobards, and they have successfully amplified and typed the mitochondrial hypervariable region I (HVR-I) of 28 individuals. The researchers have generated 16 million genealogies by serial coalescent simulations, contrasting a model of genealogical continuity with one in which the contemporary samples are genealogically independent from the medieval sample (Fig. 7). They conclude that it is possible, in general, to detect evidence of genealogical ties between medieval and specific modern populations (Vai-Ghirotto-Pilli-Tassi-Lari-Rizzi et al. 2015).

Written sources, and also the archaeological record, indicate that the second half of the first millennium AD was a period with diverse modes of population mobility (elites and large family groups) with a substantial role in the process of the construction of new political entities and identities after the fall of the Roman Empire. Different types of social mobility could also leave traces of genetic diversity. For instance, polymorphisms in mtDNA markers of populations from 14 regions within present-day European Russia revealed the main causes of the Russian mitochondrial gene pool differentiation. The structure of the mitochondrial gene pool of the presentday Russians largely conforms to the tribal structure of the medieval Slavs. This study provides evidence that the formation of the genetic diversity currently observed among Russians can be traced to the second half of the first millennium AD, the time of the colonisation of the East European Plain by the Slavic tribes. Patterns of diversity are explained by both the impact of the native population of the East European Plain and by genetic differences among the early Slavs (Morozova et al. 2012).

One of the first surveys of recent genealogical ancestry over the past 3,000 years on a continental scale, carried out by Peter Ralph and Graham Coop through genomic data for 2,257 Europeans (in the Population Reference Sample [POPRES] dataset), detected 1.9 million shared long genomic segments, and they used the lengths of these to infer the distribution of shared ancestors across time and geography (Ralph-Coop 2013) (Fig. 8). They found that modern Europeans living in neighbouring populations share around 2–12 genetic common ancestors from the last 1,500 years, and upwards of 100 genetic ancestors from the previous 1,000 years. Ralph and Coop say that there is also substantial regional variation in the number of shared genetic ancestors. For example, there are especially high numbers of common ancestors shared between many eastern populations that date roughly to the Migration Period (which includes the Slavic and Hunnic expansions into that region). One of the many interesting aspects in this study is the pattern observed through the IBD (‘Identity by Descendant’) and their connection with historical events. Ralph and Coop perceived the relatively high level of sharing of IBD between pairs of individuals across Eastern Europe, as high as or higher than that observed within other, much smaller populations. They argued that this evidence is consistent with the idea that these populations derive a substantial proportion of their ancestry from various

A recent study (to which we will return later: vid. infra) of 45 adult skeletons, in a 6th century cemetery located in Szólád (Hungary) (Fig. 3 and 4) belonging to the Lombard period, combined anthropological, molecular genetic and isotopic analysis (Alt et al. 2014). One of the most interesting conclusions of this research regards the

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groups that expanded during the ‘‘migration period’’ from the fourth to the ninth centuries. As they say, the eastern populations with high rates of IBD are highly coincident with the modern distribution of Slavic languages, so it is natural to speculate that many of the higher rates were due to the expansion of Slavic populations. The results concerning France, Iberia and Italy are also very interesting. Ralph and Coop found that France and the Italian and Iberian peninsulas have the lowest rates of genetic common ancestry in the last 1,500 years (other than Turkey and Cyprus), and are the regions of continental Europe thought to have been least affected by the Slavic and Hunnic migrations. Nevertheless, Germanic tribes (Sueves, Goths, Ostrogoths, Lombards, Alans and Vandals) moved to these regions, which suggest that perhaps the Germanic migrations/invasions of these territories entailed a smaller degree of population replacement than the Slavic and/or Hunnic (as we see through aDNA and isotopic analysis in different cemeteries in France, Italy or Spain). Or, perhaps, that the Germanic groups were less genealogically cohesive, limited to isolated individuals belonging to the elite of the immigrants. For Ralph and Coop this would be consistent with the argument that the Slavs moved into relatively depopulated areas, while Gothic (and also Suevic, Lombard, Alan and Vandal) ‘migrations’ may have been takeovers by small groups of extant populations.

numerous analyses, using genome sequences obtained through aDNA, is leprosy, an endemic epidemic in Europe until the late Middle Ages and Early Modern times. A recent investigation from skeletons of five medieval leprosy cases in the United Kingdom, Sweden, and Denmark shows (among other important conclusions) the presence of a Mycobacterium leprae genotype in medieval Europe now commonly associated with the Middle East (Schuenemann et al. 2013). It seems quite possible that the presence of this genotype, currently present in the Middle East, was introduced as a result of the significant presence of European individuals at the time of the Crusades from the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Another characteristic Late Antique and Medieval pandemic epidemic is Yersinia pestis. The first of three epidemics9 took place precisely in Late Antiquity, the socalled ‘Plague of Justinian’ (sixth to eighth centuries) (McCormick 2007). For the first time, a team led by Hendrick Poinar has recently sequenced and analysed draft genomes of Y. pestis obtained from the teeth of two individuals who died in the first pandemic and that were found in a Late Antique cemetery in Aschheim (Bavaria, Germany) (Poinar et al. 2014). The radiocarbon dating (533 AD and 504 AD) places both individuals in the timeframe of the first pandemic. The conclusions of this study show that the Y. pestis lineages that caused the ‘Plague of Justinian’ (sixth – eighth centuries), and the ‘Black Death’ 800 years later, were independent emergences from rodents into human beings (Poinar et al. 2014).

These studies, based on aDNA, linguistic and archaeological data, discussed above, pose the question recently put on the table by Colin Renfrew. Certainly, as Renfrew underlines, the problem is not “establishing detailed patterns for early populations”, but “offering spot checks on the conclusions about the past which we are deriving from data taken from populations living today” (Renfrew 2010).

Certainly the amount of aDNA data has considerably increased in recent years (but not in a homogeneous way in all Europe), and as Johannes Müller underlines “the recent debate about aDNA methods lacks a link to social and cultural theories on the construction of identities and societies” (Müller 2013: 36). This is undoubtedly the step that historians and archaeologists must take in the coming years, while bioarchaeologists must build on social bioarchaeology.

To study kinship there are two important aspects of social structure that can be observed through aDNA techniques based on genetic profiling: Endogamy and Exogamy. As is well known, endogamy refers to marriage between two individuals who belong to the same social group; exogamy is marriage among people from different groups. In an exogamous marriage one or both of the partners need to move away from the group to which they were born. The most frequent post-marital residence patterns, from an anthropological point of view, are the patrilocal and matrilocal systems. Patrilocal residence occurs in societies with patrilineal inheritance; matrilocal residence patterns occurring in societies in which inheritance is passed down the female rather than male line. These issues are key in the study of Late Antique and Early Medieval societies and we begin to have some significant information through aDNA and also isotopic analysis (vid. infra). These research studies show the importance of exogamy practised through women who move away from the places where they were born.

You are what you eat: Isotope Analysis, Geographical Mobility and Diet. The study of stable isotope ratios of carbon and nitrogen through isotope analysis in bone collagen provides a powerful tool for reconstructing past diets, since it provides the only direct evidence of the foods that were actually consumed10 (Papathanasiou-Richards eds. 2014). 9 The second epidemic is known as the ‘Black Death’ (fourteenth– seventeenth centuries) and the third was endemic in the nineteenth– twentieth centuries, both have been genetically characterised (about the ‘Black Death’ from victims in London between 1347-1351: KrausePoinar et al. 2011; most recently and also with samples from London cemeteries: DeWitte 2014). 10 Carbon and nitrogen isotopic values of an individual’s collagen can be used to study the relative contribution that terrestrial, marine and freshwater resources had to his or her diet (Ambrose 1993).

The aDNA also offers enormous potential to study past diseases. A type of disease that has been the subject of

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Particularly, isotope analyses will allow us to understand better the lifestyle, diseases, paleodiet and information on the geographical origin and mobility of the population through endogamous or exogamous practices. As occurs with aDNA studies, isotope analyses, apart from differentiating ‘local’ and ‘non local’ individuals, and ‘where they are from’, need to incorporate theoretical issues regarding mobility and migration. Analyses of isotopes are increasingly used to complement the archaeological studies (Härke 2007; Hakenbeck 2007a, 2007b, 2008, 2011; Hakenbeck et al. 2010; SchuhMakarewicz 2016). Studies based on various naturally occurring isotopes in organic material can be used to date material, to study the migration of humans and animals across isotopically different terrains and to determine their diet (and thus subsistence) and place of origin (Beard-Johnson 2009). Isotope analysis can contribute to the assessment of culturally distinct populations, and indeed immigrant populations in a particular area (EvansStoodley–Chenery 2006). Also, different nutritional patterns showed through isotopic analysis could be the result of ‘socially constructed identities’ (Hastorf 1991).

These examples provide evidence that migration and social mobility in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages was not a mass movement event. And, curiously, written sources had always showed that these migratory processes were a matter of a reduced number of gentes, elites and of course other small or large familial groups (including men and women). A crucial question in respect to the so-called ‘Great Migrations’ between the fourth and sixth centuries is obviously geographical origin and social mobility. As we have seen aDNA is a helpful technique to infer kinship and geographical origin (vid. supra), but isotopic analysis through diet can also indicate individual mobility. One of the pieces of evidence we have is that gender plays an important role in social and geographical mobility. In this sense, isotopic analysis shows the importance of exogamous practices through women that move away from the places where they were born. The research about mobility patterns comparing a Late Antique cemetery (Klettham) and two Early Medieval cemeteries (Altenerding and StraubingBajuwarenstrasse) in Bavaria through carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios combined with faunal bone of a fourth settlement in the same region shows significant differences in diet between men and women, evidencing important mobility among women (Hakenbeck et al. 2010). The central hypothesis of this research in Bavaria is that women move in a different way from men in Late Antique and Early Medieval times, and this is evidence of long-distance connections between individuals in different parts of Europe that in this case are frequently adult women.

Isotopic analyses are in fact neutral evidence that challenge the information offered by the written sources and the analysis of the archaeological record. A recent study about the Viking migration in Dublin (the largest Viking settlement in Ireland in the ninth century), comparing isotopic analysis and archaeological fauna, shows that there are not clear immigrants from Northern Europe. In fact the study argues: “that the relative homogeneity in both paleomobility and paleodiet may support models of acculturation in Viking Dublin, rather than a high number of first-generation immigrants or continued migration from Scandinavia” (Knudson et al. 2012). A predominance of local individuals is also revealed (but in this case for the eleventh-twelfth centuries) through isotopic analysis in a churchyard in Sebbersund (Denmark). Sebbersund is an important Viking Age and Early Medieval site in northern Jutland, because of its role as a trading centre and has one of the first churches constructed in Denmark. From 500 graves with around 700 individuals, 19 have been the object of analysis of strontium isotopes in human teeth and at least three non-local outliers were identified (Price et al. 2012). In a cemetery in Hampshire (southern England) the analysis of strontium and oxygen isotopes demonstrates the presence of a small immigrant population around the fourth century (Evans et al. 2006).

Migrations were traditionally focalised in armies and aristocratic groups with a strong male component. And, as we have said, we think that geographical mobility in Late Antiquity (the so-called ‘Great Migrations’) always involves small groups of individuals with an important presence of elites (warriors or not). Certainly, as Susanne Hakenbeck has recently suggested, in these processes women remain invisible11 because the focus was almost exclusively on men. In this respect, the study of the socalled ‘Hunnic’ modified skulls12, traditionally a proof of the Hunnic migration on the west-side of the Carpathian basin, showed the crucial role played by women through exogamous social practices (Hakenbeck 2009) 13 . The 11 Invisibility of women that is also characteristic in bioarchaeological research. At the beginning of the collective work of Powell et al. 2006, the encyclopaedia about The History of Physical Anthropology by Frank Spencer is cited as a significant example. The two first volumes of this encyclopaedia, published in 1997, contain around 304 entries and of these only eight are women (Powell et al. 2006: 131). See also: Sofaer 2006. 12 It is necessary to underline that cranial deformation is well attested across the world in Antiquity, but evidently this practice had a significant identity component: tribal, elite or religious marker (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 34-35). 13 Nevertheless, we don’t agree completely with the idea that dress accessories were more determined by the local population than by the incoming individuals, because there is (at least in the first and second generation of immigrants) maintenance of certain burial customs evidenced through funerary deposits and particularly in women’s graves. Otherwise, we completely agree when she underlines that migrations and mobility can be interpreted from the archaeological

Isotopic analysis (combined with aDNA techniques) can also prove exogamic practices as proved in a study of eight individuals found in a tenth–eleventh century family cemetery in and around a medieval church in Gammertingen (Germany). Seven of the eight individuals can be placed in a three-generation genealogy. The isotope analyses establish that the eighth individual had a different birthplace and possibly became a member of the Counts of Gammertingen through marriage (Grumbkow et al. 2013).

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The authors of this study emphasise four aspects: 1) First, there is no correspondence between the funerary ritual (use/absence of grave goods) and the origin of the individuals. In fact, only one of the migrants has grave goods, while the other allochthonous two of the same phase do not. 2) Second, the distribution of these values over time and the statistical impact suggests that the mobility of people of different sexes in the Middle Ages was not uncommon, although it has not been a quantitatively significant phenomenon nor is a specific feature of the sixth and seventh centuries: of the 19 individuals attributed to phase 4b, only 3 (16%) are allochthonous. 3) Third, it is still difficult to determine the origin of these two allochthonous groups, although the isotopic measures are compatible with the values obtained in water of several rivers of Gaul. 4) Fourth, and finally, the authors consider it interesting that the woman found in the ‘founding tomb’ (tomb 181) was of not local origin; opening up a range of possibilities for interpreting the foundation process of Dulantzi church. This allows the authors to conclude, for the sixth and seventh centuries in the Basque Country, the “pre-eminence of local communities in which the use of objects of personal adornment, weapons and other materials must be read substantially in terms of social markers and not as indicators of ethnicity within internally hierarchical communities” (Quirós Castillo-Loza Uriarte-Niso Lorenzo 2013). In our opinion there is no contradiction between the data obtained from the isotope analysis, the information provided by the texts and from the archaeological record. We believe that interpretations like that we have seen in Dulantzi (as also in the case of some of the cemeteries analysed in Bavaria) have much more to do with preconceptions and ideological preconceptions than with the results evidenced by bioarchaeological analysis.

research conducted through isotope analysis provided evidence that women with modified skulls (and associated grave goods) were not of local origin (Fig. 9). Similar conclusions to the study on Bavaria are found in research on dietary reconstruction in central Germany14 through bone collagen carbon and nitrogen isotope data from two Migration Period cemeteries (fifth – sixth century AD) in Obermöllern (Fig. 10) and Rathewitz (Fig. 11) (in southern Saxony-Anhalt) (Knipper et al. 2013). As in the cemeteries of Altenerding and Straubing-Bajuwarenstrasse in Bavaria, the isotopic ratios of carbon and strontium show that only a reduced number of individuals are of non-local origin. In this research the characterisation of the human dietary composition was studied in comparison to the domestic fauna and the exploration of age-related and sex-related patterns. The results of the stable isotope data were compared to grave goods in tombs in order to verify if there is a differentiation based on social status. Only one individual among 18 (7.1%) in Rathewitz and three among 30 (12.5%) in Obermöllern are isotopically non-local to the sites. These non-local individuals were buried among the local individuals and both were equipped with similar grave goods. The combination of isotopic analysis of the bones (teeth) and the grave goods does not provide any indication of large-scale migration to central Germany during the early Middle Ages (Knipper et al. 2012) (Fig. 12). Of yet further interest is the fact that the observed changes in burial customs in the fifth century are not due to the arrival of foreign individuals, but appear to be due to an internal evolution of local communities concerning mortuary practices. This research clearly shows that grave goods are a good indicator of interregional relationships among different communities, but there is not a strict correspondence between grave goods and the birthplace of an individual (Knipper et al. 2012: 305) (Fig. 13).

The data obtained through the analysis of stable isotopes of carbon and nitrogen are evidently incontestable. Nevertheless we must ask whether there is a contradiction between historical-archaeological and isotopic data and where such a contradiction is. Or maybe there is no such contradiction, but only an incorrect or interested (contemporary ideological) reading of historicalarchaeological data. And we must say that this incorrect, and especially interested, interpretation is related more to the archaeological data and archaeologists that to the information provided by the written sources and historians. Archaeologists work with tangible things, but things, objects, after all. The meaning of these things, these objects, depends on the significance that people want to give. This meaning depends first, on what the individuals who developed and used an object in a certain space and time attributed to them. And this meaning also depends on our obsession to fix the significance of things and objects in space and time but from our contemporary perspective. In short, the meaning depends on the context: spatial and temporal, first, and of course political, social, religious, cultural, economic, etc. Objects in grave goods from the fifth to seventh centuries

An example of what we have just discussed can be seen in the interpretation of isotope analysis in the necropolis of Saint Martín de Dulantzi (Álava, Basque Country, Spain) (Quirós Castillo-Loza Uriarte-Niso Lorenzo 2013). It is an Early Medieval cemetery dated between the sixth and eleventh centuries, in which isotope analysis was carried out on some graves that had grave goods of the sixth and seventh centuries (Fig. 14). For Dulantzi fifty measures of six sediment samples and 32 samples of individuals from various phases have been made. The test results have revealed the existence of three ranges of isotopic values that distinguish individuals of local origin and two immigrant groups. Most of the individuals analysed are indigenous. However there are two other groups that can be considered as allochthonous (Fig. 15). record and, above all, with the appreciation that geographical mobility (women in this case, but not only) is not simply a matter of mass migrations (Hakenbeck 2009: 80). 14 This research is part of an on-going interdisciplinary project, “Isotope analysis and mapping to investigate the origin of non-local groups during the early Middle Ages–New approaches to Langobard research”, supported by the German Ministry of Education and Research.

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enormous possibilities of this discipline in respect to questions such as migration, kinship, geographic origin of individuals and, of course, issues related to social identities (Komar-Buikstra 2008). Forensic osteology is the oldest and most common branch of forensic anthropology among physical anthropology and forensic medicine (Dettmeyer-Verhoff-Schütz 2014). Dental investigations for identification purposes and age determination also belong to the field of forensic osteology.

have a clearly spatiotemporal context: the so-called ‘Great Migrations’ in post-Roman Western Europe. This is a mantra from the written sources, because the different chronicles and texts largely speak about migratory processes that have caused the collapse of the Western Roman Empire from the fifth century AD. Furthermore, the texts relate that quantitative sets of individuals were involved in this migratory process. It is more than probable that the figures given by the Classical writers regarding the number of people involved in this process is exaggerated, even overly amplified. But the fact is that all sources speak about the existence of a significant geographic population movement. Perhaps the key is to find the real meaning of this process, because obviously it was not a demographic upheaval. Written sources also suggest nothing about a demographic collapse, and after all, migration existed; we can’t deny it, or can we? Migration was a set of minority individuals (men, women, of course elites, but not only of ‘aristocratic’ origin, and overall family groups) in respect to local population. And we find no contradiction between isotopic data and written sources, because systematically isotopic non-local individuals are a very small minority in respect to local population. Have the written sources ever said anything different? Not even the archaeological data show otherwise. In fact, the tombs with grave goods are always a minority compared to those who do not have them. Just as the graves with individuals with artificial cranial deformation are less common than the others. The objects that make up the funerary deposits show different influences and traditions, no doubt as the result of trade and, in some cases, led by individuals from other latitudes. It is the ideological interpretation of the archaeological material by archaeologists, which has considered, more in the past than at present, such materials as reflecting Ethnic Identities resulting from such migration processes. In this sense, the utility of isotopic analysis to study migration, population mobility and geographic origin of individuals15 could immensely help (but always under an archaeological and historical point of view) the study of social identities in Late Antiquity and Early Medieval Europe.

One of the most impressive aspects in Forensic Archaeology is the study of mass graves17. In England two mass graves of executed Vikings were found: at Kendrew Quadrangle (Oxford) in 2008, and at Ridgeway Hill (Weymouth, Dorset), in 2009. The study of these two mass graves is a model example of the potential offered by Forensic Archaeology. In Oxford, 34 to 38 individuals (at least 35 male adults, aged between 15 and 30 years) were uncovered at the site, all men in their prime and subjected to violence. The osteological analysis of the bones from the grave revealed that all the men suffered severe injuries such as blade and puncture wounds to the head, pelvis and ribs (from stabbing in the back) as well as decapitation (and attempts at decapitation). Charring was found on some bones, but not in the soil surrounding them, suggesting burning of the bodies before burial. No evidence of cut marks on the forearms (associated with defence) was found, which would have indicated that the victims were trying to flee (Ord 2011) (Fig. 16). The diet (high percentage of marine protein) through isotopic analysis indicates that they may have been first or second generation Scandinavians. In Weymouth, around 50 skeletons were found, predominantly of young adult males of Scandinavian origin, and all had been decapitated18; the heads had been deposited in a pile at the southern edge of the grave (LoeBoyle-Webb-Score 2014) (Fig. 17). The remains belonged to tall robust men in their prime, with the majority in their late teens to 25 years of age and a few around 30 years old. Analysis of the skulls concluded that a very sharp weapon, most likely a sword, had been used to sever the heads from the bodies, though there were no clean cuts. A few other wounds were identified, including on the pelvis, the hands and the chest. The bones showed signs of hard physical labour but no signs of defence or a battle prior to the execution. The results from the isotope analysis indicated that the individuals grew up in an area with geology, a climate and a diet that is inconsistent

Violent societies, societies without violence. Forensic Archaeology, Violence and Injuries in Early Medieval Europe. Forensic Anthropology 16 is also an invaluable help and there are actually exemplary studies that demonstrate the Isotopic analyses may even enable us to track the origin of a particular disease linking it with the geographical origin of the individuals. This is the case from the evidence of treponematosis found in four individuals in a Late Medieval (fourteenth–sixteenth century) cemetery in England. The results, in this case, show that these four individuals may come from the Baltic Sea area, so they could have a non-local origin: Roberts et al. 2013. 16 A recent and complete overview about the methodology and practice of Forensic Anthropology: Christensen-Passalacqua-Bartelink 2014. In respect to Forensic Archaeology: Hunter-Cox eds. 2005. 15

About mass graves vid. Wright-Hanson-Sterenberg 2005: 137-158. It is the context, mortuary practices in this case, that provides information about whether decapitation lesions correspond to the premortem or postmortem period: “…it is not easy to determine whether lesions assigned to the perimortem period were inflicted premortem or postmortem (…) These problems are compounded by the fact that the lesions, especially those of the skull and mandible, often mimic postmortem erosive alteratios” (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 29).

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built the ring fort had made their fortune in the Roman army, and had used that wealth and prestige to build Sandy Borg. Its location reveals that they probably did not belong to the local elites of the island (Roman pearls and Roman solidus coins were found dating between 460 and 490 AD). One suggested hypothesis could be that the massacre was the consequence of an attack from local populations against individuals (probably serving as mercenaries in the Roman army) that they considered traitors (Holmring 2014). The massacre of Sandby Borg could be the result of an exemplifying operation of punishment.

with the area where they were buried. The Sr-isotope levels suggested different places of origin: western and south Norway, the west coast of Sweden and possibly Birka, in eastern Sweden. Initially, researchers thought that this mass grave was the result of an ‘ethnic cleansing’ carried out by the Anglo-Saxon population around 1000 AD, but post-excavation analysis does not support this interpretation. Precise forensic methods and analytics such as osteological combined with isotopic analysis, strongly question concepts such as ‘ethnic cleansing’ and ‘ethnic identity’ (Vikings in this case). The individuals found at Ridgeway were simply Scandinavian mercenaries, executed by Anglo-Saxon populations (Loe-Boyle-Webb-Score 2014).

On the island of Öland (Sweden), in the so-called ‘Skedemosse depositional area’, several sacrificial and deposition sites were found corresponding to six different events between the first and the sixth centuries AD. The two last depositions occur in the early to middle fifth century and in the late fifth century or early sixth century AD (Frisk 2015: 40). Human skeletal remains uncovered at Skedemosse have been interpreted as individuals guilty of crime, treason and cowardice; others have been sacrificed as a part of a fertility cult rite (Frisk 2015: 4142).

In 2012, at the equally impressive site found at Alken Enge (East Jutland, Denmark)19, the bones of an entire army were found whose warriors had been thrown into the bog after losing a major battle in the era around the birth of Christ. This was probably the result of internal barbarian conflicts in northern Europe under the Roman expansion. The remains of the fallen were gathered together and all the flesh was cleaned from the bones, which were then sorted and brutally desecrated (four pelvic bones were found on a stick: Fig. 18) before being cast into the lake. The warriors’ bones were mixed with the remains of slaughtered animals and clay pots that probably contained food sacrifices. Roman authors described the rituals practised by the Barbarians against the vanquished enemies and for the first time, at Alken Enge, the material evidence of these practices has been found.

In Budeč (Na Týnici site, district of Kladno) (ŠtefanKrutina 2009), a site systematically studied between 1983 and 1988, a mass grave was found, dated to the tenth century, holding 33-60 individuals (Fig. 21). This mass grave is considered, by the authors of this research, as the most extensive evidence of organised Early Medieval mass violence in Europe. The mass grave is located nearly the Budeč fortified settlement, built during the second half of the ninth century, one of the main strongholds of the early Přemyslid dynasty. The mass grave was located in a pit that was dug, on a secondary basis, into the backfill of a deserted pit-house situated approximately in the middle of the settlement grounds. According to the anthropological analysis the remains of at least 33, and at most 60, individuals were deposited in the pit. The assemblage contains no bones of children and contains only three female skulls. The vast majority of the bones of the deceased men belong to the “adultus” age group (20–40 years of age). A substantial number of the individuals died a verifiably violent death, most likely in battle, and it is dated to the first third of the tenth century. Another Early Medieval burial ground was located near the mass grave. A total of 114 graves contained the remains of at least 119 individuals, with a predominance of women over men (Fig. 22). The most likely hypothesis is that the women and children buried in the necropolis are mainly the surviving family members of the men buried in the mass grave. Also supporting this hypothesis is the length of time covered by the burials, which didn’t cover more than one or two generations. The authors of the study consider that the men buried in the mass grave were the garrison of the Budeč fortification, and the Early Medieval cemetery contains their women and children.

In the Sandby Borg ring fort (a small town, which appeared to have been a prosperous place) on the island of Öland (Sweden) the remains were found of a massacre dated between around 400 and 550 AD. It appears that the site was abandoned and remained untouched for 1,500 years. Even treasures like gilded brooches and jewellery were left at the scene and later uncovered at an earlier excavation in 2010 (Fig. 19). Archaeologists suggest that the location may have been taboo after the massacre, with people simply too terrified to return to the town. A total of ten bodies were found at the site. The fort’s occupants appear to have been ambushed by unknown attackers, slaughtered and left unburied where they fell. One of the most surprising discoveries is the skeletal remains of an adult male, aged 50 – 60 years, along with a small child, aged 2 to 5 years (Fig. 20), both of whom were lying face down in a fireplace in the centre of a building. It is the first child to be identified among the victims of the massacre. It appears that the adult and child were struck down and fell into the burning fireplace. Archaeologists suggest that the people who The research project is funded by the ‘Carlsberg Foundation’ and entitled “The army and post-war rituals in the Iron Age: warriors sacrificed in the bog in the Alken Enge wetlands in the Illerup Ådal river valley”. The project manager is Mads Kähler Holst (Aarhus University/Moesgård Museum) and the field director Ejvind Hertz (Skanderborg Museum).

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trauma and this indicates that blunt or pointed 24 instruments caused the most traumatic lesions (Fig. 23) (Licata-Vecchio-Armocida 2014). The lesions found in this necropolis suggest, as the authors indicate, that violence was part of the daily life25 of the inhabitants of Caravate, and precise osteological analysis can help us to put this violence in perspective without ideological and stereotypical preconceptions.

Studies of skeletal remains can also reveal many of an individual’s characteristics, including age, sex, and body height, state of health, profession and manner of death. The state of the bones can tell whether someone sustained injuries through violence 20 , accidents or as a result of medical surgery (Buckberry 2014). This type of forensic evidence also gives an insight into how, and what type of, a weapon was used for executions (Walker 2001). Swords not only produce marks that are distinctly different from those resulting from knives or other pointed weapons, but different types of swords leave characteristic marks which can be used to infer the type of swords used (Lewis 2008: 2007). Executions were not the unique cause of the injuries evidenced in the skeletal remains, because we find cranial injuries resulting from combat mostly in male tombs21 (Štefan-Krutina 2009).

Injuries by punishments or penalisations were also common in Late Antiquity and Early Medieval times and here Forensic Archaeology can provide an interpretation of the skeletal remains completely beyond that of traditional analysis. The fact that these types of finds in cemeteries are not frequent is the reason that they were called ‘anomaly burials’ (Cavallini 2011; vid. also: Ferrari 2013). In a Late Antique cemetery in Casalecchio di Reno (Bologna, Italy) two graves were found voluntarily deposited in decomposed mode and with opposite orientations (Fig. 24, 25, 26). Both tombs are interpreted as belonging to two marginal individuals, perhaps victims of an execution, and therefore considered dangerous to the community of the living (Cavallini 2011: 70-73). Their ‘anomaly’ position in the tomb is due to this fact in a double sense: marginalised from the ‘lives’ of this and the other world. This is precisely the significance of the corresponding disposition of the individual of tomb 3 at Casalecchio found in an opposite position and with the amputation26 of feet27 (Fig. 24).

Injuries by violence in Late Antique and Early Medieval societies were daily occurrences, but they are not more frequent than in our contemporary societies. It depends largely in which part of the world we live; some of us have the chance to live in a “bubble” (European Union, North America or other territories of the so-called First World), but our level of violence would be very different if we lived in Palestine, Syria, Libya, Iraq, Mexico, Colombia, Afghanistan, Ukraine, etc. In the Early Medieval necropolis of Caravate (Varese, Italy), dated to the eighth–ninth centuries, 14 skeletons (four adult males, two adult females, two non-adult subjects, one infant, and other skeletal remains too fragmentary for anthropological identifications) were the object of paleopathological analysis (Licata-VecchioArmocida 2014). The study reveals several traumatic injuries, in the form of cranial traumas 22 , affecting six individuals, which occurred months or years before the time of death. All of these antemortem traumatic injuries are located in the cranium, frontal and parietal bones23. In this necropolis the most common patterns of skull lesions are minor circular depressed injuries and perforation

Another very interesting case of so-called ‘anomaly burials’, in this case a consequence of punishment, are “pointed weapons generate a perforating, often conical puncture whose smooth, sharply-defined edge can be used to distinguish it from postmortem erosions if excavation tool defects can be excluded on the basis of color and patina differences. Flat-bladed instruments (knives, machetes, axes) produce elongated, V-shaed grooves” (AufderheideRodríguez Martín 1998: 27). 25 The presence in Late Antique and Early Medieval necropoli of lesions visible in the skull produced by cutting weapons that caused the violent death (homicide) of the individual is relatively frequent. In the Iberian Peninsula we find individuals with this type of lesions in the Late Antique necropolis of ‘El Cortijo de Coracho’ (Lucena, Córdoba): an adult man that presented a blade injury in the left frontal region of the skull (Diéguez Ramírez 2008); or in the seventh century cemetery of Albelda del Río Iregua (La Rioja) where an adult skull was found (2530 years old) with several perimortem cranial traumatisms which shows that the individual was perhaps beheaded (Martínez-Martínez 2012); and the cranial lesions found in the necropolis of ‘La Olmeda’ and ‘La Torrecilla’ (Granada) (Campillo 2011: 9-11). Similar evidence has been found in the Iberian Islamic necropolis in Xarea (Vélez Rubio, Almería) (Robledo-Trancho 1999) or in ‘El Tolmo de Minateda’ (Hellín, Albacete): an adult man (20-30 years old) with a wound on the right side of the frontal skull (De Miguel et al. 1999); or the exceptional (but chronologically late example: thirteenth-fifteenth centuries) case of the Loja citadel (Granada) where at least 28 individuals have been documented, some of which present a total of 14 perimortem cranial lesions, and 13 were caused by cutting instruments, distributed mostly on the right side and the posterior plane of the skull (Pérez et al. 2012). 26 “Amputations in antiquity include social justice (punishment), accidental and war injuries, deliberate surgery and ritual” (AufderheideRodríguez Martín 1998: 29). 27 Foot amputation is well attested as a punishment and was simultaneously practised during the Anglo-Saxon period in Britain and also, as we see, in Late Antique Italy (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 29). 24

As we have seen in the mass graves found in Oxford and Dorset (England) and East Jutland (Denmark) (vid. supra). As we see in several Late Antique cemeteries in the plain of Chirak, in Armenia. The study of 213 skeletons from six cemeteries in this region shows that the injuries are detected primarily in male tombs and the skeletal markers of activity evidenced lesions resulting from combat predominantly in the skull (Khudaverdyan 2014). 22 It is not easy to distinguish antemortem, perimortem and postmortem fractures. Post-depositional processes (such as taphonomic changes: earth pressure, water flow or animal activity) can produce trauma; because of this it is important to analyse the corpse through an archaeothanatological perspective (Duday 2009). 23 According to Aufderheide & Rodríguez Martín “the most part of the studies demonstrate a substantial predominance of skull fractures in males and location of the lesion on the left side of the cranium, implying the pathology was acquired by face-to-face encounter with a right handed opponent”. They give the Courville classification of skull injuries on the basis of the different nature of the fractures produced by weapons: sharp-edged incisions (metal or flint axes); penetrating wounds (pointed and hafted weapons); linear fractures (blunt, small weapons); gross crushing injuries (large stones or clubs) (AufderheideRodríguez Martín 1998: 23). 20 21

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This research is interesting because the osteological analysis showed that the connection between skeletal and artefact evidence depends more on age, gender identity and status that on ethnic identity30 (Gowland 2007: 63).

the burials found in the Norwegian island of Flakstad, dated from the Late Iron Age (550-1300 AD) (Naumann et al. 2014). Human remains from ten individuals in three single burials, two double and one triple burial, were dated to the Viking Age. The burial form at Flakstad may indicate graves containing master and slave, as crania from four individuals were absent from the graves28. The presumed presence of slaves is based on a number of factors such as maltreatment of the body, decapitation, binding of hands and feet and uneven distribution of grave gifts. Through application of stable isotope and ancient DNA (aDNA) analyses the authors of this study have been able to identify dietary and genetic patterns that may highlight social relations reflected in differential treatment of the dead. The probable decapitation and removal of heads indicated the presence of people from different social strata, something which is further emphasised by differences in stable isotope signatures of individuals buried intact compared to those lacking crania. Social inequality implies that these individuals did not have close family relations, or at least did not share meals. The Flakstad burials offer an unusual insight into the way of living in a hierarchical society. Results from stable isotope analyses show that individuals in multiple burials most likely were intentionally placed in the same burial, given the pattern in which the only person buried intact in each burial, had distinct isotope values. Thus, persons sharing a grave had distinctly different diets during their lifetime and were unlikely to share maternal kinship. A reasonable explanation for these observations could be that persons buried headless may have been slaves accompanying their masters in the grave (Naumann et al. 2014). This has an enormous importance because it proves the significance of the bioarchaeological approach in respect to double or multiple burials to study hierarchical societies as happens in Late Antique and Early Medieval times.

The study of children’s skeletons from archaeological and forensic contexts provides a complete review of the osteological methods and theoretical concepts of their analysis. It is necessary to say that infant skeletons are a relatively uncommon find on archaeological excavations of cemeteries (particularly in Classical times31), because they were often not buried alongside adults or, due to the delicate nature of the bones. Nevertheless, in the Middle Ages is not infrequent to find infant burials in separate areas32 in the same cemetery or next to adult burials. For Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages probably the largest infantile cemetery, with 100 newborn children, is not in Europe but in Ashkelon (Israel) (Smith-Kahila 1992). Children’s skeletons give us an enormous amount of information regarding the physical and social life of the child, diet and age, and also in respect to factors that expose them to trauma and disease at different stages of their lives (Lewis 2007). The study by Lewis focuses principally on the United Kingdom33 and the information about Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, in respect to other periods, is based on 6/7 archaeological sites with large numbers of non-adult skeletons34. There are very interesting observations concerning, for instance, the relationship between grave goods and the age and gender of the buried individual. For Anglo-Saxon times, says Lewis, associations of certain types of objects have

For instance, the females buried with worn bracelets, necklaces of amber and carnelian beads have been linked to exogenous ethnic elements from Pannonia or Sarmatia. Osteological analyses suggest that the common factor between individuals with jewellery is gender and age. Isotope analysis of these female burials also indicates that they have grown up in Britain rather than the Continent, not excluding that they may belong to a second generation of immigrants (Gowland 2007: 61). 31 For Classical times, well known are: the cemetery of Vroulia (Rhodes); the second century BC cemetery of the Athenian Agora with around 450 newborn; the 450 cremation urns found in the Punic Tophet (Carthage); and more recently, and perhaps most spectacular, the Kilindra south-west cemetery (in the city of Chora on the Astypalaia island in Greece) with 2400 individual burials of infants up to the age of two years dated between Late Archaic to Early Classical times (ca. 600400 BC), the children were buried in large pots, the most part of these are amphorae that came from different parts of the Greek world (Hillson 2009: 138-139). 32 As we have seen in the medieval cemetery developed on the domus tancinus in Conimbriga (Condeixa-a-Velha, Portugal). In the archaeological excavations in this sector of the Roman city it was possible to demonstrate a significant concentration of infantile or subadult burials in a specific zone inside the cemetery. An exception was a newborn buried with a woman, perhaps their mother (López Quiroga, ed. 2013). 33 With some examples from Hungary (3), Egypt, (2) USA (6), Sudan (1), South Africa (1), Mexico (2), Greece (1) and Sweden (1) (Lewis 2007: 21). 34 Some of them with an important number of non-adult skeletons such as Raunds Furnells (Northamptonshire) with 208, The Hirsel (Scotland) with 153 or Cannington (Somerset) with 148 (Lewis 2007: 21). 30

Early Medieval Lifestyle. Paleopathology, Disease and Social Inequality. Paleopathology is the study of diseases in past populations, particularly those that leave a signature on the skeleton and hence can be identified by osteoarchaeology 29 and also through biomolecular paleopathology when diseases leave a biomolecular signature in the skeleton. Teeth are particularly interesting because dental development and eruption has a strong genetic component and is only minimally affected by environmental factors (Mayall 2000). A comparative osteological study between Late Roman and early Saxon cemeteries around Dorchester-onThames and Winchester in England has examined differences in growth development and dental wear between Romano-British and Anglo-Saxon populations. 28 This interpretation is supported by a number of double burials found within Norse societies indicating slaves buried with their masters. 29 When we talk about osteoarchaeology must take into account the socalled as osteological paradox (DiGangi-Moore 2013).

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frequently been made with certain ages and gender35 and, as she rightly underlines, this relationship “suffers from a common circular argument which stems from our inability to provide a biological sex for non-adults, and a Westernised view of what is ‘masculine’ and what is ‘feminine’” (Lewis 2007: 8). This is a very important remark in respect to the study of Late Antique and Early Medieval burials because very frequently this type of reasoning, and analyses of this type, could help us to avoid such errors.

the bacterium Yersinia pestis. We now know, thanks to genetics, that the same bacterium also caused the socalled ‘Plague of Justinian’ between sixth and eighth centuries. Another infectious disease well detected in medieval times39 is brucellosis40. In France, a female aged 35 years found in a cemetery dated to the end of the seventh century in Raucourt (Meurteh-et-Moselle), showed ankylosis in the right elbow joint, spondylodiscitis, osteomelytis in the right tibia, and other infectious lesions, including a left frontal trepanation that could be linked with complications due to brucellosis (Soulié 1982). Brucellosis was detected through anthropological analysis of skeletal remains from the ancient Albanian city of Butrint from relevant bones of two adolescent males from the tenth to thirteenth century AD. These findings suggest that brucellosis has been endemic in the Albanian area since at least the Middle Ages (Mutolo et al. 2011). In Italy, in a skeleton of a fourteenth-century middle-aged male excavated from the medieval Sardinian settlement of Geridu, pathogen genomes of Brucella melitensis41 were found (Kay et al. 2014) (Fig. 27).

In respect to infectious diseases 36 paleopathology has focussed principally on those caused by a pathogenic organism and spread by transfer of that pathogen from person to person. Infectious diseases are studied by searching archaeological remains for biomolecules derived from the pathogenic organism and this most frequently involves analysis of ancient DNA in paleomicrobiology (Anastasiou-Mitchell 2013). But not all diseases will leave a biomolecular signature in an archaeological specimen. In burials we find bones and teeth and in these cases, in order to study infectious diseases, it is necessary for the pathogen to be present in the bones or teeth at the time of death (AnastasiouMitchell 2013).

Paleopathology has also given relevant evidence about skeletal stress 42 , diet and lifestyle of past populations. This information could also help us to know the geographical origin of individuals. Studies of dental caries in Britain suggest lower frequencies in Early Middle Ages in respect to Roman or Late Medieval times. It is very interesting to analyse the differences between male and female frequencies and, above all, the disparities by social status (Roberts 1991).

Among the bacterial infectious diseases leprosy 37 has been the object of a significant number of paleopathological studies 38 on Late Antique and Early Medieval diseases in recent years, but smaller in number compared to other periods (such as the Late Middle Ages or Modern times), at least as far as we know from research published in the most relevant international journals on the matter. Without doubt one of the most terrible and catastrophic infectious diseases in the Middle Ages was the bubonic plague. The ‘Black Death’ in the mid-fourteenth century, was one of the most devastating epidemics in human history. The epidemic killed tens of millions of people in Europe alone within a very short period of time and was caused by the same pathogen that causes modern plague,

Subadult scurvy43 is one of the clear indicators of skeletal stress related to a lack of vitamin C. 44 This disorder is visible in bone through porosity in some areas of the skull that shows porotic cranial and intracranial lesions: the mandible and maxilla (Stark 2014). This absence of vitamin C can be due to different climatic, geographic, social or occupational circumstances. It is a symptom of malnutrition caused by selective dietary restrictions, and

35 Those authors indicate that ‘masculine’ spears began to appear more frequently in male graves after the age of 10-14 years, whereas ‘female’ beads and dress adornments appeared in ‘girls’ graves at between 10 and 12 years (Lewis 2007: 8). 36 Depending on the type of organism responsible for the disease there are three principal groups: caused by bacteria (Tuberculosis, Leprosy, Syphilis, Bubonic plague, Stomach ulcers, Brucellosis, Cholera, Diphtheria) by viruses (Influenza, Common cold, AIDS, Smallpox) or by parasites (Malaria, Schistosomiasis, Amoebic dysentery). 37 Leprosy is a chronic infectious disease affecting skin, nasal tissues, peripheral nerves and bone caused by Mycobacterium leprae, in two clinical forms, tuberculoid or lepromatus (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 141). 38 From an historical point of view, through the written sources, see the recent synthesis about Byzantine and Medieval West Leprosy: MillerNesbitt eds. 2014. The earliest skeletal evidence comes from outside Europe, with two skulls from Egypt dated around 200 BC. It is in England that the next-oldest was found, a Romano-British partial adult skeleton with leprosy in distal tibia, fibula and feet; and also located in England were leprous skeletons of the sixth and seventh centuries (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 154).

39 Brucellosis is also attested at Herculaneum in the 1st century AD: Capasso 1999. 40 Brucellosis is characterised by invasion of the reticuloendothelial system by highly endotoxic and typically intracellular organisms (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 192). 41 The name refers to the geographical origin or animal host. In the case of brucella melitensis it comes from Malta, where the principal factor is infected goat’s milk that produces brucella osteomyelitis (AufderheideRodríguez Martín 1998: 192). 42 Indicators of skeletal stress through pathological lesions, for example: the measurement of the distance between the junction of the cement and enamel of the teeth to defects caused by stress in growth (enamel hypoplasia); dental caries; periodontal disease through the amount of bone lost in the jaws, etc. 43 Scurvy is a type of metabolic disease (lack of Vitamin C) resulting in defective collagen synthesis with consequent skeletal growth retardation and hemorrhagic phenomena (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 310). 44 Detected also in pre-historic populations as the child found in ‘El Portillón’ (Atapuerca, Spain) with indicators of skeletal stress due to scurvy: Arsuaga et al. 2014.

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diseases cannot always be taken as a certain indication of social status. These good living conditions and nutritional status are also demonstrated by the low percentage of infectious diseases (only a case of periostitis) (BourbouTsilipakou 2009: 125-127).

this is very interesting because it could indicate social inequality in food access. Also, scurvy detected in bones can show geographical origin, because temperate climates generally provide a diet of vitamin C in food, so then its absence may be related to individuals who have grown in regions with different climatic conditions.

Skeletal non-metric traits observed in bones and teeth have been used to infer kinship between individuals buried in the same cemetery and also issues related to ethnicity, because of their assumed heritability (Tyrrell 2000). For instance, metopism had a strong genetic component and could be an indicator of closely related individuals in the same graveyard. Non-metric traits combined with biomolecular archaeology (aDNA and stable isotopes) can be potentially very helpful to kinship and migration concerns.

Another metabolic disease well known in Late Antiquity and Early Medieval times, as well as in other ancient periods, is osteoporosis 45 affecting the spine and long bones of individuals, and it is visible through the significant reduction of bone mass. In Sourtara (northern Greece) a paleopathological study was made of 71 skeletons from 70 graves belonging to a proto-Byzantine cemetery (sixth-seventh centuries AD) analysing stress and the health status of the individuals46. Among the dental pathologies found in Sourtara, the principal is antemortem tooth loss, followed by calculus and carious lesions47. The most common skeletal lesions are cribra orbitalia48 and porotic hyperostosis49, probably due to a possible iron-deficiency anaemia because of a low-protein diet. Some metabolic disorders such as senile osteoporosis (in an older female) were also detected in Sourtara. Degenerative diseases, caused by repetitive stress on the vertebral column, such as Schmorl’s nodes50, affected significantly older individuals 51 and these suggest better lifestyle and nutritional status52, but these

In a fifth-sixth century necropolis in France (Saint-Jeandes-Vignes, Saône-et-Loire, north-eastern France) (Fig. 28: left), the most ancient case of ‘Down’s syndrome’53 (mongolism) was detected, a well-known genetic anomaly characterised by an additional chromosome 21 (Trisomy 21) 54 (Rivollat et al. 2014). This was a child between 5 and 7 years55 old that was buried supine in a single grave cut with three ceramic shards (Fig. 28: right). The child’s skull shows signs of hydrocephalus (the thinness of the vault bones, the presence of wormian bones, the persistent metopic suture and the small skull base), but in this case with a normal cranial capacity (Fig. 29). What is important to underline is that no difference was observed in the treatment given to this child by the other members of the community (Rivollat et al. 2014).

Osteoporosis is the reduction of total bone mass per unit volume while retaining a normal ratio of bone mineral to bone matrix. There are two types: 1, affecting essentially postmenopausal women (between 5175 years old); 2, affecting both genders above age 60 (AufderheideRodríguez Martín 1998: 314-316). 46 In Sourtara mortality is higher among women than men (average age at death for males is 42 years and for females it is 34 years; the majority of the individuals died between the ages of 35-39 years). 47 These dental diseases occur in Sourtara in individuals between 26-45 years. 48 Cribra orbitalia (usura orbitae, hyperostosis spongiosa orbitae) is a haematological disorder due to increased red blood cell destruction (anaemia). It is usually characterised by symmetrically distributed cranial lesions involving only the outer table of the frontal and parietal bones, and much less frequently the occipital. This lesion is habitually evidenced in infancy, but not at birth (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 348-351). 49 Hyperostosis is a peculiar thickening of the frontal bone composed of an expansion of the diploic trabecular mass but bulging only inwardly into the cranial cavity. This disease is found almost exclusively in women, and is infrequent in women under 30 years of age. Hyperostosis was also detected in the Anglo-Saxon period in Britain and in a Viking Ship burial (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 419). 50 Schmorl’s nodes (or also Scheuermann’s disease) are a type of circulatory disorder that cause osteochondroses (frequently evidenced in males) that affect men and women. More precisely, Schmorl’s nodes is a lesion of the apophyseal rings of the vertebral bodies, occurs between 12 and 18 years of age, and the origin can be genetic or traumatic (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 83, 87). 51 Males are affected more often than females, and 85% of the cases in Sourtara are aged over 50 years (Bourbou-Tsilipakou 2009). Occupational stress is also a cause, but obviously not the only one, of rheumatoid arthritis (a typical joint disease), well attested in Early Medieval times (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 99-101). 52 Such as Blount’s disease (tibial osteochrondrosis deformans), and other circulatory disorders like Schmorl’s nodes, shows. It is a type of osteochrondrosis of the tibial proximal epiphysis as a consequence of excessive weight applied to this area that results in a delay in growth of the medieval tibial plate. Aufderheide & Rodríguez Martín mentioned 45

There are examples of individuals with multiple pathologies as we found in the Merovingian cemetery of Larry (Moselle, France), near a Gallo-Roman site abandoned from the fifth century. In the archaeological excavations of this site a poorly preserved adult male was found with several pathologies: multiple tooth loss, a thickened cranial vault, cervical block vertebrae (C3 C4), osteoarthritis of the left hip and a post-traumatic outgrowth on the first left metatarsal (Fig. 30: links and right) (Darton 2014). Aregundis’56bone analysis has also detected other inherited diseases from childhood and the case of a teenager from the ninth century in Switzerland with the left tibia 5.5 cm shorter than the right (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 85-86). 53 The prior most ancient example was an isolated child’s skull from Britain’s Saxon period (700-900 AD) (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 368). 54 It is a type of skeletal dysplasia due to chromosomal aberrations. In the case of Trisomy 21 (Down’s syndrome) an additional chromosome 21 is the result of nondysjunction during meiosis. Down’s syndrome is not common in antiquity before contemporary times because its frequency is related to maternal age (1/25 births over maternal age 40) (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 368). 55 The age-at-death was estimated using dental criteria, maturation of the skull including closure of the Huschke foramen and the intraoccipital synchondrosis (Rivollat et al. 2014: 9). 56 Aregundis was the third wife of Clotaire I (511-561) and the mother of Chilperic I (born in 534 and king between 561-584). The identification of the skeleton with Queen Aregundis raised no doubt due to the ring worn by the deceased with her name and the adjective Queen.

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Middle Ages (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 31). It has been noted in some cases of possible trepanations that in reality they were the result of other pathologies. One is the case of an eleventh century skeleton of a woman around 60 years old found in a cemetery area in the Prague Castle (Czech Republic). In fact this pseudotrepanation was a large bregmatic ossicle (Becker 2003).

pathologies characteristic of their age (Gallien 2012). The main pathology evidenced in Aregundis affects the right foot: a size difference in the right metatarsals, shorter and thinner than that of the left foot (Fig. 31: right). This malformation is associated with a hypertrophic form of right talus resulting from some kind of paralysis that occurred during childhood. The diagnosis is a paralytic flatfoot originating from a polio paralysis 57 (Gallien 2012). Another consequence of this child polio is a dental disease knows as enamel hypoplasia58, that is evidence for symptoms of nutritional status, presence of infectious diseases 59 , trauma or cultural activities (Fig. 31: links) (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998:405). In Aregundis’ bones a type of joint disease was also detected: a cervical and lumbar osteoarthritis demonstrating Forestier’s disease 60 . This type of hyperostosis disease is often accompanied by complications of metabolic type such as diabetes. It is quite probable that the queen walked with a small limp. The osteological analysis of Aregundis’ bones showed a poor health since childhood with serious consequences for her quality of life. The results of this research make us think about the real conditions of everyday life of those individuals considered part of the elite, at least as far as their health was concerned.

Dental diseases are further excellent indicators of health status and living conditions of individuals in a given period. It is at least interesting to know that dental caries was much less frequent among older populations that in our contemporary societies (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 404-405). Among dental diseases periodontal disorders 62 were chronic in ancient populations and of course in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. A recent study about periodontal diseases (through 1118 skulls) in the transition from Late Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages in Croatia, provides evidence for interesting conclusions (Vodanovic et al. 2012). Also in Croatia, comparative research from skeletal series from Croatia’s eastern Adriatic coast (Dalmatia) shows very interesting conclusions about dental health in respect to Late Antiquity and Early Medieval times (Slaus et al. 2010). The first series consists of 103 skeletons from seven Late Antique (third– sixth century AD) sites, the second of 151 skeletons from three Early Medieval (seventh–eleventh centuries AD) sites. The results of our analyses show that the frequencies of carious lesions, antemortem tooth loss, abscesses and alveolar resorption increased significantly during the Early Medieval period, as did the degree of heavy occlusal wear on posterior teeth. These data suggest a change in alimentary habits, with a significantly higher dependence on carbohydrates and a greater reliance on hard, fibrous foods requiring vigorous mastication in the Early Medieval diet. The combination of higher calculus and lower caries rates in the Late Antique series similarly suggests more protein in the Late Antique diet and is, therefore, also consistent with the hypothesised change in alimentary habits. The collected data suggest that the political, social and economic changes in Late Antique and Early Medieval Dalmatia resulted in an evident deterioration of oral health.

One of the most common degenerative diseases observed in archaeological human remains is found in the dorsal spine. In a study on 112 adult individuals with largely complete and well-preserved spines from the Early Medieval cemetery of Mannheim-Seckenheim, the pattern and degree of degenerative changes of the spine were analysed. In general, there was a high prevalence of degenerative diseases of the spine and males were affected more often and to a greater degree than females (Navitainuck-Meyer-Alt 2013). Degenerative alterations of the spine give evidence of a population’s health status, labour conditions, and environmental influences. Trepanation 61 is uncommon in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, and even considered missing in the 57 Aufderheide & Rodríguez Martín indicates that polio in its epidemic form is not detected with certainty before the nineteenth century. It may affect any age, more common in adults than in children. Those who survive suffer varying degrees of neurological deficit and consequently muscle paralysis and atrophies, as is the case of Aregundis (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 212). 58 Enamel hypoplasia is a defect in the structure of tooth enamel resulting from body-wide, metabolic insult sufficient to disrupt ameloblastic physiology; also called a biological window through which one can observe the long-term consequences of metabolic stress (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998:405-407). 59 Nutritional and infectious disease that is frequent in Late Antique populations; for example, 85% of the Saint-Jean-des-Vignes necropolis (fifth–sixth centuries) samples also display enamel hypoplasia (Rivollat et al. 2014: 13). 60 Forestier’s disease or diffuse idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis produce ankylosis of the spine due to ligament ossification without intervertebral disk disease. It is normally not detected before the age of 40 years. Achilles tendon, as in the case of Aregundis, is a frequently detected pathology (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 97-98). 61 Trepanation involves the production of a defect in the skull vault to create communication between the cranial cavity and the environment, whose success depends upon avoidance of injury to the meninges, brain and blood vessels (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 31-34).

These insects of mine: Archaeoentomology, parasites, objects and corpses. In recent years interest has been developed the in the study of insects and other arthropods of forensic interest from corpses, and this has favoured the development of a new discipline: Archaeoentomology. Funerary Archaeoentomology, as defined by Jean-Bernard Huchet in 1996, is the use of information provided by the insect fauna associated with archaeological human remains in order to define the peri (around) and post mortem events 62 A chronic slowly progressive and destructive inflammatory process affecting one or more of the four components of the periodontium, affecting usually all teeth and characterised by a horizontal reduction in alveolar bone height (Aufderheide-Rodríguez Martín 1998: 401-402).

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or funerary practice (Huchet 1996). Thus Funerary archaeoentomology is the study of insect assemblages, mostly sinanthropus, collected during archaeological excavations. The analysis of these fossils provides valuable information on the treatment of the corpse, its taphonomic ‘history’ and, by extension, the burial practices of ancient societies: evidence from prolonged exposure of the body before burial, mummification anthropogenic processes, reopening graves, etc. The identification of some potentially pathogenic ectoparasite insects reveals relevant information both in the perception of health conditions of past populations and about the epidemiological characterisation of some episodes.

be a result of extreme parasitism, diet, and pre-existing health conditions associated with ageing. Dietary analysis yielded evidence of a diet high in fibre, particularly in wheat glume or “chaff”. The extreme parasitism found in this individual leaves little doubt that whipworms contributed to her death. This individual’s exceedingly high T. trichiura egg concentrations are unprecedented in the paleopathological and clinical literature. The death of the individual in Burial 122 was likely to be caused by a combination of dietary and disease factors. The advanced age of the edentulous individual, a diet largely comprised of wheat glumes and an unprecedented whipworm infection were all factors that culminated in a lethal intestinal obstruction (Rácz et al. 2015: 313).

In Late Antique and Early Medieval burials it is usual to find metal objects present (swords, ornamental elements, plates, belts, earrings, brooches, etc.) in direct contact with the body. The corrosion of certain metals, including copper, bronze or iron, produce, upon degradation, solutions of metal salts which overlap, and finally replace, the impregnated organic material in a mineralised form. Close examination of metal artefacts found in some tombs sometimes provides evidence of prints of insects that reflect the ‘fossil activity’ of these on buried human remains. As an example of this we include here an iron belt buckle corroded by rust from Grave 628 of Wesel-Bislich (Germany), dated around the sixth century, which enabled the mineralisation of puparia of Diptera Calliphoridae (Fig. 32).

Bones don’t lie. Entangled People, Entangled Things, Entangled Contexts. Archaeologists study mortuary practices (in fact the remains or the traces of funerary acts) and try to interpret burials and grave goods in their context. Without this context we can’t understand or explain the significance of the mortuary practices. We must not forget that it is the living who bury the dead, and mortuary practices frequently serve as an arena wherein the living engage in political, social, and economic competition (Hodder 1980). Bioarchaeologists and bioanthropologists can do so much with bones in the laboratory, but they need archaeologists (and historians, of course), because context is everything; it is in fact the key to interpretation (Papaconstantinou 2006: 16).

Insects and parasites are direct witnesses to the health of past populations. They are also valuable for tracing the history of human migration, specific cultural practices in funeral customs and, of course, on the process of corpse decomposition and the changes taking place due to the taphonomic conditions. This is the case in three medieval burials located in the cemetery west of the St Pierre/St Gertrude church dated circa 1000 AD (just off the ‘Grand Place’ in Nivelles, Belgium) (Rácz et al. 2015). In this cemetery we found an excellent state of preservation of organic materials (brain matter, skin fragments, hair, and bits of fabric), particularly in the individuals corresponding with Burials 009, 199 and 122. The analysis of coprolites (fossilised dregs) discovered in these three burials allowed the finding of eggs of two species of parasites: Trichuris trichiura and Ascaris lumbricoides. The correlation between T. trichiura and A. lumbricoides egg concentration values in these individuals indicates co-infection. The fact that all of the sampled individuals were positive for geohelminths implies that Nivelles around the turn of the first millennium AD was an environment with a high potential for parasite infection. Indeed, the study shows that these parasites generated an intestinal pathology that was the cause of death. It is clearly visible in the individual corresponding with Burial 122 (an elderly edentulous female), which presented an unusual number of coprolites in terms of their morphology and abundance. The especially large coprolites observed in Burial 122 could

This is said in respect to a current tendency to study archaeological data/artefacts regardless of the context from which they were originated/created. The current post-Processualist approaches (the ‘post-processual anxieties’: Barrett 2006: 198) consider the ‘narrative’ about the past, and therefore the context, as the “culturalhistorical approach”. It is not an innocent use of the terms ‘narrative’ and ‘historical-cultural’, but the deconstruction of a concept of archaeology in order to overstress the value of archaeological data per se and without context. If as archaeologists we want to understand the past, archaeological data can only have a meaning if we know what these data represent. We must also consider that however well we document the material record, this will always be a small part of all that we completely ignore. As Ian Hodder recently underlined, there is a veritable entanglement in the lecture and interpretation of archaeological objects: humans depend on things, things depend on other things, things depend on humans and, obviously, humans depend on humans. In this sense, entanglement is the dialectic of dependence and dependency between humans and things (Hodder 2012). This interdependence is also recognisable when we speak about bioarchaeological identity that depends overall on different genetic factors. In the same way, but perhaps

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with a more complex interdependence, social identity constitutes a paradigmatic example of entanglement. We think, as we have repeatedly stated, that it is possible to identify labels of social identity through archaeological data, above all by studying mortuary practices and the traces of funerary acts. But it is also incontestable that identity has a strong component of individual mentality, and in this sense personal identity depends on a multiplicity of factors, which conform to entangled social identities. In our opinion, it is also possible to speak about collective or group identity, including multi ethnic sets of individuals. Namely, groups of persons with different ethnic origins and characteristics that share common identity labels. The Roman Empire is a paradigmatic example of these, as are the majority of the socio-political entities that appear in the post-Roman world during Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. Certain demographic social minorities (in respect to the local populations) but politically dominant, and with a strong ethnic component, adopted and imposed specific identity labels depending on the socio-political context forming a continuing entangled process.

analysing possible correlations between social status (then social identity) and skeletal signs of interpersonal violence. A study of this type was undertaken in the Early Medieval cemetery from Mannheim-Seckenheim (Germany) showing that the visible traces of sharp force injuries follow a very specific pattern clearly connected to the expression of social status via the grave goods (Meyer-Wirth-Alt 2014). Women show no skeletal trauma caused by injuries; men of low status are also rarely affected. The cranial lesions are found in the high status men, whose graves include the same types of weapons that caused their own injuries (Fig. 35). Bones and human remains found in archaeological contexts are the raw material, with working bioarchaeologists and bioanthropologists providing a considerable amount of objective information. As historians and archaeologists we can, and we must, use these data, which are now quantitatively and qualitatively considerable, because Bones don’t lie concerning Ethnicity, Identity and Otherness. And this is, in our opinion, an argument of sufficient weight to integrate the results of the bioarchaeological and bioanthropological analyses in the historical and archaeological narrative and, obviously, to work together with them63.

It is precisely these entangled processes that make it extremely difficult, from a strict archaeological point of view, to recognise labels of identity of an individual or groups of individuals through the things (objects). Probably because this identity, that is essentially a social identity, is plural, diverse and changing. Perhaps, also, because there are several identities (often apparently contradictory) in the same individual or group of individuals. The so-called ‘ivory bangle lady’, discovered near Sycamore Terrace, Bootham (Yorkshire, England) (Leach et al. 2010), put the great complexity of the population mobility processes and the construction of social identities precisely on the table. The rich array of the grave goods contained in the coffin was dated to the second half of the fourth century and related to personal appearance and display (Fig. 33). They included jet and elephant ivory bracelets, earrings, pendants, beads, as well as a blue glass jug, likely to have contained cosmetics or perfumes, and a glass mirror (Fig. 34: left). The authors underline: “all evidence (unusual burial rite, unusual ancestry, strontium and oxygen isotope data), taken together can make a convincing case for an incomer to Roman York who was of high status” (Leach et al. 2010: 140) (Fig. 34: right). But, at the same time, they warn about “the ambiguous information emerging from the various scientific techniques, a result that may reflect the complexities of identities in the past as well as the early state of the methodologies” (Leach et al. 2010: 141); and certainly an interdisciplinary approach like this (combining historical, anthropological, archaeological and biological data) reveals the complexities and interplay of biological and social identities.

63 Such as the project that has been developing for some years on the ‘Langobard Migration’ between the first and seventh centuries, who, with much common sense, insist on the need for interdisciplinary and multidisciplinary research in this type of study: “through close collaboration between disciplines and mutual respect for the contributions of historians, geneticists, and archaeologists” (GearyVeeramah 2016: 74).

Paleopathological and palaeoepidemiological studies through osteological features can be extremely helpful for

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Powell, M. L. et al. (2006): “Invisible Hands: Women in Bioarchaeology”, in: J. E. Buikstra - L. A. Beck (eds.), Bioarchaeology. The Contextual Analysis of Human Remains, Oxford, 131-194.

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Fig. 1. Merovingian necropolis of Jau-Dignac and Loirac (7th -8th centuries AD) (Aquitaine, southwest France). Details of sarcophagi 169, 170 and 171 and mitochondrial data obtained for different human remains (Ø: not determined) (Cartron-Castex 2010).

Fig. 2. Distribution of individuals buried around Aregonde Queen, and kinship relations between then according to the study of mitochondrial DNA (Saint-Denis basilica, Paris, France) (Gallien 2012).

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Fig. 3 (left): Map showing the location of the Szóláz cemetery (Hungary) on the southern shore of lake Balaton and the sites of Balatonszárszó and Kestzthely-Fenékpuszta, which have yielded strontium isotope reference data (Alt et al. 2014). Fig. 4 (right): Mortuary practices and anthropological analysis in the Szólád cemetery, 6th century (Alt et al. 2014).

Fig. 5: Model of the Szólád community’s residential changes and occupation of the cemetery (Alt et al. 2014).

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Fig. 6: Map of Lombard Migration (1st-7th centuries).

Fig. 7: Shared Haplotypes between medieval and modern habitants of Piedmont (Italy) (Vai- Ghirotto-Pilli-Tassi-Lari-Rizzi et al. 2015).

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Fig. 8: Estimated average total numbers of genetic common ancestors shared per pair of individuals in various pairs of populations across Europe (Ralph-Coop 2013).

Fig. 9: Artificially modified skulls from Altenerding (Bavaria, Germany) (Tombs: AED1108 and AED1350) with associated grave goods (Hakenbeck et al. 2010, 3, Fig. 2).

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Fig. 10: Map of the cemetery of Obermöllern (Germany) indicating the sex of the burials and mapped local and nonlocal artefacts and features (Knipper et al. 2013).

Fig. 11: Map of the cemetery of Rathewitz (Germany) indicating the sex of the burials and mapped local and nonlocal artefacts and features (Knipper et al. 2013).

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Fig. 12: Comparison of Sr Isotope ratios of human tooth enamel from Obermöllern, Rathewitz environmental samples from the area and archaeological faunal teeth (Knipper et al. 2013).

Fig. 13: Late Antiquity cemeteries of Rathewitz and Obermöllern (5th–6th centuries AD): Comparison of the occurrence of local or foreign influenced grave goods to the results of Sr isotope analysis on human tooth enamel. Matches of archaeological local or nonlocal origin of objects and isotopic signals in tooth enamel are marked with “+”. Local objects in graves of non-local individuals or foreign objects in graves of isotopically local burials are marked with “-”. For instance, foreign brooches or bracteates in Graves 10 and 12 (Rathewitz) and Graves 9, 13, and 6 (Obermöllern) were associated with isotopically local people (Knipper et al. 2012: 302, Fig. 8).

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Fig. 14: Early Medieval cemetery of St. Martín de Dulantzi (Vasque Country) (Quirós Castillo-Loza Uriarte-Niso Lorenzo 2013).

Fig. 15: Isotope variation in the Late Antique and Early Medieval cemetery of St. Martín de Dulantzi (Vasque Country) (Quirós Castillo-Loza Uriarte-Niso Lorenzo 2013).

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Fig. 16: Viking Age Mass Grave (Oxford). 34 to 38 male individuals suffered severe injuries such as blade and puncture wounds to the head, pelvis and ribs as well as decapitation (Ord 2011).

Fig. 17: Viking Age Mass Grave (Ridgeway Hill, Weymouth, England). The skeletons, predominantly of young adult males, had been decapitated and the heads were deposed together (Loe-Boyle-Webb-Score 2014).

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Fig. 18: Warrior’s bones of Alken Enge (East Jutland, Denmark), dated around 1st century AD. We can see four pelvic bones on a stick (Photograph: Peter Jensen, Aarhus University).

Fig. 19 (left): Fibula found in the mass grave of Sandy Borg (Öland island, Sweden). Fig. 20 (right): Skeletal remains of an adult male (aged 50 – 60 years) along with a small child (aged 2 to 5 years) founds in the mass grave of Sandy Norg (Öland island, Sweden).

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Fig. 21. Budeč (district of Kladno, central Bohemia): Early Medieval Cemetery: plan with the description of the anthropological buried groups (Štefan-Krutina 2009: 132, Fig. 10A).

Fig. 22. Budeč Mass Grave (district of Kladno, central Bohemia): Northwest corner of the pit-house with mass grave (Štefan-Krutina 2009: 153, Fig. 25 D, E).

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Fig. 23. Necropolis of Caravate, 8th–9th centuries (Varese, Italy). Link: Skull from skeleton of Tomb 1 (40 to 50-year-old female): perforating fracture caused probably by a pointed weapon. Right: Skull from skeleton of Tomb 2 (a 40 to 50-year-old male): depressed fracture caused by a point instrument (Licata – Vecchio – Armocida 2014: 557, Figs. 1, 3).

Fig. 24. Late Antiquity cemetery in Casalecchio (Bologna, Italy). Tombs 2 and 3 (Cavallini 2010: 70, Fig. 18).

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Fig. 25. Late Antiquity cemetery in Casalecchio (Bologna, Italy). Tombs 6 and 8 deposited in decomposed mode and with opposite orientation (Cavallini 2010: 70-73, Fig. 19, 20).

Fig. 26. Grave 16 of Casalecchio di Reno (Bologna) with sectioned foots as result of post-mortem decapitation and mutilation (Cavallini 2011, 73: Fig. 21).

Fig. 27. Calcific nodules excavated from the pelvic girdle of skeleton 2658 (Geridu, Italy, 14th century).

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Fig. 28 (left and right). Necropolis of Saint-Jean-des-Vignes (Saône-et-Loire, Bourgogne, France) (5th-6th century AD). Childe aged between 5-7 years in situ (Rivollata et al. 2014: 9, Fig. 1).

Fig. 29. The oldest case of trisomy 21 identified to date, but also that affect the youngest patient; in this case a child aged 5 to 7 years. The crane was found in the archaeological excavations of the necropolis of Saint-Jean-des-Vignes (Saône-et-Loire, Bourgogne, France) (5th-6th century AD) (Rivollata et al. 2014: 9, Fig. 2).

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Fig. 30: Links: Posterior view: with two resorptive lesions on C3 (a) and C4 (b); Right: Right aspect, with two supero-medial (a) and infero-lateral (b) resorptive lesions of the pedicle and the healed fracture corresponding to the site of the posterior root of the right transverse apophysis of C4 (c). Merovingian cemetery of Larry (Moselle, France) (Darton 2014).

Fig. 31. Links: Ardegonde mandible. Right: Right foot of Ardegonde, detail on deformations of the metatarsals 3-5 (Gallien 2012).

Fig. 32. Iron belt buckle corroded by rust from a Frankish burial (6th century) that enabled the mineralization of puparia of Diptera Calliphoridae (Grave 628, Wesel-Bislich, Germany) (from Grote-Benecke 2001).

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Fig. 33. Reconstruction image of the funerals of the York Lady (Leach et al. 2010).

Fig. 34 (left): The grave goods of the ‘ivory bangle lady’: a bone openwork mount, beads, earrings and pendant, blue glass jug, blue glass bead bracelet, glass mirror, jet and ivory bracelets (Leach et al. 2010). Fig. 34 (right): ‘ivory bangle lady’ skull (Leach et al. 2010).

Fig. 35. Burial of a teenager with guns and damaged skull, in supine position. Necropolis of Hermsheimer Bösfeld (MannheimSeckenheim, Germany) (Meyer-Wirth-Alt 2014: 68, Fig. 1).

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LES ANTIQUITÉS GERMANIQUES À L'EST EUROPÉEN AU BAS-EMPIRE ET À L'ÉPOQUE DES GRANDES MIGRATIONS État des recherches Michel KAZANSKI - Anna MASTYKOVA

_______________________________________________________________ Abstract: The archaeological material shows two types of contacts of Germans from Central Europe with Eastern Europe. The first case corresponds to the arrival and installation of larger or smaller groups of migrants. This can be indicated by the presence of “ethnographic” elements, which are not directly related to economic activity or not the sign of prestige - handcrafted ceramic, traditional female costume or "middle class" burial practices etc. In the archaeological material such indices are manifested in a visible way, their distribution is compact from a territorial and chronological point of view. Some items, including costumes, weapons or burial practices, can become prestigious and serve as objects of imitation by the people and lose their cultural significance. The second case, which occurs most often through the dissemination of isolated objects, shows, in our opinion, the influences from the Germanic world, whose distribution in Eastern Europe is explained by the economic, cultural, political and military contacts. This does not exclude the physical presence of the holders of these objects in small groups or even isolated. Key Words: Germanic Antiquities – Eastern Europe – Late Roman Empire – Great Migrations

par les Goths et d’autres peuples germaniques (Gépides, Hérules .....) lors de leurs migrations du IIe-IIIe s. vers le Sud. En ce qui concerne le modèle de la migration gothique, reconstitué à partir des données archéologiques, tous sont d’accord que la migration des peuples germaniques le long de la route "Baltique-Pont" était un processus lent et progressif de l’occupation du territoire par les petits groupes des porteurs de la civilisation germanique de Wielbark, venant da la côte su de la mer Baltique et du bassin de la Vistule inférieure. R. Hachmann a démontré que contrairement à ce que l’on croit habituellement, les migrations des peuples sédentaires ne se manifestent pas par des déplacements rapides et massifs de population sur une grande distance, mais plutôt par l’avancée progressive de petits groupes qui se rejoignent les uns les autres sur de très courts trajets. L’implantation durable des populations sédentaires et agricoles était plus importante et avait plus d’impact que les expéditions militaires, racontés par les chansons des gestes et repris par Jordanès dans son histoire des Goths (Hachmann 1970)1. L’archéologie fournit des renseignements précieux sur la migration des Germains orientaux et elle permet d’un reconstituer l’itinéraire. Ainsi, on note grâce à la diffusion des sites de la civilisation de Wielbark que ses porteurs partent du bassin de la Vistule, remontent le cours du Boug Occidental puis passent entre les marécages du Pripet au Nord-Est et les contreforts des Carpates au Sud-Ouest pour aboutir dans la plaine de la steppe forestière de l’Ukraine (dans le bassin du Dniestr moyen et du Boug Méridional) (Fig. 1). De là, deux voies s’ouvrent à eux, voies qui mènent vers l’œkoumène du monde civilisé. La première, au Sud-Est, les conduit vers l’embouchure du Dniepr et du Boug Méridional et sur les bords de la mer Noire, lieu de contact avec la civilisation gréco-romaine. La seconde voie les entraîne vers les plaines fertiles de la Moldavie et, suivant le cours du Dniestr (Fig. 2), du Prout et du Seret, dans la région du Danube inférieur, à la frontière balkanique de l’Empire

*** Les influences culturelles "occidentales", venant d'Europe centrale vers l’Est européen à l’époque romaine tardive et celle des Grandes Migrations sont bien attestées par le matériel archéologique. La question se pose: quelles étaient les modalités de diffusion des éléments culturels « occidentaux » à l’Est - imitation, commerce ou déplacement de personnes physiques ou de groupes de la population ? Pour l’époque romaine tardive, deux directions de la diffusion de cette influence se dessinent. La première, qui est très important surtout à l’époque romaine tardive, est l’axe fluvial qui réunit le bassin de la mer Baltique à celui de la mer Noire. La deuxième direction des influences « occidentales » à l’intérieur de l’Europe de l’Est va du Nord de la mer Noire et de l’Europe centrale vers la zone forestière de la Russie et de la Biélorussie.

1 Certains archéologues et historiens ont supposé que les groupes migrants des Goths à l'époque romaine rappelaient des bandes vikings des IXe-XIe s. (Kmieciński 1962; Kmieciński 1972; Lönnroth 1972). Mais une telle comparaison nous paraît inapplicable pour le monde germanique des premiers siècles ap. J.C. On doit se souvenir en effet que durant le Haut Moyen-Age le départ massif des Vikings disloqués en groupes qui n’obéissent qu’à leurs chefs coïncide avec la création des premiers Etats scandinaves et la désintégration de l’ancienne société tribale. En revanche, à l’époque romaine, c’est à dire en pleine protohistoire pour les Germains, ces derniers sont organisés en tribus où les liens de parenté priment, ce qui suppose un autre type de migration que celle des Vikings.

Civilisation de Černjahov. Le premier axe des contacts Ouest-Est à l'époque romaine est lié à l'histoire des Goths. En effet, la route fluviale, qui passe, de la côte baltique par la Vistule et le Boug occidental pour atteindre les fleuves du bassin de la mer Noire (Dniestr, Boug méridional, Dniepr) a été utilisée

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Les antiquités germaniques romain (Wołągiewicz 1986; Kazanski 1991: 28-33; Bierbrauer 1994: 98-105; Ščukin 2005: 103-108; Shchukin et alii 2006: 20, 21; Kozak 2006: 10; Kokowski 2010: 114-118; Šarov 2013).

« indigènes », non germaniques, avec ceux issus de la civilisation romaine (Kazanski 1991: 29-45; Bierbrauer 1999; Magomedov 2001; Ščukin 2005: 109-134; Shchukin et alii 2006: 38-48)3.

Une première vague des migrants quitte le territoire de la civilisation de Wielbark en Pologne à la fin du IIe s. ou au début du IIIe siècle, ce qui correspond aux phases B2/C1 (160/180-200) et C1a (160/180-210/230) de la chronologie du Barbaricum européen (cf. Godlowski 1970; Shchukin et alii 2006; Bierbrauer 2008: 28, 29). A cette époque apparaissent en effet, dans le cours moyen du Boug occidental, sur la marge sud de la civilisation de Wielbark, des nécropoles à incinérations, caractéristiques de cette culture, telles Brest-Trišin, Veličkoviči, Skorbiči (Kuharenko 1980: 64-69; Ščukin 2005: 104). On a également mis au jour dans cette région des objets germaniques isolés et notamment à Sušično, une lance avec une inscription runique (Ščukin 2005: 72, 73). Des traces de la civilisation de Wielbark sont attestées pratiquement à la même époque plus au Sud, en Ukraine. Ce sont des nécropoles du type Wielbark avec des incinérations à Mogiljany-Hmel’nik, Mašev, Luboml’, ou celles bi-rituelles, comme Gorodok. Cette vague des migrants correspond sans doute aux Goths. La deuxième vague, qui se déplace plus tard, vers la fin du IIIe s. (la période C2 c'est à dire 250/260-300/320) a laissé les sites en Volhynie (Dytyniči), en Podolie (Šeršni, Barsuki) ou en Moldavie roumaine (Kozia-Iaşi). Elle est probablement liée à d’autres groupes de la population germanique orientale, tels que les Gépides ou les Hérules (Kuharenko 1980: 68-76; Kazanski 1991: 28, 45; Ščukin 2005: 107, 108; Shchukin et alii 2006: 21).

Il faut préciser que le matériel de la civilisation de Černjahov témoigne de la présence au Nord de la mer Noire des groupes allochtones germaniques très divers. L’apport de la culture de Wielbark nous y semble décisif. On peut attribuer à son influence l’apparition de certains types d’objets qui deviendront caractéristiques de la culture de Černjahov, notamment des fibules et des récipients en céramique non tournée. Les cultures de Wielbark et de Černjahov ont en commun le costume des femmes à deux fibules sur les épaules ainsi que dans le domaine des pratiques funéraires, des nécropoles birituelles où voisinent incinérations et inhumations avec des défunts généralement déposés la tête au Nord. Dans les deux cas, les tombes avec des armes sont extrêmement rares. Les traits issus de la culture de Wielbark sont particulièrement bien représentés en Volhynie, en Podolie, en Moldavie, dans la région du Dniepr et sur les bords de la mer Noire (Kazanski 1991: 41-45; Bierbrauer 1994: 108-112; Shchukin et alii 2006: 22, 23, 38, 39 et récemment Magomedov 2013). On doit attribuer à un autre apport germanique, celui de la culture de Przeworsk, qui occupait alors le territoire de la Pologne méridionale et centrale d'aujourd'hui (à son propos voir en particulier Andrzejowski 2010), la présence dans des sépultures d’armes parfois intentionnellement brisées ou recourbées (Fig. 4) et d’os calcinés d’oiseaux. Certains types de récipients non tournés et les pendentifs peltiformes à décor granulé ont la même provenance. L’influence de cette culture est surtout sensible en Munténie, en Podolie, dans la région du Dniestr supérieur et dans celle des rapides du Dniepr (Kazanski 1991: 41; Shchukin et alii 2006: 21; Kozak 2006: 10; Magomedov 2013: 267).

La société gothique, à en juger d’après les données archéologiques, a subi une évolution spectaculaires dans le laps du temps entre leur « départ » de la côte baltique au IIe s. et leur « arrivée» sur la frontière pontodanubienne au IIIe s. : la vague fédération ("ligue") des tribus, habituelle pour les Germains et les autres Barbares de l’époque romaine (voir à ce propos Hachmann 1971: 71-88), est remplacée par un système proto-étatique, du type du «royaume barbare »2, fortement influencé par la civilisation romaine. La civilisation de Černjahov (Černjahov -Sîntana-de-Mureş) (Fig. 3), qui se forme sur la marge nord du monde romain, dans l’espace pontodanubien, correspond à ces « nouveaux Barbares ». Elle est la synthèse des éléments barbares, plus précisément germaniques, venus de la région de la Vistule et

Une série de coutumes ou d’objets peuvent être indifféremment originaires de la culture de Wielbark ou de celle de Przeworsk. Citons le dépôt de clefs ou de serrures dans les tombes, les pots non tournés de forme ovoïde (les “kumpf”) ainsi que les petits pendentifs en or en forme de seaux à décor granulé. Enfin, parmi les influences septentrionales, mentionnons celles scandinaves qui se manifestent par la découverte de tombes sous des dalles ou dans des coffres en pierre, de fibules avec un décor surchargé dites “monstres”4 et peutêtre par l’usage de runes germaniques car celles-ci ont été retrouvées en grand nombre à l’époque romaine au Danemark et en Suède méridionale. Les traits "scandinaves" sont attestés essentiellement au sud de la Volhynie, en Podolie et en Moldavie. Un «pont» entre la région de la mer Baltique et le nord de la mer Noire

Un royaume « barbare » a d’habitude à sa tête un roi sacralisé. Dans un « royaume barbare », le pouvoir s’appuie, comme dans une chefferie (voir infra), sur le droit coutumier et la charisme du chef. Les lois écrites, ainsi que les structures nécessaires pour leur application (force armée, système judiciaire), sont absentes. Cependant, dans un « royaume barbare » les privilèges des clans disparaissent progressivement au profit de ceux des groupes sociaux. Notamment, l’entourage du roi, ses antrustions, souvent d’origine étrangère, qui n’appartiennent pas au système des clans, occupe une place de plus en plus importante pour, finalement, remplacer l’ancienne aristocratie tribale. D’autre part le roi devient plutôt le seigneur de guerre que le chef charismatique, car les fonctions militaires de ces royaumes deviennent des plus en plus importantes.

2

3 Certains archéologues ukrainiens ne considèrent pas la civilisation de Černjahov comme gothique, mais l'attribuent à tort à la population slave (Baran 1981; Kozak 1986: 133-135). 4 A leur propos voir spécialement Lund Hansen-Przybyła 2010.

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Michel Kazanski – Anna Mastykova passant la le bassin de la Vistule fonctionne, à en juger d'après les découvertes archéologiques, durant toute l'époque romaine tardive. Ces contacts sont attestés par des découvertes archéologiques (fibules «monstres» déjà citées, gobelets du type Kowalk, peignes en fer, certains types de perles) et, comme nous l'avons déjà dit, par des inscriptions runiques (Fig. 5) (Kuharenko 1980: 74, 75; Werner 1988; Kazanski 1991: 41-45; Levada 2000; Levada 2006; Magomedov 2001: 119; Magomedov 2011; Ščukin 2005: 171-194; Gavritukhin 2011; Lund Hansen 2011; Quast 2011)5. Il est bien possible que ce couloir fût utilisé par des groupes des Germains septentrionaux migrant vers le Sud, tels les Hérules (voir infra).

supra) (Kazanski 1994: 437, 438). On peut donc en conclure qu’au moment de la destruction de Tanaïs les Germains originaires de la civilisation de Przeworsk (Vandales ou Boranes ?) y ont été présents, soit comme défenseurs de la ville (Bezuglov 2003), soit comme envahisseurs, selon l’avis de la plupart des chercheurs. Cependant, ces mêmes umbo pouvaient être en usage également chez les Germains de la culture de Wielbark (Goths ou Gépides). Les tombes de cette culture ne contiennent pratiquement jamais d’armes. Mais chez leurs voisins orientaux, les Baltes, ces umbo sont connus (Kazanski 1994: 437, 438; Kazanski 2002: 399, 400; Kazanski 2009: 22). Ils n’ont pu parvenir chez les Baltes, aussi bien à partir de la zone de Przeworsk, que par l’intermédiaire des Germains de la culture de Wielbark. Les umbo du type Zieling O de l'époque romaine tardive, se diffusent essentiellement en Scandinavie, ils sont également attestés dans la région entre l’Elbe et l’Oder (Zieling 1989: 135, 136, Taf. 16.O). Il s’agit donc d’une arme typique des Germains scandinaves (Hérules ?). Un habitat barbare et une nécropole ont été retrouvés sur les ruines de Tanaïs. Ils sont datés, d’après les objets découverts, des périodes C2-C3 (260/270-360/370) mais surtout D1-D2 (360/370-440/450). La population qui a laissé cet habitat et cette nécropole présente un caractère hétérogène. En effet, certains traits peuvent être attribués à des Alano-Sarmates, d’autres à une population d’origine gréco-romaine, d’autres, enfin, à des Germains. En effet, Tanaïs a livré de nombreux objets du type Wielbark et Černjahov (Fig. 7.4-7) (Kazanski 1991: 8283; 2002: 400-40; 2009: 22-23 ; Bierbrauer 2008: 102106). Ce matériel germanique a probablement été laissé, ne fut-ce qu’en partie, par les Hérules qui ont été battus dans les années 330-360 par Hermanaric quelque part dans la région du Don inférieur (Kazanski 1992: 95; Shchukin et alii 2006: 72, 73). Ces Hérules originaires, d’après Procope de Césarée et de Jordanès, de la partie occidentale de la zone scandinave, sont connus sur la Méotide à partir de 267-268, c’est à dire après la destruction de Tanaïs et les premières incursions maritimes germaniques sur le Pont7.

Une série de traits de la culture de Černjahov, disséminés sur tout son territoire, sont caractéristiques du monde germanique en général et on ne peut préciser leur origine. Mentionnons par exemple: la présence sur les habitats de grands bâtiments qui comprennent un local d’habitation et un autre pour le bétail, la découverte dans des tombes de seaux en bois et d’éperons 6 , les incinérations surmontées de kourganes, la présence de pierres dans des incinérations ainsi que l’utilisation de peignes en os à une rangé de dents avec un dos semi-circulaire (Kazanski 1991: 41-45; Bierbrauer 1994: 108-112; Ščukin 2005: 173-194; Shchukin et alii 2006: 43-48). On peut conclure que l'apport germanique est avant tout le résultat direct d'une migration lente et progressive d'une masse importante des populations venues d'Europe centrale. Tanaïs. Mais, à en juger d'après les données archéologiques, la zone de diffusion des éléments culturels germaniques englobe également un vaste territoire au Nord de la mer Noire. Ainsi, à Tanaïs, la colonie grecque à l’embouchure du Don (Fig. 6.1), subordonnée aux rois du Bosphore Cimmérien (voir infra), et par leur intermédiaire à Rome, les objets germaniques sont présentées notamment par des armes. Ce sont les umbo de bouclier des types Konin, Chorula et Zieling O (Ščukin 1993: 326 ; Shchukin et alii 2006: 28; Kazanski 2002: 399; Kazanski 2009: 21, 22), attestés dans les niveaux de destruction de la ville. Ces derniers sont datés, d’après des découvertes monétaires, des années 250. Les umbo des types de Konin et de Chorula (Fig. 7.1-3) sont connus presque exclusivement sur des sites de la culture germanique de Przeworsk (voir

Tanaïs a survécu l’invasion hunnique, les tombes des périodes D1 (360/370-400/410) et D2 (380/400-440/450) ont été découvertes dans sa nécropole. La population est très mélangée (grecque, germanique, alaine, hunnique...). La période D2 est marquée, par l’arrivée d’objets de la mode danubienne. A côté de Tanaïs, à Sinjavka, un petit cimetière « princier » a été mis au jour (Fig. 8). Une sépulture féminine a livré des parures typiques du costume prestigieux des Germains orientaux de l’horizon Untersiebenbrunn. Une autre tombe est masculine. Elle contenait des objets du style polychrome, typique des

5 Parfois on considère les parures et les pièces de harnachement à décor gravé et estampillé, provenant des découvertes "princières" du horizon Untersiebenbrunn comme la production d'un atelier scandinave (Levada 2011). Celui-ci est connu d'après les découvertes à Sösdala et Fultofta en Scanie et Vennebo en Västergötland. A notre avis les parures et les garnitures de harnachement scandinaves et continentales, représentent deux lignes parallèles de développement d'un style décoratif, ayant les prototypes romaines (Kuharenko 1982: 240; Tejral 2011: 329) et faisant partie de la culture princière "super-régionale" (Fabech-Näsman 2012). La concentration des objets en argent, portant un décor gravé ou estampillé, en Pannonie romaine est significative (Bóna 2002: Fig. 34). Ainsi, il nous semble plus raisonnable de supposer qu'il s'agit à lórigine de la production des ateliers pannoniens et non scandinaves. 6 Pour les éperons de l'époque romaine en Europe de l'Est voir spécialement Kazanski 1994; Raduš 2013.

7 D’après Procope de Césarée, ils sont originaires très probablement de la Scandinavie méridionale (Procope, Bel.Got., II.14-15). Selon Jordanès, les Hérules ont été chassés de la Scandinavie par les Danes (Jordanès, Getica, 23). Or, rien n’indique l’existence des Danes en Scandinave avant le Ve-VIe s. (Ellegard 1987: 10). Selon A. Ellegard les Hérules ce n’est pas le nom du peuple proprement dit, mais plutôt l’appellation des élites militaires germaniques agissant dans différentes parties du Barbaricum (Ellegard 1987).

92

Les antiquités germaniques tombes des chefs militaires de l’époque hunnique (Kazanski 2002: 401-403; 2009: 23, 24).

dire les Boranes, les Goths et les Hérules, actuellement est peu représentée par le matériel archéologique (Kazanski-Mastykova 2007). Une partie des objets, notamment certains types des fibules et des peignes en os (Fig. 9.1, 3, 4, 5-9) peuvent être attribués aux Goths de Černjahov (Kazanski 2002: 397, 2009: 19, 20).

Il nous semble qu’un habitat stationnaire “multinational” en plaine steppe nomade correspond à la notion de zimnik. Un zimnik est à l’origine un lieu de campement où les nomades de la steppe regroupent leurs troupeaux pendant l’hiver 8 et qui possèdent souvent des bâtiments provisoires. Avec le temps, un zimnik peut devenir un habitat permanent où se concentrent notamment les familles pauvres qui ne possèdent pas suffisamment de bétail pour nomadiser, ainsi que les esclaves et les prisonniers de guerre, et où l’on garde le butin des conquêtes. Des marchands et des artisans étrangers y vivent également et l’aristocratie nomade y fait construire ses résidences d’hiver. Tôt ou tard cet habitat est entouré de remparts, des faubourgs agricoles font leur apparition. Ainsi un zimnik prend petit à petit la forme d’un habitat à caractère urbain. On sait que la population de ces “villes” nomades est hétérogène. Marchands, artisans, interprètes, agriculteurs, esclaves ou mercenaires ainsi que des aventuriers de toutes sortes d’origines très divers y cohabitent. Ainsi, nous pensons que le matériel archéologique hétérogène de Tanaïs témoigne de la présence d’un zimnik hunnique dont la population comprend des Germains.

Pendant la période D1 (360/370-400/410), ou peut-être dès la fin de la période C3 (300/330-360/370), des objets germaniques du type Černjahov (peignes, fibules), parfois portant un riche décor (par ex. Fig. 9.5, 8), sont présents dans des tombes de l’aristocratie bosphorite (par ex. Novikovsky sklep 1890, tombe 145.1904, deux tombes du 24.6.1904)9. Ces parures ont été donc fabriquées pour l’élite du Bosphore Cimmérien, ce qui montre l’intégration des Goths dans le groupe dirigeant du royaume (Kazanski 1999a: 282-285; 2002: 397; 2009: 20, 213, 214; Magomedov 2001a). Il est même possible que les Goths y prennent le pouvoir. Ceci corrobore apparemment le témoignage de Jean Chrysostome, qui parle d’un roi des Goths au Bosphore Cimmérien vers 400 (Vasil’ev 1921: 312, 313; Kazanski 1999a: 284; 2009: 213-215). A quelle époque les Goths ont-ils pu accéder, ne fût ce que partiellement, au pouvoir dans cette région ? Rappelons que le royaume du Bosphore Cimmérien était un protectorat de l’Empire. La situation s’est prolongée jusqu’au 343 au moins, époque à laquelle certaines familles de l’aristocratie de Bosphore ont reçu des cadeaux impériaux (des plats en argent avec le portrait de Constance II, retrouvés dans les tombes 145.1904 et du 24.6.1904). Il est probable, que "le coup d'état" a pu se produire avant 362, quand une ambassade bosphorite est venue auprès de Julien l’Apostat pour établir des relations avec l’Empire (Ammien Marcellin, XXII.7.10). Il nous semble que seul un changement de la situation politique sur le Bosphore Cimmérien entre 343 et 362 a pu justifier l’envoi de cette ambassade10.

Bosphore Cimmérien. Le royaume du Bosphore Cimmérien à l’époque romaine occupe des terres autour de la mer d’Azov, en Crimée orientale («Bosphore européen»), dans la péninsule de Taman («Bosphore asiatique») (Fig. 6.E). La capitale du royaume est la ville de Panticapaion (Kertch actuelle), sur la côte européenne du détroit du Bosphore Cimmérien. Le royaume jouit un rôle exceptionnel dans l’histoire de la région pontique (Shchukin et alii 2006: 83-100; Bierbrauer 2008: 106-110 Kazanski 2009: 181-216).

Les Huns s’emparent du royaume du Bosphore à la fin du IVe ou au début du Ve s., les tombes nomades de l’époque hunnique sont attestées en Crimée orientale et à Kertch même (Zaseckaja 1994: 177, 178). Cependant Jean Chrysostome parle du roi des Goths, à qui il doit

Seuls des objets isolés - fibules, garnitures de ceintures, torques- armes - découverts sur des sites de la population indigène (grecque et sarmato-alaine), témoignent d’une présence germanique sur le territoire du royaume du Bosphore Cimmérien (Fig. 9) (Kazanski 1999a; 2002: 395-400; 2009: 18-21; Magomedov 2001; KazanskiMastykova 2003a). Les plus anciens, essentiellement appartenant aux garnitures de ceintures issues de la région de la mer Baltique (voir par ex. AndrzejowskiMadyda-Legutko 2013), sont datables de la période B2/C1 (160/180-200) et témoignent, selon les chercheurs, à l'arrivé des groupes de guerriers germaniques durant la deuxième moitié du IIe s. (Vasil'ev 2005, 2005a; Šarov 2010, 2011).

Pour la publication des tombes aristocratiques du Bosphore Cimmérien de l'époque hunnique voir en premier lieu Zaseckaja 1993. 10 D’après B.V. Magomedov (Magomedov 2001a) l’ambassade bosphorite de 362 ne pouvait pas être gothique, car selon Ammien Marcellin elle émane d’un peuple inconnu, alors qu’il connaissait bien les Goths. Or, les Goths à l’époque ne formaient pas une entité mais représentaient plusieurs "peuples", plus ou moins connues des Romains. Ces derniers au IVe s. ont eu des contacts surtout avec les Wisigoths, installés sur le Danube inférieur. On peut supposer que il s’agit d’un groupe éloigné de Goths, apparenté aux Greutunges/Ostrogoths (Avstrogoths), les Goths orientaux. Ceux-ci ne manifestent plus à proximité des frontières romaines depuis la défaite de 269-270, infligée par Claude et Aurélien (Wolfram 1990: 69). Les Romains entrent en contact direct avec les Greutunges seulement lors de l’expédition transdanubienne de Valens en 369, c’est à dire sept ans après l’ambassade bosphorite. Ainsi, Ammien Marcellin en 362 avait toutes les raisons pour considérer les Goths orientaux comme un peuple inconnu. Quoiqu’en soit, B.V. Magomedov partage notre point de vue sur la présence des Goths dans la classe dirigeante du Bosphore Cimmérien durant la deuxième moitié du IVe-début du Ve s. (Magomedov 2001a: 247). 9

Mais la plupart de ces objets, originaires de la civilisation de Černjahov et dans une moindre mesure de celle de Wielbark appartiennent aux périodes C2-D1 (260/270400/410) (Tejral 1986, 1987; Kazanski 2002, 2009: 19, 20). La vague des Barbares des années 250-270, c'est-à8

D’où le nom de zimnik qui vient du russe zima qui signifie hiver.

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Michel Kazanski – Anna Mastykova autour de 400 envoyer un évêque au Bosphore Cimmérien.

pas des témoignages des sources écrites sur cette population. Cependant, on peut conclure, d'après les données archéologiques que les porteurs de cette civilisation culturellement étaient apparentés aux iranophones sarmato-alanes de la steppe pontocaucasienne (Shchukin et alii 2006: 77-81)11. Sur la côte sud de la Crimée on a mis au jour des nécropoles, actuellement peu nombreuses, à forte composante culturelle germanique, dites du type Aj-Todor (Fig. 6.C) (Shchukin et alii 2006: 81-83; Myc et alii 2006).

Comment peut-on expliquer la présence de ce roi gothique au Bosphore Cimmérien à côté des Huns ? Apparemment il faut examiner ce fait dans le cadre de la politique hunnique. Rappelons que les Ostrogoths sont de fidèles alliés des Huns, ils se battent aux côtés des Huns d’Attila aux Champs Catalauniques. Il est donc vraisemblable que leur présence au Bosphore et l’incorporation d’une partie d’entre eux à la couche dirigeante de la société bosphorite a été favorisée par les Huns. Ceci pour renforcer le pouvoir des Huns dans cette région, très importante du point de vue stratégique. En effet le détroit du Bosphore Cimmérien occupe une position clef dans les steppes de la mer Noire et du nord du Caucase. Il nous paraît donc possible d’interpréter la présence des Goths sur le Bosphore Cimmérien comme un aspect de la politique des Huns.

Au Sud-Ouest de la Crimée on peut constater l'existence d'au moins trois composantes germaniques culturelles: celle du type Wielbark-Černjahov (Fig. 10), une autre probablement scandinave et une troisième danubienne (Kazanski 1991a: 494-499; 1998; 2002: 403-414; 2009: 25-34). Rappelons qu’il n’y a aucun témoignage écrit à propos d’une présence germanique au sud-ouest de la péninsule avant le VIe s. Les objets germaniques de l’époque romaine de cette région, aussi bien dans les nécropoles rurales, compris celles du type Inkerman, que dans le contexte urbain de la ville de Chersonèse, se divisent en deux groupes chronologiques. Le premier peut être daté des périodes C1 et C2 (donc 220/230260/270 et 260/270-310/330). Cette série peut être qualifié de façon conventionnelle comme celle de Wielbark-Przeworsk. En effet, au Sud de l’Europe orientale et notamment dans la zone de la civilisation de Černjahov, ces objets se diffusent grâce à la migration de la population de Wielbark et, dans une moindre mesure, de celle de Przeworsk (voir supra).

Durant la première moitié du Ve s. (la période D2, 380/400-440/450 et celle D2-D3, 430/440-470/480), des objets germaniques d’origine danubienne - fibules, plaques-boucles- commencent à apparaître en Crimée orientale et sur la péninsule de Taman’ (Kazanski 2009: 21, 214, 215). Il s’agit sans doute du témoignage des déplacements de groupes isolés de Germains danubiens dans le cadre de «l’empire» hunnique, qui englobe alors aussi bien le Danube que la région pontique. On sait, d'après Procope de Césarée, que dans les années 50 du Ve s. les Goths-Tétraxites représentent une seule force réelle dans la région, capable toujours selon Procope de Césarée, d’arrêter la migration des Huns du Danube vers le Caucase (Kazanski 1991: 83, 124, 125; 1999a: 285; 2002: 399; 2002a: 137; 2009: 215). Probablement, au moment de la chute de « l’empire » d’Attila, les Goths du Bosphore Cimmérien ont échappé le contrôle des Huns. Une influence germanique est nettement attestée dans le costume féminin prestigieux du Caucase du Nord à l’époque des Grandes Migrations (Kazanski-Mastykova 2003: 136-141; 2003a; Mastykova 2009: 123-128). Il s’agit dans ce cas plutôt de l’influence de la culture « princière » germanique que d’une présence directe des Germains dans le Caucase à l’époque hunnique.

Le second groupe est daté des périodes C3 et D1 (310/330-360/370 et 360/370-400/410). La plupart de ses objets ont des parallèles dans la civilisation de Černjahov. Ainsi, d’une façon conventionnelle nous l’appelons « le groupe de Černjahov ». L’impression qui se dégage de l’examen de ce matériel est qu’il y avait eu deux vagues de Germains arrivant au Sud-Ouest de la Crimée : la première, celle de Wielbark-Przeworsk au IIIe s. (Goths ? Boranes ? Vandales ? Hérules ?), la deuxième, celle de Černjahov, au IVe s. et au début du Ve s. (les Goths, plus précisément les Greuthunges-Ostrogoths) (Kazanski 2002: 406-409; 2009: 27-29). Les objets du type Wieilbark-Przeworsk-Černjahov et ceux d'origine danubienne sont bien connus dans la ville de Chersonèse - principale base militaire de l'Empire au Nord de la mer Noire. Les Germains faisaient donc partie de la population de cette ville, bien que la ville restât toujours sous l’autorité de l’Empire. Il n’est pas exclu que ces Germains soient venus dans la ville avec les troupes

Crimée du Sud-Ouest. Le Sud-Ouest de la Crimée représentait la tête de pont du pouvoir romain au Nord de la mer Noire. Chersonèse qui se trouve à l’entrée de la baie de Sébastopol est la base militaire principale de l’Empire dans cette région (Fig. 6.2). La ville, contrairement à Olbia, Tyras, Panticapaion etc., n’a été jamais prise par les Barbares et gardait un caractère grec (Shchukin et alii 2006: 75, 76). Bien entendu, Chersonèse a eu des contacts étroits avec les populations barbares voisines. Ces populations sont connues d'après les sites, essentiellement des nécropoles du type Inkerman (Fig. 6.B). Nous n'avons pratiquement

11 L’attribution des ces nécropoles aux Alains, avancée par des archéologues de Crimée (notamment Ajbabin 1999), demande être mieux prouvée. En effet, les sources écrites ne connaissent pas des Alains en Crimée du Sud-Ouest avant le XIIIe s., quant aux arguments archéologiques, ils ne sont acceptés par tous les spécialistes (MoškovaMalašev 1999: 195-197). Nous utilisons ici le nom des Alano-Sarmates comme générique pour toute la population iranophone de la steppe de l’époque romaine.

94

Les antiquités germaniques romaines, cantonnées à Chersonèse à partir de la fin du IIIe s. (Kazanski 1998; 2009: 29).

Il faut souligner la différence entre les incinérations des nécropoles du type Aj-Todor et celles provenant des sites du type Inkerman (voir supra). Certes, les incinérations dans des urnes ou « compactes » en pleine terre dominent sur tous ces sites, mais celles avec des aménagements en pierre sont attestées surtout dans les nécropoles du type Aj-Todor. Les incinérations des nécropoles du type Inkerman sont sans mobilier funéraire, tandis que celles du type Aj-Todor ont livré des armes, des pièces de harnachement, des outils, des parures etc. Il convient de noter que les objets caractéristiques uniquement des cultures de Wielbark et de Černjahov sont pratiquement absents sur les sites du type Aj-Todor. En revanche sur les sites du type Inkerman ces objets sont, nous l’avons vu, relativement nombreux. Ainsi, à notre avis, au sudouest de la Crimée, à l’époque romaine tardive, l'archéologie atteste la présence de deux groupes différents de population germanique. La composante germanique dans les nécropoles du type Inkerman est originaire des cultures de Wielbark, de Černjahov et dans une moindre mesure de Przeworsk. Elle peut être mise en liaison avec des Goths ou leurs alliés.

Les éléments culturels germaniques sont attestés dans le contexte funéraire de nécropoles du type Inkerman (par ex. Khrapunov 2013). On y a mis au jour des incinérations pratiquement sans mobilier. Les incinérations ne sont pas caractéristiques de la population iranophone de la steppe. En revanche, elles sont bien connues pour les civilisations de Wielbark et de Černjahov, où elles sont presque toujours accompagnées de nombreuses inhumations en pleine terre, dans des fosses simples, parfois à fond excavé, la tête au Nord. Ce type d’inhumation n’est pas caractéristique des nécropoles du type Inkerman en général ni des celles où les incinérations sont attestées. Ainsi, à ce jour on ne connaît pas en Crimée du Sud-Ouest d’inhumations typiques de Černjahov ni de nécropoles bi-rituelles (incinérations et inhumations la tête au Nord), caractéristiques de cette civilisation. Apparemment les groupes germaniques qui s’installent dans cette région, pratiquaient surtout des incinérations. Les nécropoles qui contiennent exclusivement des incinérations sont connues dans la culture de Wielbark (Brest-Trišin, Dytyniči, Ljuboml’, Velemiči I, etc.). Mais elles sont rares dans la civilisation de Černjahov (par ex. Hanska-Luterija II, Pavljukovka, Bašmačka, Dolheşti-Mare). Aussi, les incinérations sur les sites du type Inkerman sont-elles plutôt originaires de la civilisation de Wielbark. On peut supposer que dans ces quatre cas (Bel’bek-1, SkalistoeIII, Černaja Rečka, Tankovoe) deux groupes, l’une iranophone, l’autre germanique utilisaient ensemble la même nécropole et sans doute formaient une seule communauté. La présence d’objets du type Wielbark et Černjahov dans des inhumations typiques de la population iranophone témoigne en faveur de cette supposition (Kazanski 2002: 403-409; 2009: 25-29).

Le caractère germanique des nécropoles du type AjTodor est aujourd’hui évident pour tous les chercheurs. Mais les tentatives de trouver des parallèles exacts parmi les antiquités germaniques d’Europe centrale et orientale n’ont pas donné de résultats. En revanche, les tombes de la côte sud de la Crimée rappellent celles de l’époque romaine, découvertes dans la partie occidentale de la zone scandinave, où les incinérations avec des aménagements en pierre, contenant des armes sont bien connues. En Norvège méridionale et moyenne les incinérations dans des coffres ou sous des pavements et de amas de pierre sont bien attestées aussi bien à l’époque romaine qu’à l’époque des Grandes Migrations 12 . Bien entendu, des différences existent : les tombes norvégiennes sont placées sous des tumuli, leur mobilier est plus riche et plus varié, les inhumations y sont nombreuses. Mais il serait illusoire d’attendre une simple transplantation de la totalité des traits culturels à travers l’Europe. La culture matérielle et spirituelle d’un groupe des migrants se transforme toujours. Et la présence d’éléments scandinaves en Crimée ne paraît pas aussi incroyable, si l’on se rappelle les liens scandinaves des Hérules (voir supra), ou encore des Eudosianes pontiques, connus d'après le Périple de Pseudo-Arrien (voir à leur propos Kazanski 2002: 413; 2009: 31-33, 234).

La présence d’éléments culturels scandinaves - pratiques funéraires, armes - est attestée dans deux nécropoles de la côte sud : Aj-Todor et Čatyr-Dag. Les nécropoles mentionnées ont livré des incinérations, deux inhumations seulement sont présentes à Aj-Todor. Les tombes ont livré des armes, parfois intentionnellement cassées, des faucilles (deux tombes à Aj-Todor et trois à Čatyr-Dag), des mors de cheval (Aj-Todor). Ainsi, les sépultures contenant des armes représentent à Aj-Todor et Čatyr-Dag respectivement 16,6% et 9%, ce qui correspond dans les sociétés traditionnelles à la majorité de la population masculine, apte au combat. Les parures et les accessoires vestimentaires, découverts dans ces nécropoles sont bien connus chez les Germains orientaux et en Scandinavie. Les armes, provenant de ces nécropoles sont, elles aussi, largement diffusées en Germania libera. Citons à titre d'exemple les lances du type Drezden-Dobritz, les piques, certains types d'umbo (Kazanski 2002: 409-414; 2009: 30-34; Myc et alii 2006: 119-123; Shchukin et alii 2006: 81-83; Kontny 2013).

F.-A. Stylegar a souligné que les parallèles norvégiens pour les pratiques funéraires des sites du type d'Aj-Todor englobent toute l'époque romaine. De plus ces traits dans le contexte funéraire norvégien ne se rencontrent pas dans les mêmes tombes, mais se manifestent d'une façon sporadique (Stylegar 2011). Cependant la Norvège représente actuellement un seul territoire où touts ces traits, sans exception, sont attestés, ce qui à notre avis témoigne des contacts entre les Germains de la côte sud de la Crimée et la région scandinave. Bien sûr, il faut éviter les reconstitutions historiques trop directes qui stipulent une simple transplantation d'un groupe des migrants scandinaves en Crimée. Peutêtre il s'agit d'un processus relativement long et indirect.

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Michel Kazanski – Anna Mastykova Dans les années 330-360 le célèbre roi gothique Hermanaric, descendant de la dynastie des Amales, hérite donc d’une fédération gothique, formée des peuples germaniques et non germaniques (Sarmates, Scythes, Thraces, Vénèthes, protoslaves), qui occupe un territoire situé entre le Danube et le Don (Donetz) et dont la civilisation de Černjahov est l'expression archéologique. Jordanès nous apprend qu’Hermanaric s‘efforce d’agrandir sa zone d’influence vers le Nord et vers l’Est. Hermanaric, à en croire Jordanès, qui dans ce cas sans aucun doute puise son information dans les chansons des gestes gothiques, le roi ostrogothique attaque les «arctoi gentes », plus précisément « Goltescytha Thiudos Inaunxis Vasinabroncas Merens Mordens Imniscaris Rogas Tadzans Athaul Navego Bubegenas Goldas » (Jordanès, Getica, 116). Dans cette suite apparemment incohérente de noms, les chercheurs sont arrivés à reconnaître quelques peuples finno-ougriens et baltes de la zone forestière de l’Europe orientale, connus des chroniques médiévales. Les parallèles établis entre les Merens et les Merja, les Mordens et les Mordves, les Rogas et les Ougres (Uroges) 14 signifieraient qu’Hermanaric aurait conquis le territoire en Russie centrale peuplé des Finno-ougriens, réunis sous le nom de Golthescytha Thiudos. Le mot gothique -thiudos signifiant «peuple» et le terme Golthescytha pouvant être une déformation des Celtoscythes, Kελτοσκύθαι, appellation parfois donnée, selon Strabon, par les auteurs anciens grecs aux peuples mal connus du Nord (Strabon, Géographie I.27, XI.6.2). Rappelons que les auteurs grecs considéraient le bord de l’Océan, c’est-à-dire la mer Baltique et la mer du Nord, comme «scythe», jusqu’à l’embouchure du Rhin, où, selon eux, commençait la Celtique (Svennung 1974: 9, 10). Les "Celto-Scythes" seraient donc les habitants de la région mal connue frontalière entre la Sctyhie et la Celtique, quelque part au Nord. Très probablement Jordanès, dans sa description des guerres d’Hermanaric a utilisé un de ces anciens auteurs (Kazanski 1992; Shchukin et alii 2006: 55, 56).

Une série d’objets germaniques de la mode danubienne marque la période D2 et le début de la période D2-D3 (380/400-460/470) en Crimée du Sud-Ouest. Ce sont les fibules et les éléments de garnitures de ceinture (Kazanski 1998; 2009: 29, 234). Ces objets y sont moins nombreux qu’au Bosphore Cimmérien ou à Tanaïs. On ne peut pas expliquer leur présence ici par le déplacement des Germains dans le cadre de « l’empire hunnique », car le Sud-Ouest de la Crimée, avec la base militaire de Chersonèse, a été tenu par les Romains. En revanche, l’arrivé des soldats germaniques, recrutés dans la région balkano-danubienne et accompagnés de leurs familles, pour renforcer la défense de la région de Chersonèse, nous paraît très probable. Cependant, une partie de ces objets danubiens, notamment ceux découverts à Yalta et à Gourzouf, peuvent appartenir à la noblesse barbare locale, qui suivait la prestigieuse mode danubienne. Ainsi, l’examen du matériel archéologique de la Crimée et de la mer d’Azov montre les origines diverses des Germains pontiques. Ajoutons pour conclure, que ces Germains apparaissent sur la mer Noire, accompagnés de différents groupes d’origine non germanique : la découverte d’une fibule carpo-dace dans le trésor du IIIe s. de Dolinnoe au sud-ouest de la Crimée ou encore celle d’émaux balto-protoslaves du IIe-IVe s. sur plusieurs sites de Crimée, du Don, et de Taman (Čatyr-Dag, Rogožkino XIII, Kepoï: voir en dernier lieu Zin'kovskaja 2010) en sont le témoignage (Kazanski 2002: 413-414; 2009: 33, 34). Zone forestière de l’Europe orientale. Dans le cadre de notre sujet il faut évoquer les influences « occidentales », qui, à partir de la région pontique et de la steppe forestière de l’Ukraine se diffusaient dans la zone forestière de la Russie et de la Biélorussie. Le rôle de ces contacts dans l’histoire slave à l’époque romaine tardive est capital. En effet d’une part la pression militaire des Goths, installés en Ukraine, favorise le processus de consolidation politique du monde slave, l’apparition des structures pré-étatiques, du type « chefferies complexes » 13 , d’autre part, grâce à ces contacts les Slaves se trouvent impliqués dans le réseau des échanges commerciaux, qui favorise leur évolution économique (Kazanski 1992, 1993; Shchukin et alii 2006: 55-60). Dans ces contacts les voies fluviales deviennent les principaux axes de pénétration des importations et des éléments culturels « occidentaux » dans le Nord.

Il paraît peu vraisemblable qu’Hermanaric ait conquis d’une façon tangible les territoires immenses et peu accessibles à cause des forêts et des marécages. Nous supposons plutôt qu’il a effectué quelques opérations éclairs -du type de celles menées plus tard par les Vikings -sur les grands fleuves tels l’Oka ou la Volga (Fig. 11). En effet, ces fleuves servaient dans l'époque protohistorique de voies de communications entre la région du Dniepr et l’Oural, riche en cuivre et en or. De plus la forêt de l’Oka et de la Volga constituait une réserve inépuisable en fourrures. La chasse à la fourrure à l’époque romaine dans cette région est bien attestée par les données d’ostéologie (voir en détails Kazanski 1992: 95, 96; Shchukin et alii 2006: 59). Certes, les Romains au IVe s. ne portaient pas des vêtements en fourrure, cette mode arrive dans la Méditerranée seulement vers la première moitié du VIe s. En revanche les peuples barbares, et notamment les Goths le portaient déjà à

Une chefferie se caractérise par la présence d’un chef, souvent sacralisé, qui a des fonctions cultuelles, militaires, administratives et économiques (en particulier la réception et la redistribution des dons reçus de la part des autres membres de la communauté). Ce chef est à la tête d’une hiérarchie fondée sur l’inégalité des clans et des familles. Une chefferie est divisée en groupes (communautés villageoises, clans) qui ont chacun leurs « sous-chefs ». Dans les chefferies "complexes" autour d’une chefferie centrale avec un chef suprême, se forment plusieurs chefferies périphériques subordonnées (pour l'Europe de l'Est à l'époque romaine voir: Kazanski 1997: 12, 13).

13

Il ne s'agit que des parallèles très hypothétiques, voir Korkkanen 1975.

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Les antiquités germaniques ethnographique, ne font jamais l’objet d’un commerce (Werner 1970: 75-80; Mastykova 2009: 7, 8). Elles montrent donc des déplacements effectifs des leurs porteurs ou plutôt porteuses. Les éperons sont également significatifs (Fig. 13). Ils existent seulement dans l’armement européen et sont totalement absents aussi bien chez les peuples de la steppe que chez les Finnoougriens de l’Eurasie forestière. Les pays baltes et la zone vénèthe (proto-slave) des civilisarions de PostZarubincy/Kiev représentent à l’époque romaine la marge orientale de l’aire de diffusion d’éperons (Kazanski 1994; Raduš 2010; Raduš 2013; Radyush 2013). Leur présence témoigne de l’influence militaire germanique (Kazanski 1997).

l’époque d’Hermanaric, les représentations romaines des Barbares le prouvent. Ces raisons ont pu inciter Hermanaric à effectuer une démonstration de force sur l’Oka et la Volga afin d’ouvrir ces voies fluviales aux marchands gothiques et peut-être, par la même occasion, a-t-il extorqué un tribut à la population finnoise locale. On pourrait donc parler, en reprenant l’expression utilisée par H. Wolfram d’un « protectorat » gothique sur cette région (Wolfram 1990: 99)15. Enfin, le règne d’Hermanaric coïncide avec une expansion gothique vers le Nord-Ouest. L’offensive a d’abord été dirigée contre les Vénèthes-Slaves du HautDniepr qui ont laissé la civilisation archéologique de Kiev. Les Vénèthes, quoique nombreux et, à en croire Tacite, très doués pour la guérilla (Tacite, Germanie, XLVI), étaient selon Jordanès mal armés et mal préparés pour une véritable guerre. Aussi n’ont-ils pu résister à l’armée gothique et se soumettent donc à Hermanaric. Ayant conquis les Vénèthes, Hermanaric porte son attention sur les Aestii, le peuple balte, vivant selon les auteurs antiques, au bord de « l’Océan » (la mer Baltique). La côte sud de la mer Baltique, dans sa partie prussienne, occupée par les Aestii, était très convoitée car là se situe aujourd’hui le plus grand gisement au monde de l’ambre, très recherchée dans l’Antiquité. Il est évident que Hermanaric n’avait aucune chance de gagner une guerre dans cette région, trop éloignée des terres gothiques. Il a donc dû changer de tactique et Jordanès rapporte que les Aestii ont été soumis grâce à la « prudentia et virtute » d’Hermanaric, autrement dit grâce à des démarches diplomatiques dans lesquelles la renommée du souverain a joué un grand rôle. Il est difficile de déterminer l’ampleur exacte de l’action d’Hermanaric parmi les Vénèthes et les Aestii. On peut supposer qu’elle s’est concentrée à proximité de grands axes fluviaux de la zone forestière : le Dniepr, la Berezina, le Niémen et la Dvina occidentale. Le but de cette action est aussi transparent : ces fleuves sont les routes principales du commerce de l’ambre vers l’Est (Kazanski 1992; Shchukin et alii 2006: 55-59).

Ces objets se diffusent sur deux axes : vers le Nord-Est, le long des fleuves de la Desna, de l’Oka et de la Volga et vers le Nord-Ouest, le long du Dniepr, la Berezina et le Niémen, ce qui correspond à deux routes fluviales importantes de l’Europe orientale durant l’époque romaine, Dniepr-Baltique et Dniepr-Volga (Kazanski 1992: Fig. 16, 17; Levada 2010: 591). On peut donc conclure que l’histoire des conquêtes d’Hermanaric, rapportée par Jordanès se présente comme une tentative des Goths pour s’emparer du réseau de communication de la zone forestière de l’Europe orientale. Il ne s'agit donc pas de la présence réelle germanique dans cette région à l'époque romaine tardive, mais plutôt des contacts militaro-politiques et économiques des populations forestières avec les Germains. Les influences danubiennes au Nord de la mer Noire à l’époque post-hunnique. Dans l’Est européen, aussi bien qu’en Occident, la nature des contacts économiques, politiques et culturels a évolué à la suite de l’invasion hunnique. Cependant les deux courants principaux - de l’Europe centrale vers la mer Noire et du Sud (région pontique et Danube) vers les forêts du Nord - subsistent (voir supra). Les influences germaniques orientales, venant du Danube, des Balkans et de l’Italie se manifestent dans la civilisation de la population barbare de l’Europe orientale.

Les témoignages archéologiques semblent confirmer la réalité des contacts des Goths avec la zone forestière de l’Oka, de la Volga et du Dniepr aussi bien que avec le Don inférieur. C’est une série d’objets caractéristiques de la civilisation de Černjahov, essentiellement les fibules, les peignes ou des armes (notamment éperons) qui sont attestées dans la zone présumée d’activité d’Hermanaric (Fig. 12, 13) (Kazanski 1992: 92-94; Ahmedov 2007; Raduš 2013; Radyush 2013). Rappelons que les fibules (Fig. 12.1-5), étant partie intégrante du costume féminin

On peut observer plusieurs modalités de diffusion des éléments « occidentaux ». On peut supposer tout d’abord la migration directe de certains groupes de la population germanique danubienne vers la région pontique après la chute de « l’empire » d’Attila en 454. On sait que les Huns, dans leur recul vers l’Est ont été accompagnés de leurs alliés germaniques. Ainsi, Jordanès nous apprend que les fils d’Attila ont été repoussés en 456 de la Pannonie vers la région du Dniepr (le « Var » de Jordanès) par le roi ostrogothique Valamer (Jordanès, Getica, 269). Or, selon le même Jordanès, les Germains Angiskires sont en 456 subordonnés à un groupe de Huns, conduit par le fils d’Attila, Dengezich (Jordanès, Getica, 272). Les Angiskires ont donc suivi les Huns dans leurs migrations vers l’Est et il est tout à fait possible que ce soit justement eux qui aient apporté, dans la région

15 Hermanaric a également entrepris une guerre aux frontières orientales de son royaume, contre les Hérules de la Méothide qu’il aurait selon Jordanès, en grande partie exterminés. Le territoire contrôle par Hermanaric voisinait ainsi avec les Alains du Don. On peut imaginer, que le but de l’opération était la prise de l’embouchure du Don, la région où habitaient les Hérules (voir supra) et où passait un courant très important du commerce (Kazanski 1992: 96; Shchukin et alii 2006: 59). En effet, deux grandes routes fluviales, celle du Don et celle de la Volga avaient l’embouchure du Don pour le terminus.

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Michel Kazanski – Anna Mastykova 1998: 338, 339; 2009: 410, 411). L’envoi des régiments gothiques de Mésie vers le Bosphore Cimmérien par Justinien en 530-533 est d’ailleurs bien connu grâce aux sources écrites. Ces soldats ont été accompagnés de leurs familles, ce qui explique l’apparition des parures féminines balkano-danubiennes du type germanique au Nord de la mer Noire (les plus anciennes: Fig. 18.1, 5). En effet, les mariages entre Romains et Barbares étaient interdits par la loi romaine. Les soldats barbares ont donc été obligés d’amener leurs femmes du Barbaricum. Ainsi, les bijoux liés au costume féminin des Germains orientaux arrivaient en Crimée avec les femmes qui les portaient et étaient copiés par la population barbare locale. Une série d’objets germaniques, originaires de l’Europe centrale et des Balkans et leurs imitations et dérivées locales, y est attestée à Chersonèse, ainsi que dans des sites de la population barbare de la région environnante du Sud-Ouest de la Crimée et dans le Bosphore Cimmérien. Ce sont par ex. les fibules digitées dérivées du type Arčar-Histria ou les plaques-boucles à tête d’aigle et celles losangiques à décor zoomorphe (Fig. 18.4, 7) (Kazanski 2009: 410).

pontique le matériel danubien (Kazanski 1992a; 1996; 2011). Les alliés germaniques des Huns (parmi lesquels se trouvaient sans doute d’autres tribus que les Angiskires) ont dû les accompagner en Crimée orientale, où les Huns sont attestés par Procope (Procope, Bel. Got. IV.5). En effet, une série d’objets danubiens du deuxième tiers du Ve s. (périodes D2/D3 et D3) apparaissent à cette époque sur le Dniepr (Fig. 14) et en Crimée. Les imitations du costume germanique « princier », à grandes fibules en tôle d’argent sont attesté alors en Ukraine (par ex. Volobuevka: Fig. 15), une série d’objets du costume «ordinaire », réservés à la « classe moyenne » des Germains orientaux est également présente. Citons à titre d’exemple les fibules des types Prša-Levice et de BrateiVyškov (Kazanski 1992a; 1996; 2011). Ces groupes danubiens alliés aux Huns pouvaient être d’ailleurs peu nombreux ; mais ils comprenaient sans doute les représentants de familles nobles, dont le costume féminin de tradition germanique orientale se caractérise par la présence d’une paire de fibules en tôle d’argent (Tejral 1973; Tejral 2011: 185-190). Plus tard, à l'époque post-hunnique ce costume est également attesté chez les Goths en Crimée (fig. 17) (Ambroz 1968; Ajbabin 1999: 107-111; Furas'ev 2009; Fourassiev 2012). Sans doute il représente une réplique "démocratique" du costume prestigieux (Kazanski 2009: 407, 408). Le modèle de la diffusion de la mode danubienne du Ve s. proposé ici est d’autant plus vraisemblable que le costume « populaire » des Wisigoths espagnols se forme de la même façon, sous l’influence de nobles Ostrogoths de l’entourage d’Amal Vidimer qui est venu en Espagne de la Pannonie en 472-474 (Périn 1993).

Une épée provenant de la Russie méridionale (Fig. 19), probablement de Taman (Fig. 16.4) et conservée aujourd’hui à Cologne (Menghin 2007: I.34.5) possède sur la garde un décor quadrilobé, caractéristique des objets mérovingiens et wisigothiques, mais quasi-absent en Europe de l’Est et en Méditerranée orientale. On peut supposer que cette arme est venue au nord de la Mer Noire avec le régiment « espagnol» (wisigothique ?) du tribun Dalmatius, qui est arrivé dans le Bosphore Cimmérien en 528 (Kazanski 1996: 329; 2001: 408; 2009: 410). Une série d’objets italo-ostrogothiques du VIe s. est attestée en Crimée. Ce sont les fibules du type UdinePlanis et leurs dérivées, les plaques boucles des types Krainburg, Ljubljana-Dravlje, celles à décor végétal etc. (Fig. 18.3, 8-10) (Kazanski 1996: 329, 330; 1998, 338, 339; 2009: 410, 411). Ces objets peuvent prouver la présence des Ostrogoths déportés d’Italie par Justinien et utilisés pour la défense des frontières lointaines de l’Empire.

Les nécropoles du type Suuk-Su, très probablement appartenant aux Goths du pays Dori en Crimée du SudOuest (Fig. 16.B) (Kazanski 1991: 118-124; Bierbrauer 2008: 117-122), ont livré de nombreux exemples de l’adaptation « populaire » (Fig. 17) du costume « princier » germanique orientale, avec deux fibules digitées ou en tôle métallique ce qui montre l’influence de la civilisation « princière » du Danube16. La présence de troupes byzantines, formées de Germains, dans les villes grecques en Crimée était une autre source de l’influence germanique orientale sur la population de la Crimée et de la Taman (Kazanski 1996: 329, 330;

Enfin, une série d’objets gépides du VIe s. est attestée en Crimée. Il s’agit avant tout de plaques-boucles décorées de tête d’aigle, de fibules digitées à décor végétal et losangique sur le pied et celles digitées décorées d’une sorte de chaîne en relief (Fig. 18.2,6,11,12). Actuellement, il est difficile d’expliquer l’apparition d’objets Gépides en Crimée, car aucune source écrite n’atteste des contacts quelconques entre les Gépides du Danube et la population de la péninsule. On peut cependant supposer la déportation d'une partie des Gépides de Sirmium lors des événements militaires de la première moitié du VIe s. (Kazanski 2013).

16 Soulignons toutefois que le récit de Procope qui laisse supposer l’arrivée en Crimée d’une partie des Ostrogoths à l’époque de Théodoric le Grand nous paraît peu vraisemblable (Procope, De aedific. 3.7). En effet, les Goths de Crimée sont incontestablement orthodoxes, Procope le dit, tandis que les Ostrogoths de Théodoric étaient ariens. D’autre part, le costume féminin à deux fibules en tôle métallique bien représenté chez les Goths de Dori durant tout le VIe s., est remplacé chez les Ostrogoths par celui à fibules digitées avant l’époque de Théodoric. Ainsi, les antiquités ostrogothiques en Italie ne contiennent pas de fibules en tôle métallique (Bierbrauer 1975). Cependant il faut y signaler quelques découvertes, qui correspondent à notre avis plutôt à l'époque pré-gotique du milieu et de la deuxième moitié du Ve s., voir en détails: Bierbrauer 1991.

Durant le milieu- seconde moitié du Ve s. des objets danubiens ou leurs imitations ont été découvertes encore

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Les antiquités germaniques Enfin, il faut évoquer les contacts entre les Germains orientaux et les Slaves à l'époque post-hunnique. Il s’agit des fibules digitées du VIe s., découvertes dans la région du Dniepr et du Bas-Danube, sur le territoire occupé par les civilisations slaves (Fig. 21): Prague, attribuée aux Sclavènes des sources écrites, c'est à dire aux Slaves proprement dits (Iaşi-Crucea lui Ferenţ, Vinderei), Penkovka, appartenant aux Antes (Martynovka, distr. de Kanev, Knjaža Gora, Čapaevka, Gradižsk-Kruča, Berezovka, Derinkovec) et de celle de Koločin, dont le nom des porteurs nous reste inconnu (Velyki Budki). Ces agrafes (Fig. 22) sont d’origine germanique danubienne, très probablement gépide (Gavrituhin 1997; Gavrituhin 2011a; Mastykova 2008; Kazanski 2013b). On peut supposer que les fibules gépides sont arrivées chez lez Slaves avec leurs porteuses, peut être comme résultat des mariages mixtes - ceux-ci étaient un moyen habituel de renforcer les liens politiques et militaires entre les différents groupes de Barbares.

plus à l’est, sur la côte orientale de la mer Noire, chez les Goths-Tétraxites auxquels on attribue la nécropole de Djurso, près de la ville actuelle de Novorossisk (Fig. 16.5) (Kazanski 2002a; Kazanski-Mastykova 2003: 136141; Mastykova 2002; 2009: 126, 127; GavritukhinKazanski 2010). Le costume féminin des tombes les plus anciennes de cette nécropole (Fig. 20) comporte les fibules en tôle d'argent (Dmitriev 1982), des types danubiens et les boucles d’oreille à pendant polyédrique caractéristiques des Germains du Danube. D’autre part, les mêmes tombes ont livré des perles discoïdes en ambre, portant un décor gravé, caractéristiques de tombes danubiennes, et dont la production est attestée dans les ateliers du deuxième tiers du Ve s. de Swilcza et probablement de Basonia en Pologne méridionale (Mastykova 2001). Comment peut-on expliquer la présence de ces objets chez un groupe de Goths isolés du reste du monde germanique? Selon Procope de Césarée les Goths Tétraxites sont originaires de la Crimée orientale, qu’ils quittent, apparemment dans les années 450, en suivant les Huns dans leur migration de l’Europe centrale, vers le Caucase du Nord (Bel. Got. IV.5)17. Il est très probable que le costume danubien est parvenu chez les Tétraxites avec la vague de migrants danubiens d'après-Attila. Et, comme les Huns ne portaient pas le costume avec des fibules, il a pu être adopté par les Tétraxites sous l’influence des groupes germaniques qui accompagnent les Huns dans leur retraite vers l’Est.

La zone forestière à l’époque hunnique et posthunnique. En ce qui concerne les contacts entre le Danube et le Pont d’une part, et la zone forestière de l’Europe orientale d’autre part à l’époque post-hunnique, ils sont marqués par une vague de l’arrivé des importations et des éléments cultures « occidentaux » (Fig. 23 et 24) (Ambroz 1970; Furas'ev 1996; Kazanski 1999: 51-55; 1999b; 2000; 2000a; 2013a; Ahmedov-Kazanski 2004; Ahmedov 2007; 2010; 2014 ; Bliujienė 2007; BliujienėSteponaitis 2009; Bliujienė-Curta 2011; Bliujienė 2013). Cette vague commence à l’époque hunnique, probablement sous Attila et continue jusqu’au milieu du VIe s. Elle témoigne, à notre avis, de l’activité militaire des ressortissants danubiens, essentiellement Germains, ainsi que de leurs alliés slaves et baltes. En effet, dans la zone forestière, de la mer Baltique à la Russie centrale le Ve s. coïncide avec la période des troubles. L'apparition d'habitats fortifiés ou de refuges en Lituanie, en Russie du Nord-Ouest, sur le Haut-Dniepr et en Biélorussie du Nord, en est un témoignage éloquent. De plus des traces nettes de destructions, datés de l'époque des Grandes Migrations ont été repérés sur certaines refuges (par ex. Demidovka, Aukchtadvaris, Aukuro-Kalnas) (Furas'ev 1996). Les flèches à trois ailettes élargies dans la partie

Les influences bosphorites et tétraxites dans le costume sont bien attestées dans le bassin du Kouban Inférieur, dans les nécropoles comme Paškovskij, Habl’, Hutor Lenina. Une partie des objets de tradition bosphorite/tétraxite est sûrement fabriquée sur place d’après les prototypes importés, d’autres sortent directement d’ateliers bosphorites. Les contacts entre le Kouban Inférieur, le Bosphore Cimmérien et les GothsTétraxites étaient très denses, on peut supposer la présence physique des Germains orientaux parmi la population de la région du Kouban. L’autre zone de concentration d’objets originaires du milieu bosphoritetétraxite se situe dans le Kouban Moyen, près de la ville de Majkop d’aujourd’hui. Malheureusement, il s’agit d’objets isolés, hors contexte, provenant des marchands d’antiquités. On peut cependant remarquer que ces objets rappellent bien ceux découvertes dans le bassin du Kouban Inférieur (Mastykova 2009: 123-128; Gavritukhin-Kazanski 2010)18.

Pyatigorie et le Haut-Kouban) où à partir du Ve s. existent des centres du pouvoir alains, qui entretiennent les contacts avec l’Empire byzantin par l’Abkhazie et où la forte influence méditerranéenne/byzantine est dominante dans la formation de la civilisation locale. On connaît ici les tombes privilégiées, accompagnées d’épées byzantines d’apparat; le costume féminin local contient des éléments de la mode prestigieuse méditerranéenne. Les fibules de fabrication locale, qui imitent les prototypes bosphorites, en nombre considérable, y ont été mises au jour en Kabarda-Balkarie et en Ossétie du Nord. Mais les objets de fabrication bosphorite y sont totalement absents. La civilisation aristocratique de la Kabarda-Balkarie se formait, à en juger d’après les découvertes « princières » (Kudinetovo, Ozorukovo), sous l’influence directe byzantine, via Abkhazie (Kazanski-Mastykova 1999; 2003: 115126). Ainsi, les fibules ansées d’inspiration bosphorite dans ces régions ne sont pas directement liées à l’influence bosphorite/tétraxite mais témoignent plutôt d’une mode pan-caucasienne (Mastykova 2009: 4851, 53-57).

L’ambassade des Goths - Tétraxites vient à Constantinople en 548 (Procope, Bel. Got. IV.4), pour demander un évêque. Cela témoigne par ailleurs, que les Tétraxites étaient des orthodoxes, comme leurs parents du pays Dori en Crimée. A cette occasion les ambassadeurs tétraxites manifestent leurs sympathies politiques pro-byzantines ainsi que leur hostilité envers d’autres Barbares du Caucase du Nord. Cependant, subordonnés aux Huns - Outigours ils sont obligés participer à la guerre, que ces derniers déclenchent en 551 contre les Huns - Koutrigours et une armée tétraxite de 2000 guerriers participe dans les opérations (Procope, Bel. Got. IV.18). 18 Il faut noter que les modes vestimentaires tétraxites et bosphorites n’englobent pas la partie occidentale du Caucase du Nord (la région de 17

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Michel Kazanski – Anna Mastykova médiane, dites hunniques, sont attestées en Russie forestière, en Biélorussie ainsi que sur des refuges baltes de Lituanie. Parfois, ces flèches se trouvent dans des couches d'incendies et de destructions (Aukchtadvaris, Aukuro-Kalnas, Demidovka) (voir pour la Lituanie: Luhtan 1996).

(voir supra à propos des Angiskires) mais les types et l'assortiment de ces objets sont différents dans ces deux zones. Ainsi, en Ukraine les armes occidentales, les plaques-boucles réniformes à décor à taille biseautée, les boucles à ardillon à base rectangulaire aplatie, les fibules du type Smolin, les garnitures des chaussures à décor aviforme ou les objets à décor quadrillé sont absentes. En revanche les types des objets danubiens connus en Ukraine (Kazanski 1996; 2011) ne sont pas attestés dans la zone forestière.

Qui était à l'origine de cette aggravation de la situation militaire, à la fin du IVe-début du VIe s., dans la zone forestière de la Russie? Les flèches à trois ailettes sont connues avant tout chez les peuples de la steppe, et particulièrement chez les Huns. Mais elles étaient également en usage chez les Slaves (Kazanski 1999c: 202). D'autre part ces flèches existent au Ve s. chez les Germains (par ex.: Anke 1998: 67-73; Tejral 2011: 362368). Enfin l’apparition des cavaliers hunniques, dans une zone peu propice à leur type de combat, nous paraît peu concevable. Rappelons que même au XIIIe s. la partie occidentale de la Russie forestière ainsi que la Biélorussie et la Lituanie, sont restées pratiquement inaccessibles aux invasions tatares.

La situation politique et militaire est très instable sur le Danube après la chute de l'empire d’Attila en 454-455 (voir par ex. Jordanès, Getica, LII-LVI). Cette situation a provoqué le départ d'une partie de la population. Ainsi, sous le règne de l'empereur Anastase, les Hérules, battus par les Lombards et les Gépides, ont été obligés partir vers le nord, en Scandinavie, en passant d'abord par le territoire des Sclavènes (Procope, Bel. Got. 11.14,15). On peut supposer que des groupes de guerriers danubiens (germaniques et sclavènes) sont partis, d'abord vers le nord, dans les pays baltes et puis, en association avec des groupes des Baltes, vers le nord-est, dans la zone forestière de la Russie. Rappelons que la route entre l'Italie ostrogothique, le Danube moyen et la côte sud de la Baltique était parfaitement connue, comme le prouve une ambassade des Baltes-Aestii auprès de Théodoric le Grand. Ce n'est pas une véritable migration d'une population nombreuse, mais plutôt une pénétration de groupes de guerriers d'origines différentes qui ont apporté des objets prestigieux et de nouveaux types d'armes et ont provoqué les troubles et les changements (Furas'ev 1996; Kazanski 1999: 51-55; 1999b; 2000; Kazanski-Ahmedov 2004).

Il est très possible que les Slaves -Vénèthes de la civilisation de Kiev- Koločin effectuent à partir de la fin du IVe s. une expansion vers la zone forestière. La situation militaire au sud, surtout l'invasion des Huns dans la région pontique, ainsi que la guerre entre les Goths et les Vénètes (Kazanski 1993) favorisait le départ d'une partie de ces derniers vers le nord. Mais la pression de la population méridionale vers le nord coïncidait apparemment avec celle qui venait de l'ouest. Selon certains chercheurs, l'activité militaire attestée dans la zone forestière au Ve s. -première moitié du VIe est liée, au moins en partie, à l'expansion de groupes de ressortissants danubiens de l'époque post-hunnique. Les armes et les pièces d’équipement du type occidentalehaches, lances, boucliers, épées, mors de cheval, éperonstémoignent, de contacts avec l'Occident (Kazanski 1999b; 2000; 2000a). Dans certains cas, ces armes forment une panoplie caractéristique de l’Europe centrale. Citons la tombe de Doložskij Pogost, qui a livré un umbo, un fer de lance et des mors typiques des tumuli baltes de Niémen. Il s’agit sans doute d’un individu soit d’origine balte occidentale, soit de quelqu’un qui était en contact avec les guerriers baltes (Kazanski 1999b: 409-411). La diffusion d'armes occidentales et baltes coïncide avec celle de parures de même origine. Ce sont essentiellement les fibules et les garnitures de ceinture. Ainsi, le matériel archéologique confirme l'hypothèse d’une infiltration dans la zone forestière de Russie vers le milieu-la deuxième moitié du Ve s. de groupes de guerriers venus de l'ouest, peu nombreux, mais bien armés et sans doute mieux organisés que la population indigène (balto-slave et finnoise). Ces groupes étaient d'origine danubienne (essentiellement germanique, mais également slave, voir le matériel de Jur’evskaja Gorka: Kazanski 2000) et balte. Ils sont arrivés sans aucun doute dans la zone forestière par les pays baltes, plus précisément par la Prusse et la Lituanie. On pourrait supposer la diffusion des objets danubiens en Russie forestière via l'Ukraine

La mode prestigieuse militaire pouvait jouer son rôle, parfois d'une façon indirecte, dans la diffusion des armes et des éléments du costume guerrier danubien parmi les populations forestières de l'Est (Ahmedov 2010a). Il est significatif qu'en Lituanie des objets féminins d'origine danubienne aient été mis au jour dans des tombes masculines, notamment la fibule du type danubien dit Smolin à Plinkaigalis ou les plaques-boucles à plaque losangée du type de Gáva-Acquasanta à Taurapilas Kazakevičius 1993: 181 pav.; Tautavičius 1981: 15 pav.). Cela veut dire que la population balte indigène ne connaissait pas l'utilisation exacte de ces objets, et que les nouveaux venus danubiens n'étaient donc pas très nombreux. Il faut souligner que la période de la pénétration des groupes étrangers dans la zone forestière de l’Europe orientale coïncide avec la période d’un commerce intensif de fourrure. Jusqu'à l’époque des Grandes Migrations, le port de la fourrure a été réservé aux Barbares, notamment aux Goths. Les Grecs, les Romains et d’autres peuples civilisés de la Méditerranée et du Proche et Moyen-Orient ne la portaient pas (Howard-Johnston 1998; Kolendo 1999; Kazanski 2010). Or, Jordanès pour la première moitié-milieu du VIe s. mentionne à deux reprises le

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Les antiquités germaniques commerce de fourrure vers le Sud (Jordanes, Getica, 21, 37). D’autre part, Attila, selon le témoignage de Priscus (Fig. 8) offre aux ambassadeurs byzantins de la fourrure. A partir de cette époque la fourrure fait partie de la mode vestimentaire, aussi bien dans le bassin méditerranéen qu’en Orient. On peut supposer que l’ouverture des nouveaux marchés de fourrure avait pour la conséquence l’intensification de chasse à fourrure dans la zone forestière de la Russie et, inévitablement, a attiré des bandes d’aventuriers étrangers dans cette région. L’histoire, d’ailleurs, se répétera lors de la migration scandinave (« Varègue ») à l’Est aux VIIIe-Xe s., ainsi que pendant la colonisation russe du Nord européen aux XIIe-XVe s., de l’Oural, aux XIVe-XVIe s. et de la Sibérie aux XVIe-XVIIe s.

- (2014): Ахмедов, И.Р. (2014): «Некоторые индикаторы культурных взаимодействий в древностях рязано-окских финнов второй половины V - начала VI в.», in: Обломский А.М. (ред.): Проблемы взаимодействия населения восточной Европы в эпоху Великого переселения народов, Москва, 138-177. - Ahmedov-Kazanski (2004): Ахмедов, И.Р- Казанский, М.М (2004): “После Аттилы. Kиевский клад и его культурноисторический контекстt», in: Горюнова, В.М., Щеглова, О.А. (ред.): Kультурные трансформации и взаимовлияния в Днепровском регионе на исходе рримского времени и в раннем средневековье, Saint-Pétersbourg, 168-202. Ajbabin (1999): Айбабин, А.И. (1999): Этническая история ранневизантийского Крыма, Симферополь, 1999. Ambroz (1968): Амброз, А. К. (1968): «Дунайские элементы в раннесредневековой культуре Крыма (VI-VII вв.)», Краткие сообщения Института археологии 113, 10 - 32. - (1970): Амброз, А.К. (1970): «Южные художественные связи населения верхнего Поднепровья в VI в.», in: Кухаренко Ю.В. (отв. ред.): Древние славяне и их соседи (Материалы и Исследования по Археологии СССР 176), Москва, 70-74.

*** Ainsi, le matériel archéologique témoigne de deux types des contacts des Germains d'Europe centrale avec l'Est européen. Le premier cas correspond à l'arrivé et l'installation des groupes plus ou moins importants des migrants. On les reconnaît par la présence des éléments "ethnographiques" qui ne sont pas directement liés à une activité économique ou qui ne sont pas le signe de prestige - la céramique façonnée à la main, costume féminin traditionnel de "la classe moyenne", pratiques funéraires etc. Dans le matériel archéologique ces indices se manifestent d'une façon visible, leur diffusion est compacte du point de vue territorial et chronologique. Certains de ces éléments, notamment le costume, les armes ou les pratiques funéraires peuvent devenir prestigieux et servir l'objet d'imitation de la part des populations et perdre ainsi leur signification culturelle.

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Le deuxième cas, qui se manifeste le plus souvent par la diffusion d'objets isolés, montre, à notre avis, plutôt les influences venant du monde germanique, dont la diffusion en Europe orientale s'explique par les contacts économiques, culturels, politiques, militaires etc., ce qui n'exclut pas la présence physique de leurs porteurs, de petites groupes ou même des personnes isolées.

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Michel Kazanski – Anna Mastykova FIGURES

Fig. 1 : L'expansion de la civilisation de Wielbark vers la mer Noire et vers le Danube inférieur (période B2/C1-C1a, de 160/180 à 210/230 environ): a: la civilisation de Przeworsk; b: les civilisations baltes; c: la civilisation de Wielbark; d: la civilisation de Luboszyce; e: le groupe de Masłomęcz (groupe oriental de la civilisation de Wielbark); f: expansion de la civilisation de Przeworsk; g: expansion de la civilisation de Wielbark; h: tombes à armes de la civilisation de Przeworsk à l'est. (D'après : Kokowski 2010).

Fig. 2 : Les découvertes du type Wielbark à Mokra, sur le Dniestr moyen (D’après : Ščukin 2005)

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Fig. 3 : Le territoire de la civilisation de Černjahov (D'après : Bierbrauer 1999)

Fig. 4 : Les exemples des incinérations de la civilisation de Černjahov contenant des armes. 1: Mogoşani, tombe 15; 2: Tîrgşor, tombe 147; 3: Oselivka, tombe 70 (D’après : Shchukin et alii 2006).

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Fig. 5 : La diffusion des gobelets du type Kowalk (1), des fibules- «monstres» (2) et des inscriptions runiques (3). 1 et 2: d’après Werner 1988; 3 (D’après : Kuharenko 1980).

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Fig. 6 : Les antiquités germaniques de l'époque romaine tardive au Nord de la mer Noire. A: villes principales; B: sites du type Inkerman; C: sites du type Aj-Todor; D: sites de la civilisation de Černjahov; E: royaume du Bosphore Cimmérien. 1: Tanaïs; 2: Chersonèse; 3: Panticapaion/Bosporos ; 4: Phanagoria; 5: Hermonassa.

Fig. 7 : Les objets d'origine germanique orientale découverts à Tanaïs (D'après : Shchukin et alii 2006)

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Fig. 8 : Les tombes «princières» de Sinjavka. 1-11: tombe 1; 12-22 tombe 2 (D'après : Kazanski 2009)

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Fig. 9 : Les antiquités germaniques de l'époque romaine tardive et des Grandes Migrations dans le Bosphore Cimmérien. 1-9: Panticapaion/Bosporos (Kertch); 10: Phanagoria (D'après: Shchukin et alii 2006).

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Fig. 10 : Les objets de tradition germanique orientale dans le Sud-Ouest de la Crimée. 1, 4, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13: Chersonèse; 2,14: Černaja Rečka; 3, 7: Sovhoz-10; 5, 6, 15: Inkerman. 1-8, 14, 15 (D'après : Shchukin et alii 2006); 9, 10 (D'après : Ajbabin 1990); 1113 (D'après : Kazanski 2009).

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Fig. 11 : Les routes de communications et les directions de l’expansion d’Hermanaric dans la zone forestière d’Europe orientale. 1: la frontière sud de la zone forestière; 2: les routes de communications; 3: les directions de l’expansion d’Hermanaric; 4: la civilisation de Černjahov (D’après : Kazanski 1992).

Fig. 12 : Les objets de tradition germanique orientale découvertes sur les sites de la civilisation slave de Kiev. 1, 7: Glevaha; 2: Lavrikov Les; 3, 5: Tajmanova; 4: Abidnja; 6: Roišče. (D'après : Shchukin et alii 2006).

Fig. 13 : Quelques éperons de tradition germanique en Europe orientale. 1:Belopol'e; 2: Skalistoe III; 3: district d'Ostrovec; 4: Rudoviči; 5:district de Kanev; 6: Gočevo; 7: Ražki; 8: probablement la province de Kiev; 9: bassin du Psel; 10: province de Brjansk; 11: Verdihovo (D'après : Raduš 2013).

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Fig. 14 : La diffusion des objets danubiens du deuxième tiers du Ve s. en Ukraine et en Russie centrale : 1-3 : Sumy-Sad, tombe 4 ; 4 : Zamjatino-5 ; 5 : Pastyrskoe ; 6 : disctrict de Kanev ; 7. District de Teherkassy ou de Tchigirin ; 8 : Grigorovka ; 9 : Tokari ; 10 : Hodosvka ; 11 , 12 : Kucugury ; 13 : Kolodeznyj Bugor ; 14 : Mihajlovka ; 15 : Hodosovka ; 16 : Hmelna ; 17 : Pekari ; 18 : Kardasinka ; 19 : Cuulakovka.

Fig. 15 : Les objets provenant de la tombe de Volobuevka (D'après : Kazanski 2011)

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Fig. 16 : La carte de la diffusion des éléments germaniques de l'époque post-hunnique au Nord de la mer Noire. A: villes principales; B: nécropoles du Sud-Ouest de la Crimée (Goths du pays de Dori); C: nécropoles des Goths-Tétraxites; D: nécropoles du Bosphore Cimmérien avec des objets germaniques. 1:Chersonèse; 2: Bosporos (Kertch); 3: Phanagoria; 4: Hermonassa (Taman); 5: Djurso.

Fig.17 : Le costume germanique oriental des nécropoles du Sud - Ouest de la Crimée. 1: Suuk-Su, tombe 91; 2: Suuk-Su, tombe 56, inhumation 5 (D'après : Fourassiev 2012).

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Fig. 18 : Les fibules et les plaques-boucles de tradition germanique orientale de l'époque post-hunnique au Nord de la mer Noire. 14, 6, 9, 10, 11: Kertch; 5: Chersonèse; 7: Skalistoe; 8: Suuk-Su; 12: Taman (D'après : Kazanski 2009).

Fig. 19 L'épée provenant de Taman (D'après : Menghin 2007)

Fig. 20 Les tombes contenant le costume de tradition germanique orientale dans la nécropole de Djurso. 1:tombe 408; 2:tombe 410; 3:tombe 420; 4: tombe 483 ; 5: tombe 517; de Djurso. 1:tombe 408; 2:tombe 410; 3:tombe 420; 4: tombe 483 ; 5 : tombe 517;6: tombe 516 (D'après : Dmitriev 1982).

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Fig. 21 : La diffusion des fibules germaniques orientales du VIe s. dans la zone slave. A: fibules à décor végétal; B: fibules à décor géométrique. 1: Martynovka; 2: district de Kanev; 3: Knjaža Gora; 4 : Čapaevka; 5 : Gradižsk-Kruča ; 6 : Velyki Budki; 7 : Berezovka; 8 : Derinkovec ; 9: Iaşi-Crucea lui Ferenţ; 10: Vinderei; 11 : Kraków-Nowa Huta.

Fig. 22 : Les fibules digitées à décor végétal de tradition germanique orientale découvertes dans la zone slave et leurs prototypes (79).1: district de Kanev; 2; 10: Iaşi-Crucea lui Ferenţ; 3: Gradižsk-Kruča ; 4: Čapaevka; 5: Velyki Budki; 6: Knjaža Gora; 7: Bratei; 8: Şeica Micǎ/Kisseliyk; 9 : Tasov; 11,12: Martynovka; 13: Berezovka.

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Fig. 23 : Les objets de tradition danubienne dans la zone forestière d'Europe de l'Est et leurs parallèles (4, 8, 9-11). 1: Hotyšča; 2, 3: lieu de découverte est inconnu; 4: Blučina; 5, 6: Borki; 7: province de Smolensk; 8: Čapaevka; 9, 10: Glotasitz; 11: Landirano; 12, 13: Demidovka (D'après : Kazanski 2013a).

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Fig. 24 : Le trésor découvert dans la province de Kiev (D'après: Ahmedov-Kazanski 2004)

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THE MANY IDENTITIES OF THE BARBARIANS IN THE MIDDLE DANUBE REGION IN THE EARLY MIDDLE AGES Tivadar VIDA

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Abstract: Current models of cultural and ethnic identity emerged from studies on how the immigrant Germanic peoples could be distinguished from the local Romanised population. Some scholars have more recently challenged the very raison d’être of studies on ethnic identity in the increasingly heated and passionate debates essentially focusing on two distinct dimensions of ethnicity. Identity is essentially a situational construct and an identical material culture in a particular region can easily conceal individuals with widely differing ethnic and cultural backgrounds. Early medieval archaeology of the Carpathian Basin offers excellent case studies for studying and distinguishing the different cultural and ethnic identities of the local population and the eastern and western newcomers settling in the region. Key Words: Barbarians – Middle Danube Region – Identities – Early Middle Ages

material of the first generations of eastern settlers offers a unique possibility for the study of the intricate processes of transformation (acculturation, hybridisation). Still, in many cases, even a traditional archaeological analysis is lacking and the application of modern scientific analyses is still in its infancy in Hungary. A few decades ago, ethnic identity was conceptualised through archaeological artefacts in the Carpathian Basin, and most archaeologists were content to immerse themselves in formal and chronological analyses (Bóna 1991; Kiss 1992, 87–90; Kiss 1996, 87–90; Kiss 2001). This approach and method led to the birth of “Hunnic” buckles, “Lombard” brooches, “Avar” drinking horns and “Hungarian” purse plates, despite the fact that the distribution of these artefacts rarely coincided with any cultural or assumed ethnic boundaries. Identity is essentially a situational construct and an identical material culture in a particular region can easily conceal individuals with widely differing ethnic and cultural backgrounds (Geary 1983: 15–26; Hakenbeck 2011: 1126).

* * * The early medieval archaeology of the Carpathian Basin offers excellent case studies for studying and distinguishing the different cultural and ethnic identities of the local population and the eastern and western newcomers settling in the region. The current models of cultural and ethnic identity emerged from the many studies on how the immigrant Germanic peoples could be distinguished from the local Romanised population as well as by research on the modes of their co-residence and interaction (Pohl 1998: 40–51; Fehr 2010: 21-176). Some scholars have more recently challenged the very raison d’être of studies on ethnic identity in the increasingly heated and passionate debates essentially focusing on two distinct dimensions of ethnicity (Siegmund 2000; Brather 2004; Theune 2004; Fehr 2010; Mathisen-Shantzer eds. 2011).

According to the conventional view, the ethnic and cultural identity of a community is best expressed by its spiritual culture, its burial customs and its beliefs (Volksglaube) (Vida 2002: 179–209). We now know that these customs and mental constructs, earlier believed to be extremely conservative, are fluid and change at least as dynamically as society (Daim 2003: 41–60). One of the tasks of archaeology is to identify the factors precipitating the changes. As a result, research now tends to concentrate on local rather than regional identity, and the focus of more recent studies has shifted to the individual (Hakenbeck 2011: 79–106). Modern archaeological approaches to questions of ethnicity are essentially grounded in Pierre Bourdieu’s notions on habitus (Bordieu 1998). As an inherited set of customs and mores, habitus preserves the attributes of its origins, although not deterministically, and can thus shape the individual’s destiny. In this sense, ethnicity can be conceived of as a fluid social identity based on the individual’s self-perception vis-à-vis others (Jones 1997). Thus, ethnic identity is not directly reflected in the archaeological material, but is expressed through displays of social belonging (such as social, kinship and gender groups). This provides a glimmer of hope for archaeologists in the face of contentions challenging the very point of research on identity. In this sense, we can legitimately make use of grave inventories and settlement

The arrival and settlement of eastern population groups with an Eurasian ancestry and a markedly different cultural background in the Carpathian Basin can add many new hues and a third dimension to the traditional debate in Western European archaeological scholarship (Bálint 2010: 145–182; Harhoiu 2007: 83–95; De Vingo 2010: 261–282; Vida 2011: 615-648). The appearance of stepping nomads (Huns, Avars and ancient Hungarians) meant that there evolved several ethnic and cultural frontiers in the Carpathian Basin, which precipitated visually more explicit expressions and displays of ethnic and cultural identity (Pohl-Wood-Reimitz eds. 2001; Curta ed. 2005; Brakke-Deliyannis-Watts eds. 2012). The unmistakably non-European, well-identifiable find

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The Many Identities of the Barbarians finds in our identification of individual identities (Hakenbeck-Mathews eds. 2014; Curta 2014: 25072514). Costume can express a supra-regional cultural identity, while group (or ethnic) identity can be examined through cemetery structures.

approach was that it set the archaeological material and other phenomena in an exclusively eastern context and did not even remotely consider other cultural regions or even local traditions. While the social organisation, the beliefs and the material culture of the immigrant-mounted nomads can undeniably be derived from Eurasian traditions (horse harness, weaponry, costume), certain crafts (such as pottery production) and cultivation techniques can be linked to local ones. Although the formal and technological traits that are viewed as being of local (Romanised or Germanic) origin in local culture were there to see for earlier scholarship too, the allencompassing ‘Orientpreferenz’ simply obscured their recognition for what they were and their proper assessment. It has become quite obvious by now that any study of the emergence of Hunnic and Avar culture must include an examination not only of costume, life-style and spiritual culture, but also of the local substrate of technical quality, craft production and subsistence practices.

The archaeology of the individual is one of the great challenges of current research. We must admit that only certain facets of an individual’s or a community’s identity can be explored using conventional archaeological methods and that we are unable to precisely determine which of an individual’s social roles is displayed and emphasised during the funeral and in the burial itself (mother/father, young/old, rich/poor, soldier, magistrate, etc.). Post-modern critique has thus challenged and relativized the conventional concept of the role played by artefacts and funerary customs in moulding identity, and has raised the point whether funerary display expresses the identity and wishes of the individual or of the community. We must acknowledge that this post-modern deconstruction was inevitable – but, at the same time, we should also be aware of the fact that we must search for new explanations and construct new models. It is a truism of our discipline that at times when traditional archaeological analytical methods and interpretative frameworks appear to become exhausted, we turn to the natural sciences for support.

There is increasing archaeological and historical evidence that during the initial third of the fifth century, the remnants of the provincial Roman population and various Barbarian groups settling in the province since 380 had both buried their dead in the late antique cemeteries that were still in use in the forts along the limes. Earlier designated as a “Mischzivilization”, the new communities occupying the chain of forts ensured the defence of the province of Pannonia even after the collapse of the Roman military and civilian administration (Tejral 1999: 217–292; Quast 2008: 193–197). The Barbarian type finds are without exception the products of late Roman industry; the presence of the Barbarians is only indicated by a few brooches and vessels as well as by unusual burial customs such as the deposition of combs in the grave. Traditional archaeological methods are often unsuitable for distinguishing between the newcomers and the local population: reliable results can only be expected from molecular biology (DNA) and isotope analysis (87Sr/86Sr, δ15N, δ13C) (Budd et al. 2004; Katzenberg 2008).

As regards the archaeology of the individual, new advances in molecular biology have opened exciting new perspectives for interpretation through the findings of DNA, strontium isotope and trace element analyses (Bálint 2010; Alt et al. 2014). Physical anthropology too has much to contribute: the new analytical procedures allow the identification of kinship ties and the bones themselves can tell us much about stress caused by labour, as well as about injuries and other pathologies. In this brief paper, I shall focus on a few case studies from the Carpathian Basin, which illustrate how new archaeological and archaeometric analyses can provide a more detailed answer to various questions raised in the course of a traditional archaeological analysis, enabling the construction of alternative interpretations regarding the identity of individuals and communities.

The solitary grave found among the Roman ruins of antique Mursella (modern Kisárpás, H) yielded a rich assortment of finds, most of them late Roman products such as a large grey jug, a small green glass cup and a handled copper cauldron (Tomka 2001, 161-188) (Fig. 1). One intriguing question during the detailed assessment of the grave was whether the burial had been the internment of an acculturated steppean nomad or Roman provincial?

The Lost Identity: eastern immigrants –stepping nomads– in late antique Pannonia. Many Eastern European scholars have studied the archaeological legacy and culture of the nomadic settlers arriving from the eastern steppe with palpable sympathy and a measure of (national) affinity towards the newcomers. Until recently, the separation of local and foreign elements in the archaeological heritage of the Hunnic, Avar and Hungarian Conquest period was onesidedly influenced by the approach largely focusing on eastern traditions 1. The perhaps most salient trait of this

The clay jug and the glass cup would not be out of place in a burial of the late antique population, but the deposition of the cauldron reflects Barbarian customs comparable to the burials with cauldrons on the Eurasian steppe. The golden horse figure, probably the adornment of a wooden carving, is also more in tune with Barbarian

See: ‘Orientpreferenz’, ‘Steppenfixierung’. In the archaeological heritage of the Early-Bolgar period in Bulgaria was similarly influenced

by the approach largely focusing on eastern traditions. Bálint 2010: 545–562.

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Tivadar Vida customs, whose parallels point towards the Eurasian steppe (Bóna 1991; Tomka 2001: 161-188). These artefacts raise the question of whether the individual buried in the grave came from the local population and had adopted certain Barbarian customs, or whether he was an acculturated Barbarian who had been laid to rest in a late antique milieu.

Mischkultur of Roman and Barbarian elements emerged in the late fourth and earlier fifth century in Pannonia too, which would hardly be conceivable without the settlement of Barbarian foederati. This, in turn, would imply that the Barbarian peoples (Goths, Huns, Alans) settling in the province did not form distinct, closed groups, but had settled across the entire region and had taken over the role of the Roman army 3.

The burial rite further complicates this question. A sheep sacrum and a caudal vertebra lay between the feet of the deceased, and a cattle tarsal was found by the right foot. While the latter may represent a food offering, the presence of sheep bones reflects a still living stepping custom. The sheep sacra found in graves of the Avar period were part of the legacy of the communities of stepping ancestry (Lőrinczy 1998: 343-372). The grave goods and the burial rite would suggest that the grave represents the burial of an individual of eastern lineage; however, this question can only be securely resolved by the molecular biological analysis of the human skeletal remains.

Only in a few cases can the small distinct burial grounds of the immigrants of eastern ancestry be identified in Pannonia in the late fourth and early fifth century. Twelve graves of a small family graveyard were uncovered at Kilimán (H): the closest parallels of the jewellery items and the pottery deposited in the burials can be found in the Cherniakhov-Marosszentanna/Sîntana de Mureş distribution (Szőke 1996: 29–59) (Fig. 3). Several solitary burials dating from the second third of the fifth century have been found near the one-time Roman forts and fortified settlements (Intercisa: Visy 1981: 211-217; Matrica: Kovács 2004: 123-150, and several finds attest to the presence of newcomers in the military installations (Brigetio, Celamantia/Iža/Leányvár: Borhy 2011: 540-542, Abb. 11-13), which had by that time been abandoned by the provincial population.

Although the grave goods from the burials in several newly-established cemeteries in Pannonia appear to be wholly Barbarian burial grounds owing to the dominance of artefacts produced by Barbarian craftsmen, brick graves suggesting the burial of the Romanised population also occur, as for example at Mözs 2 (Fig. 2). Of the one hundred individuals interred in the Mözs (H) cemetery, fifty had an artificially deformed skull, an indication that members of the local Romanised population had perhaps also adopted this custom. The finds (polyhedral and crescent earrings, double-sided combs) indicate that the burial ground had been used during the first two thirds of the 5th century, while a few provincial Roman jewellery articles (basket earrings and pins) and eight brick graves are a reflection of late antique traditions and the presence of a Romanised population (Ódor 2011: 352, Fig. 5).

Establishing the nature of the interaction between the Hun period settlers and the local population runs into many difficulties. In the second third of the fifth century, we often find small separate burial grounds beside the large late antique cemeteries or separate grave clusters within them, possibly a reflection of the settlement of Barbarian groups. At Páty (H), a settlement that also had stone buildings, there was a small distinct group of twelve burials within the large cemetery containing several hundred graves (Fig. 4). The small burial area was apparently used by a Barbarian elite group (Ottományi 2001: 35-74), at least judging from the finds of green glass vessels, silver jewellery and combs. There was nothing “Roman” about the burial rite and in stark contrast to the earlier foederati groups in Roman cemeteries, there was nothing in this small burial ground to indicate contact. The graves represented the burials of the families of Barbarian warriors who had joined the Huns, whose grave goods included articles such as glass vessels, which had been made by local Roman craftsmen (Ottományi 2001: 63–66; 2008: 229-261).

A Barbarian cemetery was established some 50 metres from the Roman villa and mausoleum at Kővágószőllős (H). The individual buried with a silver plate brooch was probably one of the local community’s leaders. It is possible that in addition to the villa, the mausoleum too was occupied (Gábor 1999: 131–140). It has been suggested that the individuals interred in the graves uncovered at Kővágószőllős had been Romanised provincials who had adopted a Barbarian costume and had played a role in the province’s administration, now under Barbarian overlordship (Kleemann 2008: 63-78).

The successful identity: eastern nomads in the multicultural society of the Early Avar period.

The late antique cemeteries of Pannonia were not solely used by the remnants of the Romanised provincial population – it seems likely that immigrant Barbarians had also been buried there, even though the grave inventories could equally well be interpreted as reflecting the Barbarisation of the late Roman population. A

Arriving from vast eastern steppe after a journey of several thousand kilometres, the nomadic Avars had an “and those who were formerly our enemies, then marched as Roman leaders under banners … and robbed, emptied the cities of Pannonia, and as soldiers moved in there. Goths, Huns and Alans guarded cities.” Pacati Paneg. Theodosio dictus XII, 11,4; Tejral 1999: 217–292; Straub 2011: 325–345. However, the identification of the local post-roman population and the determination of possible kinship relations can only be hoped from the molecular biological analysis of the human skeletal remains.

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Salamon-Lengyel 1980: 93–105. In addition to the cemetery, the remains of thirteen houses and forty pits of the associated settlement were also uncovered at Mözs. Ódor 2011: 347-359.

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The Many Identities of the Barbarians entirely different attitude to the natural and man-made elements of the landscape than the settled peoples of Europe. One of the greatest achievements of the Avars was that they overcame the natural and cultural obstacles and, for the first time, created a political state that incorporated the entire Carpathian Basin (Pohl 1988: 188; Tomka 2005: 125–147; Pallas-Brown 2000: 313–314). With the exception of the brief, few decades’ long Hunnic rule, none of the other peoples settling here were capable of integrating the motley of ethnic groups with widely differing cultural background living among the diverse geographic regions during the preceding millennia. The khagan asserted his rule over his empire through his mobile Avar warriors. The maintenance of the political, cultural and economic flow and exchange of information, fundamentally vital to ensuring the khagan’s power, had an impact on the settlement system of the early Avar period. The Avar dominion of the land is indicated by solitary burials following the nomadic rite and Turkic type sacrificial assemblages (Tomka 2008: 233–263).

the grave pit, appearing in the Tisza valley (eastern Hungary), and burials of certain bodily parts of horses and other animals reflect Eastern European nomadic traditions (Lőrinczy 1998: 343–372). The Eurasian distribution of these burial customs and artefacts indicates where the former homeland of the Avars lay as well as the route of their migration. Elements reflecting the traditions of the Inner Asian nomads such as sacrificial finds can be distinguished in the heritage of the Avars arriving to the Carpathian Basin with nomadic accoutrements, as can the traditions of the Eastern European nomads, reflected by niche graves and partial animal burials. The costume, the animal burials, the grave goods and the appearance of niche graves prove that the Tisza region was occupied by nomads from Eastern Europe who were engaged in arable farming in addition to stockbreeding (Lőrinczy 1998: 343–372). Avars had a strongly ranked society. This hierarchic social organisation, mostly embodied by the wellorganised military, was a distinctive trait of nomadic power extending its sway across a vast territory, which ensured survival during the several thousand kilometres long flight and the initial victories against Byzantium (Göckenjan 1980: 51–86). The graves of the Avar elite buried with gold-mounted swords came to light in the Danube-Tisza interfluve, suggesting that the khagan’s seat lay in this region. The examination of the skeletal remains from some of these graves indicated that the individuals could be assigned to the Sayano Mongolid anthropological type (Tóth-Horváth 1992: 220, Abb. 84). We know that in nomadic empires, the most important leaders all came from the members of the khagan’s family and thus it is hardly surprising that the elite represents the same physical anthropological type 4 . Arriving to the Carpathian Basin with nomadic trappings, the costume of the Inner Asian and Eastern European nomads cannot be distinguished in the Avar material – although the latter can sometimes be identified through a few costume articles inspired by the Byzantine fashion of the Martinovka complex adopted in the Pontic region (Lőrinczy 1998, 343–372). The Avar elite “re-created” its identity in the new political, social and economic milieu; in the archaeological record, this is reflected by the custom of wearing belts adorned with Byzantine type mounts (Bálint 2000: 99–162; Garam 2001: 113-157; Daim 2003a: 463-570; Daskalov 2012: 5-29).

The relation between the landscape and the peoples pursuing different life-styles of the Avar period still awaits investigation. The solitary burials in the Alföld (Great Hungarian Plain) and the Kisalföld (Little Hungarian Pain) reflect the presence of pastoralist groups engaged in stockbreeding without permanent residences (Lőrinczy 1998: 343–372; Tomka 2008: 236–241). The newly arrived stockbreeding nomads occupied the arable fields suitable for pasturing their animals. However, only lateral pastoralism could be pursued in the Carpathian Basin, leading to the emergence of permanently occupied settlements from the middle third of the seventh century, the growing importance of arable farming and new forms of landscape use. We still know very little about how the economy and the life-style of the local population were transformed in the wake of these changes. The Avar period is characterised by costume accessories representing a colourful motley of cultural traditions and amulets; however, extreme caution must be exercised when interpreting the distribution of these artefacts because the deposition of these objects in the grave could depend on many different factors such as local and regional burial rites, or the range of a particular workshop, and some may have been prestige gifts (Vida 2002: 179–209).

The pressure for the display of status in the Byzantine style was so strong in Avar society that it even misled researchers, who believed that the fashion born in the Carpathian Basin represented Avar culture (i.e. the new artefacts made in the Byzantine style worn by the nonlocal, Avar newcomers) and regarded the archaeological heritage of the local population made up of Germanic peoples and the remnants of the Romanised population as alien elements.

The Avars settling in the Carpathian Basin in part came from Inner and Central Asia (Mongolia, the Altai Mountains, Kazakhstan) and in part from the Eastern European steppe. The appearance of the Avars in the Carpathian Basin is marked by shallow sacrificial pits, without human or animal remains, but nonetheless linked to the cult of the dead (“votive deposit pits of the Turkic type”), which contain spears, bridles and stirrups, and by the presence of eastern type burials with a horse, horse harness and hand-thrown vessels with four knobs on the rim (Vida 1992: 717-567; 1999: 129-132; Tomka 2008: 233–263). Burials with niches dug into the short side of

However, the kinship relations between these individuals can only be clarified by molecular biological analyses.

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Tivadar Vida The “Germanic” male and female costume of the Merovingian period differed substantially from the “Byzantinising” fashion adopted by the Avars. The Germanic female costume of the Avar period included hairpins, disc brooches, ornate pendants, amulet pendants, amulet capsules and shoe mounts. The male costume comprised three and four part belts, as well as Meroving type weapon belts (Vida 2008, 13–46). The distribution of these costumes in eastern Transdanubia, the Middle Tisza region and Transylvania outlines the regions occupied by the probably Germanic communities and military retinues with a Merovingian culture during the Avar period (Kiss 1992: 35-134; Kiss 1999/2000: 360-361; Kiss 2001).

elements appear in the Carpathian Basin during the early Avar period, which could not have been made in local workshops; at the same time, their simple craftsmanship, their find contexts and the associated finds do not indicate that they had been part of the booty brought back from the Balkanic campaigns. The find material from Pannonia includes several articles such as early Byzantine brooches with returned foot, bird headed pins, bells, antique finger-rings and the like which were widespread in the Balkans. The few assemblages made up of “alien” artefacts may be seen as an indication of the settlement of a population with a BalkanicByzantine cultural tradition in the Carpathian Basin, which wore new types of jewellery and new costume accessories, creating thereby a new fashion and introducing new craft techniques and customs. The most striking common element of the new bronze and silver jewellery and costume accessories appearing on the settlements and in the cemeteries of eastern Pannonia is their simple nature, reflecting the taste of the common folk who wore articles produced by average craftsmen.

The population groups with a Romanised culture of the Avar period abandoned the custom of interring their dead without any grave goods, the general practice in the Mediterranean during the fourth–sixth centuries, perhaps to emphasise their identity. The archaeological heritage of this population has been identified in late antique centres such as Keszthely, Tác and Pécs and their broader area; however, a reliable method is still lacking for identifying the Romanised population in the Avar cemeteries of Transdanubia (Müller 2010: 157-166; Müller 2014: 157-166). The artefacts deposited in the burials of this community at Pannonia include western Mediterranean and Alpine-Adriatic types such as disc brooches, bird brooches and basket earrings. The use of these jewellery items is proof for the survival of the local, late antique population, which had preserved and continued to maintain its traditional contacts with the Christian population of the southeastern Alps, northern Italy and Dalmatia 5. The same period saw the appearance of new eastern Mediterranean and Byzantine costume accessories such as bird headed pins and Byzantine brooches with returned foot, reflecting a new network of contacts. The written sources record that tens of thousands of people from the Balkanic Byzantine provinces had been resettled by the Avars in the Carpathian Basin, explaining the appearance of the material and spiritual culture of the eastern Mediterranean common folk (Pohl 1988). The community made up of groups with diverse ethnic backgrounds and cultural traditions adopted the fashion of multi-part early Byzantine belts to conform to the expected style of social display. While the steppean nomad and Merovingian traditions are quite clearly articulated in the finds and burials customs preserved in the cemetery, the graves of the local Romanised population do not form distinct groups, but are scattered among the other burials. In addition to the descendants of the local Romanised population, these sporadic graves may perhaps include individuals re-settled here from the Balkanic-Byzantine lands. Unique variants of early Byzantine costume

Another indication of the arrival and settlement of new groups is the appearance of human and animal depictions conceived in the Mediterranean spirit among the jewellery items, costume accessories and openwork discs in the Pannonian material (Bárdos-Garam 2009: 293, Taf. 291/727,1; 192/727,1; Taf. 71/542,1, 165/1481,1). The Germanic and Avar population had no taste for Mediterranean human and animal depictions, which rather enjoyed popularity among the groups with late antique traditions and cultural preferences. Human portrayals as well as dove and horse depictions were symbols of Mediterranean folk beliefs. These depictions, believed to be vested with apotropaic powers by the simple folk, could be expressions of pagan beliefs, but they could equally well be the accessories of a Christian faith (doves, peacocks, humans = bird headed pins, bird and horse brooches) (Vida 2009: 233-260). This imagery, formerly unencountered in Pannonia, conveyed new symbolic messages, which in turn suggest the appearance of a Mediterranean visual culture alongside a new mentality and new folk beliefs, which can be linked to the arrival and settlement of a Balkanic population (AnamaliSpahiu 1988: 33, 44, Bukli, Kruja, Dalmacë, Kruja: Nr. 67-69, Nr. 39-44; 36, Nr. 49). The grave forms too reflect local Romanised traditions (as well as links to the post-roman Late Antique culture that are also evident among individual finds and grave assemblages at Szólád: Peters et al. 2014). Conversely, isolated “Lombard” finds were also present in graves of the Keszthely culture. The archaeological finds also suggest the presence of Western or Northern European individuals. One case in point is the burial of a woman with a Baltic brooch type found in a cemetery of the early Avar period at Tác (Schilling 2011: 383-396). The technological traits of the brooch indicate that it was made locally. A strontium isotope analysis could establish

This late antique population mediated various western Mediterranean jewellery and artefact types and their manufacturing techniques, as well as the spiritual values of antique traditions and Christianity to the Barbarian peoples – the Lombards and the Avars – living in the Carpathian Basin. Bierbrauer 2004: 51-72; Vida 2009: 233-260.

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The Many Identities of the Barbarians whether she was an immigrant in the Carpathian Basin or whether the brooch had been brought here by others and copied by local craftsmen.

organisation, a folly that ultimately led to the fall of the Avar Khaganate (Pohl 2003: 571–595).

The individuals and the communities with a different geographic and cultural background of the early Avar period at Pannonia will be examined using analysis of the structure of one cemetery at Szekszárd-Bogyiszlói út. (Fig. 5) The Szekszárd was opened in the last quarter of the 6th century by two local communities (families?) with a Merovingian culture (Graves 12, 16, 18, 40, 216, 390, 760) and three Avar little communities (families) of steppean ancestry (Graves 7, 55, 203, 266, 269, 335, 351, 662, 742), who buried their dead near each other (Rosner 1999: 104, Abb. 13; 108, Abb. 14; 128, Abb. 26). The small grave groups with north to south oriented burials of the eastern immigrants lay at some distance from each other; no new graves were dug during the cemetery’s use, suggesting that the community’s members had either moved elsewhere or that their descendants buried their dead in the row-grave cemetery used by the local population. The latter possibility is indicated by several graves whose west to east alignment conforms to the general practice in the cemetery, but the dead were laid to rest according to the steppean tradition 6 . Late Antique Type Find (bird headed pins, brooches) in small group of graves at the south part of the cemetery can be linked to the Romanised population (Graves 79, 89, 108) (Rosner 1999: 127, Abb. 25). In the course of the 7th century, the north to south oriented graves disappear, as do the burials of individuals interred with Merovingian and Late Antique/Early Byzantine type archaeological materials7.

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*** In the sixth century, the Avar elite firmly cemented the peoples of the Carpathian Basin and ensured that the Avars were a force to be reckoned with in Europe. The emergence of a uniform material culture in the Avar Khaganate by the close of the seventh century expressing the unity of the Avar political organisation is an adequate reflection of the “swiftness” and the success of the acculturation process. Although the costume and jewellery worn in the seventh century indicate a strong Mediterranean-Byzantine influence, these were external embellishments that did not affect the conservative nature of the Avar social structure (Daim 2003: 463-570). The Avars had become Europeans but superficially, only in terms of their material culture and their life-style. The organisation of the state and the fabric of society, as well as the Avars’ beliefs were still essentially determined by the nomadic stepping traditions in the eighth century – not even a feeble attempt was made to introduce a European (Roman) administration and ecclesiastic

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Tivadar Vida FIGURES

Fig. 1: The barbarian grave from Late Antique Mursella/Kisárpás, with rich assortment of Roman products: large grey jug, a small green glass cup, a handled copper cauldron and with Eurasian type of golden horse figure, adornment of a wooden carving and sheep bones: sheep sacrum and caudal vertebra (After Tomka 2001).

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Fig. 2: Late Antique and barbarian archaeological Finds from the fifth century cemetery at Mözs in Pannonia (After Ódor 2011).

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Fig. 3: Graves with Eastern objects, characteristic types of the Cherniakhov-Marosszentanna/Sîntana de Mureş culture at the cemetery from Kilimán (After Szőke 1996).

Fig. 4: Small burial area from the Hunnic time (second quarter of the fifth century A.D.) used by a Barbarian elite group (After Ottományi 2001).

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Fig. 5: Graves with Mediterranean Late Antique, Western-Merovingian and Eastern Eurasian burial rites and jewellery ore costume objects in the Avar cemetery at Pannonia (end of sixth century and first half of the seventh century A.D. (After Rosner 1999).

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SOCIAL IDENTITY ON THE PLATTER Clay Pans in Sixth to Seventh Century Ceramic Assemblages Florin CURTA

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Abstract: In this paper we argue about the connection between the special use of clay pans and high social status. Nor can there be any doubt that the agricultural output of late sixth- and early seventh-century communities in the lands north of the Lower Danube was the basis not only of the local subsistence economy, but also of a certain degree of self-sufficiency or even surplus. While the chronology and social implications of the clay pan phenomenon may be established with some degree of certainty, it is much more difficult to explain its appearance. In my opinion, the traditional interpretation (clay pans appeared because of the Slavic migration) must be rejected. In East Central and Eastern Europe, everything points to a sudden need for large, public ceremonies involving the consumption of pita bread produced with clay pans. Such ceremonies may have been used by the newly emerging elites as stage for social advertisement and promotion. Bread (in the form of pita) may have been a symbol of political authority in a primarily agricultural society. Key Words: Clay Pans – Late Antiquity – Social Identity – Lower Danube

pans. They have been found in the filling of 12 features— sunken-floored buildings, silos, and a trench—typically in association with both wheel-made pottery (often with combed ornament) and with pottery thrown on a slowmoving wheel (a so-called “tournette”) (Vigil-Escalera Guirado 2000: 239 and 241; 241 fig. 22/5182.1)1. Those pans were made by hand in a sandy fabric and most likely served for the baking of flat bread, even though that interpretation is based on specimens from other sites, for none of the fragments found in Gózquez was associated with a fireplace (Vigil-Escalera Guirado 2000: 239). Pans of between 30 and 40 cm in size, with walls as tall as 5 to 6 cm, have been found earlier during a rescue excavation on the Orcel and D. Gil streets in Cartagena. The abundance of specimens made it possible to distinguish four variants, each with a different form and curvature of the walls, a strong profile and a beginning of a foot. Because of their association with specific forms of African Red Slip wares (Hayes 99C, 101, 104C, and 105109), as well as with amphorae, the clay pans from Cartagena have been dated to the late sixth and early seventh century. They coincide in time with the specimens discovered in Gózquez (Láiz Reverte-Ruiz Valderas 1988: 291-297; Gutiérrez 1996: 364). The striking analogies in fabric between pans and forms thrown on a wheel found in Cartagena strongly suggest a local production, and the same may well be true for Gózquez. The interpretation of those vessels as pans is archaeologically based on traces of soot on the bottom of some of the specimens from Cartagena. Sonia Gutiérrez has taken that observation a step further and has associated the clay pans from Cartagena with those used later in Islamic Spain for the baking of loaves of unleavened or slightly leavened bread and known as tābaq. Such bread would often be consumed with milk, vinegar, and salt, a dish still common in much of northern Africa, from the Moroccan Atlas to Aurès and Tunisia (Gutiérrez Lloret 1990: 171). Gutiérrez believed that clay pans were a specific feature of early medieval ceramic assemblages in the region of Alicante and Murcia, but the new finds from Gózquez seem to point to a much wider distribution across Spain. To be sure, Gózquez is not the only site in central Spain to have produced clay pans. Fragments from three different specimens have been found during the salvage excavations in Perales del Río, a

* * * The archaeological site in Gózquez is located at a distance of about 12 miles to the southeast from the city of Madrid. Over the last decade or so, the site has gained an excellent reputation among archaeologists interested in the early Middle Ages, as it is the most extensively studied rural settlement in central Spain, comparable in many respects with such textbook examples as Mucking in England, Feddersen Wierde in Germany, or Poggibonsi in Italy. The salvage excavations carried out between 1997 and 2000 revealed 282 features, including 75 sunken-featured buildings, 96 silos, and 13 open-air ovens. In addition, the adjacent cemetery has been almost completely excavated to provide a unique opportunity to gauge the chronology and interpretation of the settlement material. Through a combination of stratigraphic observations, ceramic typology, and radiocarbon analysis, the excavators have dated the settlement between the second quarter of the sixth and the mid eigth century. They have established four distinct phases of occupation, each characterized by specific ceramic assemblages (Vigil-Escalera Guirado 1999, 2003, 2007, 2009; VigilEscalera Guirado et al. 2013). One of the most puzzling aspects of the site’s history is the appearance during phase Ib (dated to the second half of the sixth century) of a category of vessels known in Spanish as cazuelas—clay

1 Many thanks are due to Dr. Alfonso Vigil-Escalera Guirado, who kindly provided essential information about the site at Gózquez and the clay pans found there (including the unpublished excavation report), as well as very helpful comments on an earlier version of this paper.

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Social Identity on the Platter Similarly, after being abandoned as a silo, feature 6760 was filled with refuse stratified in three distinct layers (stratigraphic units 6761, 6762, and 6764). Clay pan fragments come from the middle layer (6762), in which they were associated with remains of pottery dated to the second half of the sixth century (Vigil-Escalera Guirado 1997-1999: 304). Clay pans must of course have been in use at that time somewhere else within the village, but it is remarkable that the only evidence comes from refuse pits, and not from the actual houses. Without the archaeological context of their use, not much can be said about the function of the clay pans.

southern suburb of Madrid. Although the radiocarbon date for that assemblage is 490±30, a late sixth or early seventh century date seems more probable (Quero CastroMartín Flores 1987: 372, 366 fig. 1/12). The specimens found in Perales appear to have been fired only when used on the hearth, a further indication that they were meant for baking. The evidence of early medieval clay pans in Spain is intriguing and contradictory at the same time. On one hand, clay pans appear in an urban environment in Cartagena, a city that at the time (late sixth and early seventh century) was under Byzantine control. They are also documented in the rural hinterland of Cartagena, just north of present-day Lorca (Martínez Rodríguez 1996: 206-207, 211 fig. 2/2, 212 fig. 3/1-3)2. Judging from the archaeological evidence from eigth to ninth century sites, in the region of Cartagena, clay pans remained popular long after the disappearance of the Byzantine power from the area. On the other hand, during the second half of the sixth century they appear in the Meseta, in or near Madrid, far away from any supposed influence of the Byzantine urban culture in the south. Nothing is known about the possibly continued use of clay pans in the Meseta through the eifth and ninth centuries. Exactly what, if any, was the relation between the clay pan phenomena in southeastern and central Spain is also unknown. Equally unclear is the function of this ceramic category. While Sonia Gutiérrez’s interpretation based on ethnographic analogies from northern Africa is certainly convincing, it is not certain that the same applies to the specimens from central Spain. The archaeological context is confusing and not very helpful in that respect. The absence of any information about the structures with which specimens were associated in Cartagena makes it impossible to assess either the function or the relative importance of clay pans in relation to other ceramic categories. The clay pans from Las Fontanicas and Las Hermanillas I, on the northern outskirts of Lorca, have been found during unsystematic surveys, not excavations. Even though the surveys revealed the existence of buildings of what may have been early medieval hamlets, there are no stratified contexts (Martínez Rodríguez 1996: 202). Most frustratingly, all specimens known from the excellent excavations in Gózquez are from filling layers. For example, feature 5180, which was found next to house 5240, has been interpreted either as a cellar or as a silo. Whatever the case, at some point after its initial function ceased, feature 5180 became a dumpster for refuse, presumably from neighbouring features that were still in use. It was therefore filled gradually, and careful stratigraphic observations distinguished between two layers of filling (stratigraphic units 5181 and 5182). The clay pan fragments appear in the earliest layer (5182), which may be dated to the second half of the sixth century, shortly after the abandonment of the cellar (or silo) 5180 (Vigil-Escalera Guirado 1997-1999: 156).

Asking questions is much easier than providing answers. Far from advancing solutions to those multiple problems, this paper is meant to broaden the perspective and offer a comparative approach, which may be successful only in the long run. Despite the current preoccupation with the study of rural settlements at a pan-European scale (as evident, for example, in the series of conferences taking place every two years under the aegis of Ruralia [see www.ruralia.cz, visit of June 14, 2014]), there has been little work in a truly comparative mode3. More often than not, identity and otherness—the two topics at the centre of the present volume—have been instrumental in creating the false impression that each site or region is special, without much in common with others at the opposite side of the European continent, except, of course, the desire of archaeologists and historians alike to give justification to research projects financially backed

2 The clay pan fragments show clear traces of soot on the bottom, an indication that they must have been directly exposed to fire (Martínez Rodríguez 1996: 206-207).

3 See Curta 2013b, for a demonstration of how a comparative approach may be successfully applied to the Iberian Peninsula and to Eastern Europe at the same time.

A number of questions remain therefore unanswered. To what purpose were ceramic pans made in the sixth and seventh century? If, as Sonia Gutiérrez’s interpretation suggests, clay pans served for baking pita, why are there not more of them on rural settlements in the Meseta? More importantly, if the function of the clay pans was only linked to the production of such trivial food as bread, how is the uneven distribution of clay pans to be explained within one and the same settlement (Gózquez, for example)? Why did some features produce clay pans, while others had none, if flat bread was a staple food? How is one to explain the fact that clay pans appear concomitantly in southeastern and central Spain? Is such a commonality a function of contacts or common traditions? The culinary practices of southeastern Spain may not have been very different from those in the Meseta, but those of the urban population (such as in Cartagena) were certainly different from those of people living in the countryside (such as in Gózquez). Even if one assumes that clay pans derive typologically from ceramic categories of the Late Roman period, why is there a surge of clay pans on archaeological sites dated to the late sixth and early seventh century? In other words, why did clay pans appear only at that time and not earlier? And why do they appear in different regions at the same time?

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Florin Curta the southwestern tip of the Cornish peninsula (Thomas 1968: 315, fig. 72/13). Each one of those clay pans was about 30 cm in diameter, with small and vertical or slightly everted rims. The rims are rounded off or flattopped. About a quarter of all known specimens have finger (or nail) impressions all round the rim. Since no specimen showed traces of soot on the bottom, the excavator has proposed the idea that the Cornish clay pans were “individual eating-plates” (Thomas 1968: 322). While next to nothing is known about the structures and the nature of the early medieval settlement in Gwithian, the association of the clay pans with fragments of amphorae reminds one of the situation in Cartagena and Gózquez, and is strikingly similar, as shown below, to the situation on many settlement sites in Eastern Europe. At any rate, the presence of amphora shards so far away from the Mediterranean region bespeaks the high-status character of the site—either religious or secular (Thomas 1988: 16).

by the European Union. Comparison in this paper is with the region of East Central and Eastern Europe, primarily the lands that remained outside the Empire during the sixth and the seventh centuries. In this respect, the comparison may serve a double purpose. While in Spain the use of clay pans in the early Middle Ages has been linked to culinary practices of Roman tradition, the same is definitely not the case for East Central and Eastern Europe, despite a few exceptions (e.g., Teodor 1999: 100; Teodor 2003: 189 and 191)4. If there was a surge in clay pans on sixth and seventh century sites in Spain, the sudden appearance of clay pans at the same time on sites in East Central and Eastern Europe is even more intriguing. That is why most archaeologists have explained it away by reference to barbarian migration (in this case, of the Slavs), without acknowledging (or even knowing) that a similar phenomenon is explained in Spain by means of continuity of Roman culture. Moreover, the sheer number of specimens from assemblages in East Central and Eastern Europe, many of them found in well-stratified contexts, offers much better opportunities for the study of the function of this ceramic category. Eastern Europe may therefore be used as a testing ground for hypotheses, such as that advanced by Sonia Gutiérrez, pertaining to the clay pans found in Spain. Finally, on a broader level, a comparison between the clay pan phenomena in Spain and in Eastern Europe at the same time (late sixth and early seventh century) raises very interesting questions about the nature of the Other in Late Antiquity, and about the possibility that despite considerably different economic and social circumstances, communities in parts of Europe located at a great distance from each other may have responded in similar ways to similar changes.

In sharp contrast to the rest of the European continent, clay pans are known in Eastern Europe since the beginning of Late Antiquity. They appear on sites of the so-called Kiev culture within the Middle Dnieper region around the capital-city of present-day Ukraine. Specimens no larger than 28 cm in diameter, with short and slightly everted rims have been found on the third to fourth century settlement in Glevakha, but also in Ul’ianovka, on the lower Desna River (Terpylovs’kyy 1984: 24; Maksimov/Terpylovs’kyy 1993: 111)5. Since in many cases, clay pans were associated with clay discs, Petr Tret’iakov first suggested that the former derived typologically from the latter (Tret’iakov 1974: 66-67). Clay discs first appear on sites of the Zarubyntsi culture dated between the third century BC and the first century AD, but all known cases appear to have been used as lids for vessels, and were therefore smaller in size (between 15 and 25 cm in diameter) than later clay pans6. According to Tret’iakov, after ca. 200 AD (therefore within the Kiev, not the Zarubyntsi culture), clay discs were occasionally given small, slightly everted walls, which made them inappropriate as lids, but turned them into true clay pans. The walls grew in size over the sixth century, when clay pans became a hallmark of early Slavic culture (Tret’iakov 1974: 67)7. The problem with Tret’iakov’s interpretation of the archaeological evidence is twofold. First, nothing indicates a typological evolution of clay pans from discs, and the two categories co-existed in the earliest assemblages of the Kiev culture (e.g.,

To be sure, Spain and East Central/Eastern Europe are not the only regions of the Continent where clay pans were used in the sixth and seventh centuries. A small clay pan was found on the left foot of an adolescent buried in grave 150 of the large Merovingian cemetery excavated in Basel-Kleinhüningen (Switzerland), together with a francisca and a purse mount most typical for the first half or second third of the sixth century (Giesler-Müller 1992: 136-137; pl. 32/Grab 150.6; pl. 90/3; Theune 1999: 29). No such vessels have been found on contemporary settlement sites in the region. Much more interesting is the presence of seven fragments of clay pans (three of which have finger impressions on the lip) in the ceramic assemblage from Gwithian, near Camborne (Cornwall, Great Britain). They have been classified as specimens of the so-called “grass-marked pottery” and have been found together with fragments of Late Roman 2 amphorae, although the radiocarbon analysis points to a date later than 600 (Thomas 1968: 315, fig. 72/8-12, 14, 15; Thorpe/Thomas 2007). Another fragment is known from a grave excavated on the island of Tean in the Scillies off

5 A third or fourth century date is confirmed by the association of three fragments of clay pans with an iron fibula (Bügelknopffibel) in house 1 in Lavrikov Les (Terpylovs’kyy 1984: 28). 6 Clay discs used as lids also appear in Hallstatt assemblages in Slovakia, as well as in assemblages dated between the eigth and the sixth century BC in the Upper Prut and Upper Dniester region of present-day Ukraine. Such discs appear also sporadically in assemblages in Romania dated to the early Latène period (Moscalu 1983: 87 and 89). 7 The idea that clay pans are a hallmark of early Slavic culture, ultimately deriving from the clay discs used by the prehistoric Slavs of the Zarubyntsi culture has been often and uncritically reproduced in the more recent literature (e.g., Szimonova 1997: 86; Fusek 2004: 173).

In Spain, there is clear archaeological evidence of Late Roman (fourth or early fifth century) terra sigillata discs with stamped decoration, but their exact function remains unknown (Saquero Martín/Guerrero Arroyo/Carretero Vaquero 1992 : 891 and 898 fig. 4/7).

4

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Social Identity on the Platter clay pans with small walls that appear on many sites of the Kiev culture to the clay pans found on sixth and seventh century sites. While clay pans are known from fourth century sites of the late Kiev culture, no pans have been found on sites firmly dated to the fifth century11. No clay pans are known from any site of the Sântana de Mureş-Chernyakhov culture, which spread in the fourth and early fifth century throughout the entire area between the Middle Dnieper and the Lower Danube (Rafalovich 1972b: 132 and 151; Curta 2009b: 18; contra: Fusek 2004: 173, but without any proof or examples). There is, in other words, no way to bridge the gap between the latest assemblages of the Kiev culture and the earliest assemblages of the sixth century. Moreover, the earliest evidence of clay pans in the sixth century, as shown below, is from the Lower Danube, and not from the Middle Dnieper region in which traditions of the Kiev culture may have been retained into the sixth century. If, on the other hand, the presence of clay pans in the Lower Danube is to be attributed to the migration of the early Slavs from the Middle Dnieper to the Lower Danube, it is surprising that no clay discs have been found in the Lower Danube region either singly, or in association with clay pans, as was the case for the Middle Dnieper region well into the sixth century. In short, if no clay pans existed in the fifth century either in the Middle Dnieper or in the Lower Danube region, then the migrationist explanation needs to be rejected or other interpretive models sought. Be as it may, on the basis of the archaeological evidence currently available, no “link” may be established between the clay pans of the Kiev culture and those of the early Middle Ages. If the clay pans of the third and early fourth century Kiev culture had the same function as those found on early medieval settlements, than clay pans had to be reinvented after not being used, or being completely forgotten for more than 150 years. It is in fact not possible to date any of the later specimens before the middle of the sixth century.

house 2 in Forostovychi; see also Goriunov 1974: 124125). Nor is there any typological continuity between third century discs and sixth century pans. In Obukhiv 2, a settlement site located at a distance of 27 miles from Kiev, to the south, there were two occupation phases, with a gap of 200 years between them. While discs appear in the first occupation phase, attributed to the Kiev culture, clay pans are characteristic for the sixth century settlement attributed to the Pen’kivka culture (Kravchenko 1979: 86; Abashina/Skyba 2001-2002: 67). Second, according to Tret’iakov, clay pans eventually replaced clay discs, and when that happened the latter disappeared from the archaeological record. However, if the function of clay pans was different from that of discs (which were primarily lids), there was no real reason for the former to supplant the latter. In fact, as already mentioned, they coexisted over the sixth century. Clay discs used as lids are known from sixth or early seventh century urn cremations excavated in Lebiazh’e, near Kursk, in Barashivka, near Zhytomyr, and in Suemtsi, near Rivne (Rusanova 1973: 5; Symonovich 1975: 22 with n. 18; Lipking 1974: 144 and 149, 145 fig. 4/46). Discs are more common in assemblages of the sixth to seventh century Kolochin culture in present-day Belarus, but clay pans appear there as well (Sereda 2003: 28). Discs and clay pans have been found together in house 13 in Pen’kivka, on the right bank of the river Dnieper (Prykhodniuk 1980: 34 fig. 13/16) and in Khokhlov Bugor, near Trubchevsk on the Upper Desna River (Padin 1974: 135), both assemblages dated between the sixth and the seventh centuries8. Discs have also been found without clay pans on several sixth and seventh century sites9. No disc was found on any of those sites either on the floor of the house or in some way associated with the fireplace; they were all retrieved from filling layers. The archaeological evidence from settlement sites does not therefore contradict the conclusion drawn on the basis of urn cremations with clay discs used as lids: the function of clay discs was radically different from that of clay pans, none of which is known to have served as lid. The idea that clay pans derive from clay discs is therefore to be rejected as a more or less explicitly nationalist attempt to project the history of the early Slavs back into prehistory10. This is also true for the attempt to link the

An exhaustive examination of the published archaeological evidence from East Central and Eastern Europe has produced a list of about 400 assemblages with clay pans that could be dated to the sixth and seventh century (see catalogue in the appendix). In addition, a great number of specimens have found accidentally, during unsystematic surveys, or “in the layer” of excavated sites (i.e., outside any well-defined assemblage). Those have been dated to the sixth and seventh century, but in the absence of the archaeological context, it is impossible to verify that dating, and such specimens have therefore been eliminated from my analysis. Equally left out are those clay pans said to be of an early (sixth to seventh century) date, but found in

8 This is strikingly similar to the results of the surveys in the valley of the rivulet Turilla on the northern outskirts of Lorca, in Spain. The site at Las Hermanillas I produced both clay pans and clay discs, while only clay discs have been found in La Jarosa, Las Hermanillas 2, and Molino del Rollo. All those sites have been dated to the sixth and seventh centuries (Martínez Rodríguez 1996: 210 fig. 1/7, 212 fig. 3/6, 213 fig. 4, 214 fig. 5/7). 9 Bila Tserkva (Prykhodniuk 1990: 86 and 106, fig. 12/12), Budishche (Prykhodniuk 1980: 127-128, 137 fig. 16/16), houses 19 and 20 in Pen’kivka (Prykhodniuk 1980 : 36 fig. 15/7; Berezovets’ 1963 : 167169), Sushky (Prykhodniuk 1990 : 96 and 105 fig. 10/5), and in all houses excavated in Riabovka (Oblomskii/Terpylovs’kyy 2001). 10 Similar attempts have been made in Poland, where the origin of clay pans has been traced all the way back to the Lusatian culture of the Late Bronze Age or early Hallstatt, as well as to the Pomeranian culture of the late Latène period (Jaskanis 2003: 434). In the Upper Tisza region of Subcarpathian Ukraine, clay pans are said to have first appeared with

the local Kushtanovytsi culture of the sixth century BC (Cherkun 19941995: 77). 11 Clay pans dated to the fifth century have not been found in wellstratified or well-dated contexts, and may in fact belong to assemblages of the Kiev culture, as indicated by their size (14 to 20 cm), much smaller than that of specimens of the sixth and seventh centuries (Viargei 1993: 70; Viargei 2005: 490). For a similar attempt to date clay pans to the fifth century in Slovakia, see Fusek 1994: 78.

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Florin Curta words, clay pans probably had a restricted, special use. Even within settlements that have produced clay pans, not all features—houses, silos, or pits—had clay pan remains. Given the considerable differences in the number of features per settlement, the order given in Table 1 is based on the percentage of features with clay pans within the total number of features in any given settlement. A comparison between the highest and the lowest percentages in Table 1 (highlighted in grey) is very instructive: most settlement sites with a large percentage of features with clay pans have no more than 20 features.13 Conversely, the lowest percentages are from settlement sites with over 100 features, of which very few produced clay pans. This seems to substantiate the idea that, whatever their function, clay pans had some special purpose and were not linked to daily activities. The argument gains more strength when one looks at the number of individual specimens found in some of those features that were the only ones to have clay pans within their respective settlements. For example, while no other feature of the relatively small settlement excavated on the Soldat Ghivan Street in Bucharest had clay pans, house 13 had remains from no less than 7 specimens. In Selişte, four out of 16 features excavated on the site have produced clay pans. However, one of them (house 13) produced 129 fragments of clay pans, the largest number of such artefacts from any feature discovered on a sixthto seventh-century site. While three of the settlement sites with the highest percentage of features with clay pans have also features with more than 10 specimens each (Borşeni, Davideni, Semenky), the vast majority of assemblages contained remains of between 2 and 4 specimens. Occasionally, at least one of them is ornamented (Table 2). The ornament consists of finger impressions or notches (produced with the nail or with a sharp instrument) on the lip. However, there are two very interesting examples of clay pans with a radial ornament and a cross in the interior, respectively (Figs. 3/1 and 4/1; for crosses inside clay pans, see Teodor/Stanciu 2009: 139). This may have been more than just an ornament. Fragments of clay pans from two features in Dulceanca strongly suggest that the rough or uneven bottom was meant to prevent whatever was cooking in the pan from sticking to it (Fig.4/2,3). This will also explain why most specimens have only slightly everted rims, with no sharp angles (Fig. 5). Bases are therefore proportionately thickened, sometimes only in the middle, with thinner margins (Fig. 6)14. In this respect as well, clay pans are fundamentally different from clay discs, which are uniformly thick and have no everted rims (Fig. 7)15. Few clay pans have been found whole, but among the few cases known so far, there is considerable variation in size. The diameters of the whole specimens from houses 2 in

archaeological assemblages of an evidently later date. For example, Naďa Profantová has put on her list of the earliest finds of clay pans in the Czech Republic the specimens found in pit 29 from the site excavated in Opolánky (Kuna/Profantová 2005: 161). However, those fragments of pans were associated with pottery thrown on a tournette and decorated with comb punches and concentric circles, which are clearly of a later, eigth century date (Princová-Justová 2004: 123, 125 pl. 3/2830). Similarly, Gabriel Fusek has listed BratislavaDevínska Nova Ves among sites with the earliest clay pans in Slovakia, along with Nitra-Mikov dvor and Vranov nad Topľou (Fusek 1994: 78)12. But the assemblage with clay pan fragments found in the settlement excavated in Bratislava-Devínska Nova Ves (Ďaľšie topolite) is most likely of a late seventh or even eigth century date (Zábojník 1988: 419). The reason for eliminating later specimens is that, while the clay pan phenomenon may have originated within a relatively limited area of Eastern Europe, it spread to many other areas during the subsequent centuries. In fact, it has already been noted that while clay pans are rare on sixth century sites in Ukraine, Poland, Slovakia, and the Czech Republic, their number increases considerably during the subsequent centuries. The opposite is true for southern Romania, where known specimens have been found on earlier sites, while being absent from those of the late seventh or eigth century (Jaskanis 2003: 435 and 437; Teodor 2005b: 215-216 with n. 30). After eliminating all assemblages of a clearly later date, the quick examination of the resulting catalogue allows for some interesting observations. First, not all important settlement sites, known to have been in existence in the sixth and seventh centuries, are on that list. Conspicuously absent are such prominent sites as Craiova, Bucharest-Căţelu Nou, Dodeşti, RusMănăstioara, Recea, Ripniv, Dunaújváros and Bachórz (Popilian/Nica 2005; Leahu 1965; Teodor 1984b; Ignat 1973; Rafalovich 1968b; Aulikh 1963; Baran 1963; Bóna 1973; Parczewski 2003). Moreover, not all sites with clay pans produced the same numbers of specimens (Fig. 1). While the distribution of sites in East Central and Eastern Europe clearly shows a cluster within the regions of present-day Romania and the Republic of Moldova that are closest to the Lower Danube, within that same region some sites have produced only single fragments of clay pans. This strongly suggests that, whatever their function, clay pans were not necessary for daily life. In other 12 Gabriel Fusek is also confused about the true nature and role of clay pans, as opposed to clay trays. His list of clay pan finds in Slovakia includes Blažice, but what was found on that site is a clay tray, not a clay pan (Fusek 1994: 319 pl. V/6). In an attempt to disprove my earlier idea of clay pans being “invented” in the Lower Danube region, Fusek added a number of points to the distribution map in Curta 2001: 297 fig. 72, primarily in the area of present-day Slovakia and the Czech Republic (Fusek 2004: 174, map 4). His map has even finds from Germany. Many of those points represent sites dated after ca. 700, while the original map was meant to illustrate the distribution of finds that could be dated only to the sixth or seventh century. Be as it may, even with Fusek’s additions, the concentration of finds in the Lower Danube region remains obvious.

13 A notable exception is the large settlement in Davideni, where almost 70 per cent of all features contained one or more fragments of clay pans. 14 All modeling was done by hand, for, with two notable exceptions (the specimens from pit 21 in Bratei and from house 6 in Bucharest-Calea Victoriei) no wheel-made pans are known. 15 Stanciu 2011, 221 with n. 1283 is therefore wrong when calling “discs” the pans found in houses 1a and 52 in Lazuri presumably because of their short rims.

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Social Identity on the Platter outdoor hearths and ovens, or baked their bread at a neighbour’s house. However, a careful examination of each one of the assemblages with clay pans, but no fireplace, shows that clay pans were usually discovered in the filling of those respective features (e.g., Biliaivka 3, Khyttsi XIII, Pen’kivka I/18, Poluzir’ia 1, Semenky 2, Sighişoara 3, Sukha Gomol’sha 5). This suggests that after being abandoned, such features became rubbish pits for neighbouring buildings that were still in use. The clay pans from features without fireplaces cannot therefore be used as evidence against the idea of a strong association between clay pans and fireplaces. In many cases, clay pans were found in features with stone or clay ovens, which also produced fragments of trays (e.g., Bakota 1, Davideni 13, 23, 24, and 30, Kodin 1, 2 and 5, Lazuri 1a, Bucharest–Străuleşti 8, Veľky Cetín 14). The tray in question was most likely placed on top of the oven, either from the very beginning or after the collapse of the dome, as a repair. Could trays then serve as support for clay pans used for baking on top of the oven? This may have been the case for features, the ovens of which served not only as heating facility and for cooking, but also for metalworking: while industrial activities were taking place at the gate of the oven, baking was done on top. However, none of the assemblages with clay pans that also produced fragments of trays had either crucibles or ladles (Figs. 8-10). Whatever was baked in clay pans, it was not incompatible with the same fireplace being used for industrial activities.

Udeşti and O55 in Běchovice are only 15 and 16.9 cm, respectively. Considerably larger are the clay pans from house 30 in Izvoare (20 cm), house 1 in Popina (21 cm), house 1 in Ivancea (24 cm), and Ciorteşti (25 cm). However, there are also very large pans, such as that found in Moleşti, of more than 30 cm in diameter (Fig. 2/4). Where multiple specimens are known from one and the same assemblage, they are rarely of the same size (house 8 in Borşeni, house 13 in Bucharest-Soldat Ghivan Street, house 1 in Dănceni, houses 10, 13, 39, and 57 in Davideni, house 1 in Dulceanca, house 1 in Haloch, house 2 in Turulung-Vii, house 4 in Veľke Trakany). Was there an “average” size for clay pans or a trend towards the standardization of this already very simple ceramic category? This is undoubtedly a serious question worth a much more detailed study than it is possible in this paper. At any rate, the variation in size strengthens the argument of clay pans being produced for special occasions, and not artefacts for routine, daily activities. On the other hand, it has been repeatedly noted that clay pans are of the same fabric as the handmade pottery with which they are usually found (Abashina/Skyba 20012002: 67). If they were for some special occasions, the clay pans were definitely not special in themselves. Much like in Gózquez, many clay pans known from East Central and Eastern Europe have been found in the filling of the sunken-floored building, at some point after its abandonment as a house (Table 3). However, for an equally large number of specimens, sufficient information has been published about the exact position inside the house in which they were found. Some were on the house floor, but many more have been found near or directly on the fireplace—either a hearth or, more often, a clay or stone oven. Out of 351 assemblages in the catalogue with sufficient information about the whereabouts of the clay pan fragments, the largest number (42.16 per cent) was associated with stone ovens. An additional 13.1 per cent have been found inside clay ovens. This directly contradicts recent claims that clay pans do not appear where large stone ovens are known (Pleterski 2008: 96). Such claims are based on the wrong assumption that clay pans were of no use for baking in a domed (i.e., closed) stone oven, but worked only with an open hearth. However, of all known sixth to seventh-century assemblages with clay pans, only 22.2 per cent were associated with stone, and only 1.7 per cent with clay hearths, in sharp contrast to the large number of clay pans found in houses with stone or clay ovens. In some cases, domed stone or clay ovens have been found intact, with fragments of clay pans inside, as in houses 9 in Bacău, 34 in Davideni, and 7 in Bucharest-Băneasa. In other cases (10.25 per cent of all known assemblages with clay pans), there was no fireplace at all, as in house 9 in Chwałków, house 38 in Lozna, houses 10, 13, and 15 in Selişte, house 233 in Nitra, or houses SZ 1 and SZ 3 in Nova Tabla. This seems to be a contradiction of the assumed association between fireplaces and clay pans. If pans served for baking pita, then one would have to imagine that those living in houses without fireplaces used

The baking itself must have taken place inside, and not on top of the oven, perhaps directly on the embers or, in order to avoid smoking and the admixture of charcoal and ashes, on clay rolls, such as often found with clay (but not stone) ovens (Fig. 8). Clay rolls were meant to retain and maintain the heat inside the oven long after the fire was out, possibly for baking (Stanciu 1998). In Lazuri 1a, there were clay rolls and a fragment of a clay pan inside the clay oven, as well as a fragment of a clay tray, which probably stood on top of the oven (Stanciu 2011: 333334)16. Unlike clay rolls, lumps of clay known as “breadcakes” appear with both stone (Dănceni 1, Garvan 12, Popina 31) and clay ovens (Khyttsi X, Lazuri 1a and 52). Such artefacts have recently been interpreted as “objectified tools of certain beliefs and magic-religious practices” (Stanciu 2012: 260; see also Bialeková 1999; Stamati 2000; Stamati 2001; and Stanciu 2001). The combination of “breadcakes” and clay pans sheds an unexpected light on the nature of the special purpose of the latter, especially because of a very consistent association with fireplaces. The same is true for the association, on three different, possibly seventh-century sites (Hansca, Lozna, and Selişte) of clay pans and clay figurines. Such figurines have also been interpreted as cultic objects, most likely linked to practices involving the hearth as a symbol of the household (Tentiuc 1990; Tentiuc 1996; Zsidi 2002). The figurine from house 11 in A direct association between clay oven, rolls, and pans is documented in the case of the open-air oven A in Dulceanca (Dolinescu-Ferche 1986b: 128).

16

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Florin Curta Hansca is described as animal-shaped (possibly representing an ox or a cow), while that from Selişte looks like a human head. More importantly, there was also a miniature clay pan in the assemblage from house 11 in Hansca (Tel’nov/Riaboi 1985: 114 and 117). It is therefore possible that clay pans were also given a special significance probably linked to what was actually baked in them.

pans from Ratkovo is difficult. If the assemblage turns out to be of a seventh-century date, then it is quite possible that the clay pans represent a local adaptation to burial rituals of cooking and eating habits originating much farther to the southwest. Particularly important for that connection is the association of clay pans with plant seeds, including such cereals as oats and wheat. Some clay pans have been found together with tools. In house 74 of the Davideni settlement, as well as in house 31 in Dulceanca, house 1 in Kochubiivka, and house 11 in Lozna clay pans were associated with sickles17. Such tools must have been valuable, judging from the fact that many of them were collected and deposited in contemporary hoards south of the river Danube, in the Balkans (e.g., Vitlianov 1998; Cholakova 2005; for late antique hoards in the Balkans, see Curta 2013a). Equally valuable must have been the two plowshares found together with clay pans in house 2 in Bakota and house 17 in Gropşani. Finally, 7 assemblages with clay pans (Garvan 13, Khyttsi XII, Kochubiivka 3, Moleşti 1, Selişte 13, Popina 49, and Stetsivka 9) produced fragments of quern stones. Plowshares, sickles, and quern stones bespeak the agricultural activities of those who used clay pans and lived in the houses in which the latter have been found. That the cultivation of cereals was the basic economic activity of those living in the lands just north of the Lower Danube results from the written sources (Strategikon XI 4.5). Moreover, the paste of which several clay pans found in Hansca were made contains seeds of millet, barley and oats (Rafalovich 1972b: 152-153). Next to nothing is known about how food was prepared, but the absence of open ceramic forms (casseroles and bowls) from sixth to seventh century (as opposed to fourth-century) assemblages has been interpreted as an indication of major dietary changes (Curta 2009b: 17-18). Closed forms (tall and narrow pots) are associated with cattle-dominated faunal assemblages (Table 4)18. The reason is that closed cooking pots are intended primarily for greater heat and water retention, through stewing and boiling, generally leading to the production of semi-liquid, porridge-like foods. The pot may be left for a long time by the oven gate to break down the fats, as well as to tenderize the meats and vegetables and to render them more digestible and palatable. Beef is best prepared in tall and narrow pots, in which such meats may be long cooked in water until tender and until all tapeworms are killed, a method far safer and more efficient than roasting. Because of its great nutritional and organoleptic properties, the resulting “soup” may also be consumed separately, possibly with large quantities of bread or polenta-like substitutes (Arthur 2007: 18-19). It is particularly in this context that clay pans must be interpreted.

This may also explain their occasional deposition in graves. Two examples stand out in that respect. The clay pan found in grave 24 of the early seventh century cemetery in Band reminds one of a similar deposition in grave 150 in Basel-Kleinhüningen. There are nonetheless substantial differences. First, like many burials in the Band cemetery, grave 24 was robbed, and the exact number and original position of the artefacts deposited inside the grave pit is utterly unclear. Second, grave 24 was one of four graves in the cemetery that had only horse bones; it may well have been a horse burial. Moreover, grave 24 was located on the south-western edge of the cemetery, flanked by two other graves (25 and 32) containing both human and horse bones (for horse burials in the Band cemetery, see Dobos 20102011: 379). The exact meaning of the clay pan deposited in grave 24 remains unknown, but this was not the only association between pottery and horse bones. Besides horse teeth, grave 168, located on the opposite side of the Band cemetery, contained a Gray Ware pot with stamped decoration (Kovács 1913: 359 and fig. 74/8). The clay pan from grave 24 has an almost vertical rim with no parallels among specimens found on neighbouring settlement sites, such as Bratei or Sighişoara. Equally problematic is the presence of fragments of 4 clay pans in the assemblage associated with the cremation burial no. 5 in Ratkovo near Aleksandrov, about 43 miles to the northeast from Moscow. The presence of clay pans so far to the east is in itself puzzling. Moreover, out of 15 assemblages excavated on the site, this was the only one to have produced clay pans. Grave 5 had a somewhat isolated position on the eastern side of the cemetery. The anthropological analysis of the cremated remains revealed that that was the burial of a 35-year individual, possibly a woman. Besides clay pans, the grave also contained a large number of animal bones and plant seeds, primarily peas and oats, but also wheat (Vishnevskii/Kir’ianova/Dobrovol’skaia 2007: 94 table 2). There were also jingling ornaments in the assemblage, each with two triangular pendants, most typical for burial assemblages of the so-called Riazan’-Oka group, dated to the sixth and seventh centuries, but also for ninth and tenth-century cemeteries and hillforts in Mordovia (Akhmedov/Belocerkovskaia/Rumianceva 2007; Akhmedov et al. 2007; Grishakov 1988: 80-81). In addition, there were two moulds for dress accessories. The deposition of such implements in burial assemblages in central Russia is most typical for a later period, namely for the seventh to tenth centuries (Vishnevskii/Kir’ianova/Dobrovol’skaia 2007: 101). In the absence of firmer dates, the interpretation of the clay

An additional sickle comes from pit 20 in Kavetchina. However, it has long been noted that most animals in the cattle category appear to have been sacrificed long after reaching maturity, perhaps because they were kept for dairy, and not for meat (Haimovici 1986-1987: 255).

17 18

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Social Identity on the Platter Davideni, which had slightly more than 11.7 m2 of floor area, and could thus not accommodate more than 6 persons? What to do with house 13 in Selişte, with a floor area of 18.8 m2 (the living quarters for no more than 10 persons), but with 129 fragments of clay pans in the associated ceramic assemblage (in addition to 1,039 fragments of handmade pottery)? 19. Those were definitely dwellings, in which people lived and worked on a daily basis, and not simply buildings for occasional gatherings of larger numbers of people. Clay pans were associated with a crucible in house 39 in Davideni, as well as with a spindle whorl and a fragment of a quern stone in house 13 in Selişte. In the latter case, however, they were also associated with two amphora shards, which points to the privileged consumption of either wine or olive oil. The association between a relatively large number of clay pans and amphora shards is also documented for houses 14 in Bucharest-Soldat Ghivan Street (the only building on that site to have produced clay pans) and house 1 in Dulceanca (for amphorae in sixth- to seventh-century settlements, see Curta 2001: 242-243; Măgureanu 2010; Gândilă 2013: 93-101)20. Amphorae appear in two other assemblages in Davideni, albeit with a much smaller number of clay pans per assemblage (houses 58 and 73).

As in Spain, the idea that clay pans were used to bake pita was advanced in East Central Europe on the basis of ethnographic observations. Milenko Filipović has first drawn attention to the fact that well into the twentieth century, in Bosnia, Macedonia, and western Bulgaria, clay pans were used for baking flat bread on special occasions, particularly on the feast of the Holy Prophet Jeremiah (May 1). Because women played a key role in the production of clay pans, Filipović called such vessels “female pottery” (Filipović 1951; see also BratiloveanuPopilian 1968). Much like in North Africa, the region from which Sonia Gutiérrez drew inspiration for her interpretation of clay pans in Spain, the production of pita in the Balkans is typically associated with open hearths. However, more recent ethnographic observations in the Rhodope region of southern Bulgaria have distinguished between two classes of pans—small (33 to 35 cm) and large (50 to 70 cm). The large pans are not fired, but sundried, and always come with a lid, because they are indeed used only on an open fire: the pan is warmed in the fire, upside down, then the dough stretched inside, covered, and the bread is thus baked. By contrast, smaller pans are always fired and are used for baking in domed ovens, without any lid. They are typically greased before use, with the almost liquid mixture (dough) being poured into the pan and then fried (Krauss/Jeute 1998: 513). An archaeological experiment carried out in the woods just south of Ljubljana, in Slovenia, has demonstrated that clay pans of 30-40 cm in diameter could be produced relatively easily and rapidly using clay, straw, water, and sheep hair. No more than an hour was needed for the production of each pan, which, like the large ones in the Rhodope Mountains, was not subsequently fired, but simply warmed on the open hearth (Pleterski 2008: 7374). The experiment also showed that the smaller the pan, the greater the speed at which pita is produced. In the absence of a table, the dough could be flattened in the hand. In fact, a pan of 20 cm in diameter matches the size of the average human hand (Pleterski 2008: 77 and 80). Given that each pan is relatively small, the final pita must have been an individual portion, which implies either the existence of multiple pans in the household, or long time for cooking for all members of the family (Pleterski 2008: 77).

In a book published 13 years ago, I have proposed a model of intrasite analysis of sixth and seventh century settlements in order to reveal possible activity areas (Curta 2001: 297-307). Indeed, specific activities performed on the site may be identified by means of clustered diagnostic archaeological remains and archaeologically consistent, spatially clustered associations of artefacts and/or ecofacts within a minimally dated archaeological horizon. “Activity,” in this context, must be understood as a specific task resulting in the deposition of clustered diagnostic archaeological remains. The largest number of settlement features associated with clay pans is that from Davideni (Table 1). It is therefore worth looking in more detail at this specific site to understand the differential distribution of clay pans within one and the same settlement. It is important to note that despite the excavator’s claims to the contrary (Mitrea 2001: 37), there is no evidence whatsoever for two occupation phases, and most excavated features appear to belong to a single archaeological horizon minimally dated to two to three decades on either side of the year 600 (Curta 2002: 90 and 94). The Davideni settlement consists of two main

One is reminded at this point that a large number of assemblages considered in this paper produced fragments of between 2 and 4 clay pans each, thus suggesting that the pita produced on the fireplace in each household was meant for family consumption, as the average sunkenfloored building could not have accommodated more than 5 persons—a nuclear family (Fig. 11; Curta 2001: 283; see also Šalkovský 2001). Judging from the fact that only a few houses per settlement had clay pans in the associated ceramic assemblages, pita consumption was not for everybody. Moreover, in some houses (often the only ones in their respective settlements), there were fragments of more clay pans than the number of family members possibly living in those houses. How can one explain the presence of 9 clay pans in house 39 in

19 Those calculations need to be taken with a grain of salt, as they are based on a coefficient of 1.8 m2 to 2.7 m2 per person advanced for calculating the number of Roman soldiers in sixth century forts in the Balkans (Kardulias 1988 : 207; Kardulias 1992 : 282-283). 20 The association between amphora shards and clay pans (in whatever numbers) is documented for 16 other assemblages, as follows: house 3 in Bucharest-Băneasa, house 23 in Budureasca, houses 5 and 11 in Dulceanca, house 10 in Gropşani, house 14 in Hansca, house 2 in Kavetchina, house 12 in Kodin, house 27 in Obukhiv, houses 1, 5, and 6 in Pen’kivka, house 2 in Poluzir’ia, house 1 in Sfinţeşti, house 9 in Stetsivka, and house 2 in Tselihov Buhor. In most cases, fragments are too small for typological identification, but Late Roman 2 amphorae seem to predominate.

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Florin Curta groups of structures. The smaller group to the north includes some of the largest buildings found on the site, but also some of the smallest, such as feature 38 (only 8.25 m2 of floor area), which was located in the middle of a central, open area. Much too small to accommodate a family, house 38 nonetheless had two heating facilities— a stone oven and an open hearth, both used simultaneously (Fig. 12). The group of structures to the south also had a building (house 60) located in the middle of an open area. Assemblages in both structures (38 and 60) produced no tools and no dress or personal accessories, only a few shards of wheel- and handmade pottery, in addition to clay pans. Most other buildings around each one of those structures had multiple fireplaces. For example, house 42, a large building of over 16 m2 of floor area, had 3 ovens—two of stone and one of clay. The only other structure with multiple fireplaces was house 71, with one stone and no less than 4 clay ovens. However, the stratigraphy of that house is far from clear, and the building may have been repaired at least once. In other words, the five fireplaces may not have been used all at the same time.

exclusively based on cereals, a family of three needed 1.7 kg of flour that could be processed by one person in some two hours of grinding with a manual-rotation mill (Pleinerová/Neustupný 1987). The quantity of flour needed for each individual pita produced by means of clay pans may have been small, but if all were produced at about the same time, for example on the occasion of a large, communal ceremony, then the amount of flour needed must have required a greater effort, and food processing must have been time consuming. Clay pans may therefore signalize the existence at Davideni of one or two areas of communal activities, involving, among other things, the production and consumption of pita-like, unleavened or slightly leavened, flat bread21. It is reasonable to believe that structures equipped with more than one fireplace were associated with such activities, particularly if one thinks of house 38 and other neighbouring buildings, which were too small to serve as dwellings. The analysis of the intrasite distribution of clay pans thus reveals a systematic organization and use of space, which further generates a specific site structure and a patterned arrangement of artefacts. The most important characteristics of that arrangement are the presence of a central, open area, and the polarization of the artefact distributions. It is not too far-fetched to imagine Davideni as consisting of two villages—one in the north, the other in the south—with a central, open area in the north serving as a stage for communal activities, and for ceremonies involving the consumption of special foods, such as feasts and assemblies.

Each group of structures was associated with a number of open-air ovens—2 in the north, and 7 in the south. Like house 38, many structures around the central area to the north produced a large number of clay pans. Four of them (33, 35, 36, and 39) also produced the majority of the tools found on the site: two mandrels in houses 35 and 36, two moulds for dress accessories in houses 33 and 36; three crucibles in houses 33, 36, and 39; and four sharp tools of unknown use in each of the four houses. The largest number of spindle whorls has also been found in this area. House 41, which was next to house 42, had one of three “Slavic” bow fibulae found on the site, as well as a fragment of a double-sided comb. Judging from the intrasite distribution of artefacts, the central area to the north may have been a locus of industrial activities, such as smelting and, possibly, production of dress accessories. It was also an area of special activities, involving consumption of special foods. Clay pans, which may very well have been used for baking pita, appear more often in structures with multiple fireplaces, many of which were located in or around the central area in the northern part of the settlement (houses 27, 31, 34, 37, 38, and 42). This distribution pattern is not so clearcut in the south. However, the area produced not only amphora shards, but also another “Slavic” bow fibula, as well as fibulae with bent stem, two kinds of dress accessories that were used to mark social status in the sixth and seventh century (for “Slavic” bow fibulae, see Curta 2014; for fibulae with bent stem, see Curta/Gândilă 2013: 108, 111, 125, 127, and 133). The distribution of clay pans within the Davideni settlement is different from that of faunal remains. Processing of cereal-based foods must have been much more complex than meat preparation, and therefore more demanding in terms of both space and equipment. An archaeological experiment carried out in the 1980s in Březno (Czechoslovakia, now the Czech Republic) has indicated that for a daily menu

Such a pattern exists on other sixth- to seventh-century settlement sites as well (Măgureanu/Szmoniewski 2003: 123-130). The 1972 to 1982 excavations in Gropşani led to the discovery of 19 houses. Ceramic assemblages found in 11 houses contained clay pans. Seven of those houses are arranged around an open area (the area in which the archaeological trenches XII, XXII, and XXIII found absolutely no features), with three houses to the north, and four houses to the south (Popilian/Nica 1998: 155, fig. 3). In Selişte, two groups of sunken-floored buildings were located on either side of a large, central area with one house (no. 7) in the middle, flanked by two ovens. Five sunken buildings on the eastern side of the central area (houses 10, 11, 12, 13, and 15) produced all needles, most amphora shards, and most clay pans found on the site (the only other clay pan comes from house 7 in the middle of the open area; Curta 2001: 298, and fig. 73). In Botoşana, six out of the nine houses (6, 8, 12, 13, 15, and 26) with clay pans are arranged in a semicircle around an empty area on the southern side of the settlement (Teodor 1984a: 81 fig. 2). At Dulceanca 2, a site with sunken-floored buildings arranged in a circle around two ovens (one of which produced clay pans), shards of clay pans and amphorae cluster on the southern 21 Although no direct indication exists of vineyard cultivation, except the bill-knife from house 10 in Bucharest-Soldat Ghivan Street (Dolinescu/Constantiniu 1981: 322 fig. 18/7), yeast may have been obtained from the fermentation of other products, such as cereals or milk.

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Social Identity on the Platter side of the central area, while tools occur mostly in the northern sector (Curta 2001: 300, 303, fig. 78). It is therefore possible to treat clay pans like the handmade pottery decorated with finger impressions or notches on the lip (with which they were in fact associated in many cases), as artefacts used to express a sense of regional identity. The central area in each one of those settlements was not only a locus of communal activity, but also an arena of social competition, a “beyond-the-household context” (Conkey 1991) for displays of group identity.

with bent stem appears to have been a badge of social status, most likely because of the significance attached to the human faces (Curta/Gândilă 2011: 60 and 71)22. Be as it may, cast fibulae with bent stem have been recently dated to the last two or three decades of the sixth century (Curta/Gândilă 2011: 68). Despite their isolated position in the first quadrant, there is much chronological overlap between the three outliers and the main cloud of points in the scattergram. One of the earliest dates available is 525±100 (Bln 1087), the result of the radiocarbon analysis of a few fragments of charcoal from the filling of house 55 in Běchovice (Vencl 1973: 381).23 Done before the age of the accelerator mass spectrometry (which began in the late 1970s), this radiocarbon measurement has a great margin of error and should therefore be treated with great circumspection. Doubts about the range of dates available may be raised primarily on the basis of the associated pottery with stamped decoration most typical for Avar-age assemblages that cannot be dated before 650, at the earliest (Vencl 1973: 360, fig. 15/2, 3; Vida 1999: 153154; Curta 2008: 678-679). Equally problematic are the dates obtained more recently on the basis of samples from the filling of feature SO 149A in Nova Tabla: BP 1582 ± 27 (1Σ ca. AD 431-534 with 68.3 per cent probability, and 2Σ cal. AD 419-542 with 95.4 per cent probability). That the samples may have been contaminated with much earlier material results, among other things, from the presence in the assemblage of wheel-made pottery said to be of Roman age (Pavlovič 2008: 49-50). The only other chronological indication is the mount found in the refuse pit SZ4, which bears some analogy with specimens of the Early Avar age, thus pointing to a later date after 600 (Guštin 2008, 54 with figs. 2-5). By contrast, the radiocarbon dates for feature SE7/SE24 in Popava may be just right: BP 1445±24 (1Σ cal. AD 602-642, 68.3 per cent probability, 2Σ cal. AD 572-649, 95.4 per cent probability; Šavel 2008, 66-67). To be sure, Dašenka Cipot’s 2003 rescue excavations on the site opened up 3.7 acres of land and discovered 41 refuse pits. Given that cremated human bones have been found in its filling, it remains unclear whether or not feature SE7/SE24 was a true house. At any rate, the golden earring with grapeshaped pendant has a close analogy in a find from an unknown location in Croatia, now in the Archaeological Museum in Zagreb. Such earrings appear in burial

That assemblages with clay pans were remarkably similar to each other results from the correspondence analysis of 285 features in relation to 32 diagnostic artefacts—tools (awls, crucibles, knives, ladles, moulds for dress accessories, needles, plowshares, quern stones, sickles, and whetstones), weapons (spear and arrow heads), dress accessories (beads, bow fibulae, bracelets, cast fibulae with bent stem, earrings, and fibulae with bent stem), and ceramic artefacts (fragments of amphorae, “breadcakes,” clay figurines, clay rolls, handmade pottery, including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip, loom weights, pottery thrown on a tournette, spindle whorls, clay trays, and wheel-made pottery). Instead of the parabolic shape of the data point scatter that one would expect if there would be one underlying latent variable (such as time, resulting in a distribution according to a chronological sequence), there is a “cloud” of points stretching from the fourth to the second quadrant (Figs. 13-14). There are only three outliers in the first quadrant—houses 3 in Bacău, 51 in Davideni, and 17-19 in Şumuleu. A quick glimpse at the scattergram showing both houses and artifact categories immediately reveals that the reason for those three points to be out of the main cloud is that assemblages in all three houses include cast fibulae with bent stem (Fig. 15). The Bacău fibula is a fairly common specimen with a semicircular section of the bow and recessed (fake) windings, many analogies for which are known from sites across the river Danube, in the northern Balkans (Curta/Gândilă 2011: 57 with n. 22; 64, fig. 6). The Şumuleu fibula is somewhat different in that it has a cross-shaped stem, but its parallels are also from the northern Balkans (Curta/Gândilă 2011: 57 and 67, fig. 8). With its decoration with human faces, often interpreted as portraits of saints or, more likely, emperors, the Davideni fibula is the most interesting of all three specimens (Kharalambieva 1998: 368; Eger 2001: 153). Its best analogy is one of the four fibulae from the early Byzantine fortified site at Pernik, in western Bulgaria and may have well been manufactured either there or on some other site closer to the Danube (Liubenova 1981: 172 fig. 112.6). The fibula was without any doubt broken by the time it was left behind on the floor of house 51. However, its discovery on a site located at more than 120 miles from the nearest point on the Danube frontier of the Empire bespeaks the social premium some of the inhabitants of the Davideni settlement must have put on the value of possessing, if not also wearing cast fibulae with bent stem. Like amphorae, the Davideni cast fibula

22 House 51 is located on the southern edge of the settlement and belongs to a group of four houses (51, 52, 58, and 69) around an openair clay oven, which must have been communally used for cooking (Mitrea 2001: 124). This group of houses stands out among all others in Davideni in terms of the number of associated artifacts pointing to high social status. The neighboring assemblage in house 52 produced a bronze strainer, while that in house 58 included a “Slavic” bow fibula of Werner’s class I G and fragments of Roman amphorae. 23 No indication exists for where the analysis was performed. Vencl mentions “H. Quitta (in litt.),” but there is no corresponding entry in the list of cited references at the end of his article. Hans Quitta (1925-2010) was a German chemist who worked at the Berlin Radiocarbon Laboratory in Eastern Germany and is known for a number of radiocarbon measurements made in the late 1960s and early 1970s and published in the journal Radiocarbon together with Günther Kohl. It is not clear which one of those articles is referred in Vencl’s work.

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Florin Curta assemblages in Crimea in association with seventhcentury buckles, a date confirmed for the Popava earring by means of radiocarbon analysis (Curta 2013c: 180).

Caričin Grad in Serbia (a city believed to be Iustiniana Prima), i.e., during the last two decades of the sixth century (Bjelajac 1990, 173; pl. XVI/20; Ivanišević 2012: 61; 64 fig. 3/6, 7; for Caričin Grad, in general, see Bavant/Ivanišević 2007).

Much firmer is the terminus post quem provided by the follis struck for Emperor Justinian in Constantinople between 527 and 538 and found in house 13 in Botoşana (Teodor 1984: 31; 110 fig. 31/6)24. It will of course remain unknown how long did the coin circulate after leaving the mint and before being deposited in the Botoşana assemblage. Leaving aside the fierce, but utterly pointless debate about the value of coins for the dating of settlement or burial assemblages (e.g., Komar 2011), it is important to note that the coin of Justinian makes the assemblage in house 13 in Botoşana the earliest, securely dated assemblage with clay pans known so far from East Central and Eastern Europe. Next in chronological order is the assemblage in house 72 in Davideni. The best analogy for the fibula found there, with its stem decorated with imitations of concentric circles, is the specimen from the early Byzantine fort in Pece (Albania; Përzhita 1990, pl. X/5), itself a cheaper replica of a golden fibula from a small hoard discovered in 1980 in the main cistern of the early Byzantine fort at Vodno, near Markovi kuli, on the southeastern outskirts of the city of Skopje (Republic of Macedonia; Mikulčić/Bilbija 1981-1982: 212 and 213, fig. 7). The hoard also included a golden pendant with polyhedral attachment, a golden earring with pendants, and a fragmentary buckle with openwork ornament of SchulzeDörrlamm’s class D2, dated to the second third of the sixth century (Schulze-Dörrlamm 2002: 151-155). Of a somewhat later date may be the assemblage in house 75 in Davideni. The associated iron fibula has the bow and the stem of similar width, much like several specimens found inside the early Byzantine fort in Gabrovo dated to the sixth century, especially to its second half (Curta/Gândilă 2013: 112). The fibulae found in houses 16 in Davideni and 20 in Poian have trapeze-shaped stems, a trait recognizable on many specimens found in northern Bulgaria, especially in Gabrovo. Fibulae with trapeze-shaped stems have been dated to the last third of the sixth century (Curta/Gândilă 2013: 127-129)25. A date within the last third of the sixth century is further confirmed by the discovery of a fragment of one specimen in the early Byzantine fort at Piatra Frecăţei, on the Lower Danube, in a well stratified context, together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and a coin struck for Emperor Justin II in 575/6 (Vîlceanu/Barnea 1975: 209-211 and 215; 213, fig. 3/1). Clay pans have also been found in great numbers in contexts of the last occupation phase at

To the years right before and after 600 points also the bronze strainer from house 52 in Davideni. This implement is often found in early medieval graves of high-status females, and was used to strain mulled wine (Mitrea 1995-1996, 231 and 229 fig. 1/5; Tobias 2001, 178).26 They appear especially in graves of the Early Avar age (ca. 570 to ca. 630), most likely as metaphors for the domestic tasks of high-status women, who served house wine at feasts. To the Early Avar age may also be dated the glass bead with eye-shaped inlays from house 17 in Dulceanca. Such beads were the most popular in the Carpathian Basin around 600 (Pásztor 2008: 313-316). A similar or slightly later date may also be advanced for those assemblages with clay pans that have also produced “Slavic” bow fibulae27. The fibula from house 5 in Chornivka is a specimen of Werner’s class I C, which has recently been dated to the late sixth and early seventh century (Curta 2011a: 70). Werner’s class II B, to which the fibula belongs, which has been found in the filling of house 41 in Davideni, has a similar chronology (Curta 2009a). Since Werner’s class I G cannot be dated later than the mid-seventh century, it is likely that the date of the assemblage in house 58 in Davideni, which produced a fibula of that class, may also be placed shortly before or shortly after 600 (Curta 2006a). Although a few specimens of Werner’s class I D may be dated even after ca. 650, it is more likely that the date of the specimen from house 14 in Hansca falls within the same interval— late sixth or early seventh century—as most other fibulae of that class (Curta 2006b: 437-446). Just as cast fibulae with bent stem point to contacts with the early Byzantine world in the northern Balkans, “Slavic” bow fibulae hint at long-distance connections. While the best analogy for the fibula from Hansca is another found in Budureasca, 150 miles to the southwest (Teodor 1992: 138 and 147 fig. 6/3; Curta 2006b: 427 fig. 3), the closest parallel for the fibula from house 41 in Davideni is the pair of fibulae from a hoard of bronze artefacts found in Ugly, in the Kursk district of Russia (Korzukhina 1996: 418 and 688 pl. 98/1; Curta 2009a: 48 fig. 2), i.e., at a more than four times greater distance to the northeast. Similarly, the fibula from house 58 in Davideni has a good analogy in one of the fibulae found on the site of the early medieval stronghold of Pastyrs’ke, in the Middle Dnieper region of present-day Ukraine (Korzukhina 1996: 378 and 618 pl. 28/2; Curta 2006a: 15 fig. 5). “Slavic” bow fibulae were not only “exotic” artefacts procured from distant locations or manufactured after models from afar, but

24 This is not the only coin minted for Justinian found in Botoşana. Another follis of the same date and mint has been found in house 20 (Teodor 1984a: 36-37; 109 fig. 30/2; 110 fig. 31/8). 25 This is not contradicted by the chronology of the pectoral cross, with which the fibula was found in house 16 in Davideni. This kind of Maltese cross is most typical for sixth century assemblages in the Balkans, but moulds for their production have also been found on contemporary sites north of the Danube, one of them in Botoşana (Teodor 1984a : 40-41; 99 fig. 201; Curta 2005: 185).

26 The Davideni strainer is a specimen of Tobias’s type D, variant A (Tobias 2001: 172). 27 Even though Werner’s class I F has been dated to the sixth century, the specimen of that class from house VIII in Semenky was broken and may have been regarded either as heirloom or as scrap metal. The associated assemblage, which contained clay pans, may therefore be of a later date.

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Social Identity on the Platter in the vast region between the Middle Dnieper and the Lower Danube. The introduction of clay pans in the late sixth century coincides with, or immediately follows a number of culinary changes, the most important of which is reflected in the adoption of closed ceramic forms most appropriate for the cooking of beef or pork. Handmade, tall and narrow pots, or pots thrown on a tournette coexisted with the earliest clay pans, and were often decorated in the same manner—either finger impressions or notches on the lip, a form of emblemic style that has been associated with a sense of regional identity (Curta 2001: 291 and 294). However, clay pans were not common pottery: they are absent from some sites, and rare on others. More often than not, a single ceramic assemblage contains only one clay pan with finger impressions on the lip, in addition to wheel- and handmade pottery (Fig. 16). Such a distribution, as well as the association in some assemblages with artefacts that may have been used to mark social status—cast fibulae with bent stem, “Slavic” bow fibulae, pendants, bracelets, or amphorae—strongly suggest that the ceremonies or feasts marked by consumption of pita may have also been the occasion for the affirmation and consolidation of elevated social status.

also badges of social status, as procuring and wearing such fibulae may have been strategies for creating a new sense of identity for local elites. The same may be true for those who lived in house 20 in Hansca. Besides clay pans, the associated assemblage contains two equalarmed fibulae of the so-called Dnieper type (Rodinkova 2006: 57 fig. 6/29, 20; 59)28. A very good analogy for those fibulae was found on one of three skeletons in grave 11 in Bakla (Crimea), together with a “Slavic” bow fibula of Werner’s class II C and a belt buckle of the Syracuse class, both indicating a date within the first half of the seventh century (Curta 2011b: 164; Aibabin/Iorochkin 1995: 128; 227, fig. 22/3). However, many more analogies are known from stray finds in the Middle Dnieper region, including the fortified settlement in Pastyr’ske (Rodinkova 2006: 59). Contacts with elites in the Middle Dnieper region are also revealed by the bronze, trapeze-shaped pendant from the oven excavated in Luka-Vrublivets’ka together with a fragment of a clay pan. Such pendants appear in great numbers in seventhcentury hoards of bronze and silver in both Right- and Left-Bank Ukraine, a region in which they seem to have been an element of the female aristocratic dress (Comşa 1984; Gavritukhin 1997). To those hoards also point the animal-shaped mount from house 13 in Samchyntsi and the bracelet with widened ends from house 2 in Skybyntsi. Animal-shaped mounts have recently been interpreted as parts of clothes associated with high status and are known from the Martynivka hoard (Szmoniewski 2008: 283). The same hoard also includes three silver bracelets similar to that from Skybyntsi, but bronze specimens also appear in burial assemblages from Crimea in association with early seventh-century dress accessories, such as buckles of the Syracuse class (Pekars’ka/Kidd 1994: pl. 20/1-3; Aibabin/Khairedinova 2009: pl. 130/3, 4).

While the chronology and social implications of the clay pan phenomenon may be established with some degree of certainty, it is much more difficult to explain its appearance. In my opinion, the traditional interpretation (clay pans appeared because of the Slavic migration) must be rejected because of several reasons. First, despite claims to the contrary, no typological link can be established between clay pans and clay discs attested in those regions of Eastern Europe from which the Slavs are believed to have migrated. Second, the earliest clay pans are not those of the Pripet or Dnieper areas, but those of the region closer to the Lower Danube—which is contrary to the direction of the supposed migration. Third, even if one assumes for a moment that a migration did take place, one still needs to explain why clay pans appear at least 50 years after the earliest mention of the Slavs in the Lower Danube region, i.e., after (and not during) the migration. Fourth, clay pans appear, albeit sporadically, on early Byzantine sites in the Balkans as well. The presence of clay pans in a frontier fort, such as Piatra Frecăţei, may be explained as an indication of soldiers in the garrison having been recruited from among barbarians on the other side of the frontier. However, that explanation will not work for a city like Caričin Grad, in which there are many more clay pan finds than in the frontier fort of Piatra Frecăţei. Whatever the meaning of the pita baked in clay pans on settlement sites north of the river Danube, that meaning was neither too barbarian, nor indeed completely foreign to, at least, some of the inhabitants of the sixth and early seventh century Balkan provinces of the Empire. There is a striking parallel to the situation in Spain. In both Cartagena and Caričin Grad, there are many clay pans around the year 600. In both cases, clay pans used in the urban environment must be regarded in contrast to their presence on rural settlements

It is of course difficult to generalize from only a few assemblages with chronologically sensitive artefacts29. However, judging from the existing evidence, the clay pan phenomenon seems to have started at some point during the second half of the sixth century, perhaps during its last third, and then quickly became widespread during the first half of the seventh century. Clay pans signal the sudden introduction of special flour-based foods, the consumption of which may have been linked to communal ceremonies or feasts. Staple foods of the previous period (fourth and fifth centuries) also derived from cereals such as wheat or millet, but there is no evidence of flat bread baking before ca. 550, at least not 28 The Hansca fibulae belong to Rodinkova’s group III 2. None of the other members of that group comes from a well-dated assemblage. 29 For 21 percent of all assemblages listed in the appendix, no chronological brackets can be established with any degree of certainty. Besides clay pans, those assemblages have produced only handmade pottery with no decoration whatsoever. By contrast, there is only one case of an exclusive association of clay pans with wheel-made pottery (pit 21 in Bratei), and that can be only broadly dated to the sixth or early seventh century. Only 5 percent of all assemblages produced wheelmade pottery, in addition to handmade pottery without any decoration. In most cases, the former consists of T-shaped rims and ringed bottoms of Chernyakhov tradition.

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Florin Curta farther afield, in regions that the inhabitants of both cities may have regarded as “barbarian.” In both Spain and East Central Europe, the clay pans became an important component of ceramic assemblages shortly before and shortly after AD 600. It is unlikely that this is just a coincidence, but explaining that phenomenon is not possible for the moment. The only other parallel between the two areas appears to be the emergence of another ceramic category, namely the pottery thrown on a tournette. This may well reflect a gradual introduction of a “household mode” of pottery production, but it remains unclear why and how were clay pans related to that process. In East Central and Eastern Europe, everything points to a sudden need for large, public ceremonies involving the consumption of pita bread produced with clay pans. Such ceremonies may have been used by the newly emerging elites as stage for social advertisement and promotion. As such they have been associated with competitive feasting and the rise of political leaders among those known from the written sources as Sclavenes. The mechanisms by which some of the bigman-like leaders may have reached power had probably to do with the orchestration of communal ceremonies, of feast and assemblies, in which those leaders played a crucial role (Curta 1999).

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There is yet no plausible explanation for why consumption of flat bread would play such a role in those ceremonies, but it can be no doubt about the connection between the special use of clay pans and high social status. Nor can there be any doubt that the agricultural output of late sixth- and early seventh-century communities in the lands north of the Lower Danube was the basis not only of the local subsistence economy, but also of a certain degree of self-sufficiency or even surplus. The author of the military treatise known as Strategikon knew that the Sclavenes north of the river Danube buried “their most valuable possessions” in secret places, an indication of relative prosperity. He was most likely an experienced military officer, and he recommended to Roman troops campaigning in the lands north of the river not to waste the “provisions found in the surrounding countryside,” but instead to ship them on pack animals and boats “to our own country” south of the river (Strategikon XI 4.8). Bread (in the form of pita) may have been a symbol of political authority in a primarily agricultural society. Whether or not such partial conclusions may be extended to the interpretation of the clay pans from Gózquez remains the task of future research.

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Vida, T. (1999): Die awarenzeitliche Keramik I. (6.-7. Jh.), Berlin/Budapest. Vigil-Escalera Guirado, A. (2009): “Las aldeas altomedievales madrileñas y su proceso formative”, in: The Archaeology of Early Medieval Villages in Europe (edited by J. A. Quirós Castillo), Bilbao, 315-339. - (2007): “Algunas observaciones sobre las cerámicas ‘de época visigoda’ (ss. V-IX d. C.) de la region de Madrid”, in: Estudios de cerámica tardorromana y altomedieval (edited by A. Malpica and J. C. Carvajal), Granada, 357-382. - (2003): “Cerámicas tardorromanas y altomedievales de Madrid”, Anejos de Archivo Español de Arqueología 28, 371387. (2000): “Cabañas de época visigoda: evidencias arqueológicas del sur de Madrid. Tipología, elementos de datación y discussion”, Archivo Español de Arqueología 73, 223-252. - (1999): “Evolución de los morfotipos de ceramic común de un asentamiento rural visigodo de la Meseta (Gózquez de Arriba, San Martín de la Vega, Madrid)”, in: Arqueohispania 0. - (1997-1999): Memoria de las excavaciones arqueológicas en el yacimiento de época visigoda de Gózquez de Arriba (San Martín de la Vega, Madrid), 1997-1999 (Unpublished report for ÁREA, Sociedad Cooperativa).

Terpylovs'kyy, R. V. (1984): Rannie slaviane Podesen'ia III-V vv., Kiev. Theune, C. (1999): Frühmittelalterliche Grabfunde im Hegau, Bonn. Thomas, Ch. (1988): “The context of Tintagel. A new model for the diffusion of post-Roman Mediterranean imports”, Cornish Archaeology 27, 7-25. - (1968): “Grass-marked pottery in Cornwall”, in: Studies in Ancient Europe. Essays Presented to Stuart Piggott (edited by J. M. Coles - D. D. A. Simpson), Bristol, 311-331. Thorpe, C. - Thomas, A. C. (2007): “Post-Roman material culture: return to Gwithian shifting sand of time”, Cornish Archaeology 46, 44-49. Tikhanova, M. A. (1971): "O ranneslavianskom poselenii v Luke-Vrubleckoi", Kratkie soobshcheniia Instituta Arkheologii AN SSSR 125, 7-12.

150

Social Identity on the Platter Vigil-Escalera Guirado, A. et al. (2013): “Productive strategies and consumption patterns in the early medieval village of Gózquez (Madrid, Spain)”, Quaternary International 30, 1-13. Vîlceanu, D. - Barnea, A. (1975): "Ceramica lucrată cu mîna din aşezarea romano-bizantină de la Piatra Frecăţei (sec. VI e.n.)", Studii şi cercetări de istorie veche şi arheologie 26/ 2, 209-218. Vishnevskii, V. I. - Kir'ianova, N. A. - Dobrovol'skaia, M. V. (2007): "Rat'kovskii rannesrednevekovyi finno-ugorskii mogil'nik: khronologiia, kul'tura, obriad", Rossiiskaia Arkheologiia 2, 89-107. Vitlianov, S. (1988): "Kolektivna nakhodka ot orădiia na truda i predmeti na bita ot s. Markovo Varnensko", Trudove na katedrite Istoriia i Bogoslovie kăm Shumenskiia universitet "Episkop Konstantin Preslavski" 2, 40-46. Vlasenko, I. G. (1985): "Raskopki poselenii Ivancha II i Braneshti III", in: Arkheologicheskie issledovaniia srednevekovykh pam'iatnikov v Dnestrovsko-Prutskom mezhdurech'e (edited by P. P. Byrnia), Kishinew, 141-152. Vynokur, I. S. (1980): "Cherniakhovskie tradicii i pamiatnikakh serediny i tret'ei chetverti I tysiacheletiia n.e. lesostepnogo Dnestro-Dneprovskogo mezhdurech'ia", in: Rapports du III-e Congrès international d'archéologie slave. Bratislava 7-14 septembre 1975 (edited by B. Chropovský), Bratislava, 867-877. - (1997): Slov'ians'ki iuveliry Podnistrov'ia. Za materialamy doslidzhen' Bernashivs'kogo kompleksu seredyny I tys. n.e., Kam'ianets' Podil's'kyy. Vynokur, I. S. - Gorishnyi, P. A. (1994): Bakota. Stolytsia davn’orus’koho Ponyzzia, Kam'ianets’-Podil’s’kyi. Vynokur, I. S. - Prykhodniuk, O. M. (1974): "Ranneslavianskoe poselenie na r. Smotrich." In Rannesrednevekovye vostochnoslavianskie drevnosti. Sbornik statei (edited by P. N. Tret'iakov), Leningrad, 227-241. Zábojník, J. (1988): "On the problems of settlements of the Avar Khaganate period in Slovakia", Archeologické rozhledy 40, 401-437. Zaharia, E. (1994-1995): "La station no. 2 de Bratei, dép. de Sibiu (VIe-VIIIe siècle)", Dacia 38-39, 297-356. Zirra, V. - Cazimir, G. "Unele rezultate ale săpăturilor arheologice de pe Cîmpul lui Boja din cartierul Militari", Cercetări arheologice în Bucureşti 1, 56-71. Zsidi, P. (2002): "Tonköpfchen aus dem Herd eines awarenzeitlichen Wohnhauses", Budapest régiségei 36, 341362.

151

Florin Curta FIGURES

Figure 1: Distribution of clay pans on sixth to seventh century sites in East Central and Eastern Europe. The smallest circles mark individual specimens, larger circles between 2 and 5, between 6 and 10, between 11 and 20, and between 20 and 30 specimens, respectively. Stars indicate over 100 specimens. Numbers refer to the catalogue.

Fig. 2

Fig. 3

Figure 2: Examples of entirely or almost entirely preserved clay pans: 1 - Davideni, house 27; 2 – Bucharest-Militari, house 24; 3 – Davideni, house 25; 4 – Moleşti, house 1 (After Mitrea 1992, figs. 9/1 and 10/5; Negru 2002, 67, fig. 6/3; Tentiuc 1998: 204, fig. 2/1). Figure 3: Examples of clay pans decorated with notches on the lip (1) and a cross incised inside (2): 1 - Davideni, house 45; 2 – Sukha Gomol’sha, house 5 (After Mitrea 2001: 371, fig. 110/15; Mikheev/Prykhodniuk 1986: 79, fig. 5/5)

152

Social Identity on the Platter

Fig. 4

Fig. 5

Fig. 6

Figure 4: Examples of pans with inside ornament: 1 – Selişte, house 15; 2 – Dulceanca, pit 2; 3 – Dulceanca, oven A (After Rafalovich/Lapushnian 1974: 132, fig. 11/6; Dolinescu-Ferche 1992: 140, fig. 9/7; Dolinescu-Ferche 1986: 150, figs. 23/10). Figure. 5: Examples of clay pans with everted rims: 1 – Ciorteşti; 2, 3 – Kavetchina, house 2; 4 – Kupin. After Iconomu 1991, 111 fig. 2/6; Vakulenko/Prykhodniuk 1984, 46 fig. 21/26-27; Prykhodniuk 1975, 137 pl. XXVII/16. Figure 6: Examples of clay pans with thickened bases: 1 – Izvoare, house 30; 2 – Turulung-Vii, house 2; 3 – Lazuri, house 1a; 4 – Běchovice, house O55 (After Mitrea 1998: 160, fig. 44/7; Stanciu 2003: 148, pl. III/3; Stanciu 1998-1999: 214, pl. III/8; Vencl 1973: 358, fig. 13/12).

Figure 7: Examples of discs (1, 2) and pans with slightly everted rims (3-8): 1 – Budishche; 2, 3 – Pen’kivka, house 13; 4 – Mykhailivka; 5 – Dulceanca, house 5; 6 – Kavetchina, pit 20; 7, 8 – Hlyboka, house 4 (After Prykhodniuk 1980: 134, fig. 13/15, 137, fig. 16/16; Prykhdoniuk 1979: 86, fig. 3/10; 142, fig. 11/4; Vakulenko/Prykhodniuk 1984: 62, fig. 35/16; Vakulenko 1974: 245, fig. 3/5, 6).

153

Florin Curta

Fig. 8

Fig. 9

Figure 8: Gropşani, house 13: plan and associated artifacts (clay roll, ladle, clay pan and handmade pottery) (After Popilian/Nica 1998, 158 fig. 6; 172 fig. 20; 173 fig. 21). Figure 9: Nitra-Mikov dvor, house O233: plan and associated artifacts (handmade pottery, crucible, clay pans, and fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette) (After Fusek 1992: 297, fig. 6/2; 321 pl. III).

Fig. 10

Fig. 11

Figure 10: Rashkiv, house 71: plan and associated artifacts (crucible, ladle, clay pan, and handmade pottery) (After Baran 1988: 142, pl. XVII/71; 157 pl. LIV/8-13). Figure 11: Sokil, house 19: plan and associated artifacts (handmade pottery, some with finger impressions on the lip, and clay pans) (After Vakulenko and Prykhodniuk 1984: 91 fig. 42).

154

Social Identity on the Platter

Figure 12: Davideni, intrasite distribution of clay pans. The smallest circles mark one or three specimens, larger circles between 4 and 6, and between 8 and 12 specimens, respectively.

Figure 13: Correspondence analysis of 285 settlement features with clay pans. Numbers refer to the catalogue.

155

Florin Curta

Figure 14: Zoomed detail of the correspondence analysis of 285 settlement features. Numbers refer to the catalogue.

Figure 15: Correspondence analysis of 285 settlement features in relation to 32 diagnostic artefact categories: AMPH – amphora fragment; ARRO – arrow head; AWL – bone/antler awl; BEAD – glass beads; BF – bow fibula; BN – bone needle; BRACE – bracelet; CF – cast fibula with bent stem; COMB2 – bone comb, double-sided; CRUC – crucible, clay; EAR – earring; FBS – fibula with bent stem; FIG – clay figurine; HP – handmade pottery; HP/C – handmade pottery, incised crosses; HP/FI – handmade pottery, finger impressions on the lip; HP/N – handmade pottery, notches on the lip; KNIF – knife; LAD – ladle; LOOM – loom weight; LUMP – lump of clay (“breadcake”); MOULD – mould for dress accessories; PLOW – plowshare; QUE – quern stone; ROLLS – clay rolls; SICK – sickle; SPEAR – spear head; TOUR – tournette; TRA – clay tray; WHET – whetstone; WHORL – spindle whorl; WP – wheel-made pottery.

156

Social Identity on the Platter

Figure 16: Bakota, house 23: plan and associated artefacts (wheel-made pottery, clay pan with finger impressions on the lip, and handmade pottery) (After Vynokur/Gorishnyi 1994: 115, fig. 45).

157

Florin Curta TABLES Table 1: Features with clay pans from sixth to seventh century settlement sites. Site Borşeni Davideni Gordineşti Nezvys’ka Bucharest-Ciurel Gropşani Cucorăni Semenky Hlyboka Bacău Dulceanca 3 Dulceanca 2 Zanky Horecha Lozna Cernat Horoshova Šurany Kodin 1 Bucharest-Băneasa Botoşana Bucharest-Militari Gutinaş Sokil Khyttsi Selişte Pen’kivka 2 Poian Riabovka Samchyntsi Kodin 2 Lăpuşel Nitra Obukhiv Sukha Gomol’sha Pen’kivka 1 Izvoare Kochubiivka Teterivka Velika Sloboda Cristuru Secuiesc Raiky Zelenyi Hai Bakota Popina Sighişoara Lazuri Rashkiv 3 Sliač Březno Stetsivka Kavetchina Bucharest-Soldat Ghivan Street Filiaş Kadaň Nova Tabla Bucharest-Străuleşti Bratei 2 Garvan Suceava Şimoneşti Murska Sobota Bernashivka Popava Hansca Nowa Huta Bratei 1 Roztoky

Number of features 7 89 6 12 10 19 7 14 9 8 9 15 13 8 59 6 6 12 32 24 31 7 7 14 32 16 18 32 42 14 50 15 15 25 15 32 43 18 13 14 8 8 8 45 63 18 20 91 11 12 12 37 15 40 20 82 21 22 120 26 27 38 42 41 160 191 123 157

4 60 4 8 6 11 4 8 5 4 4 6 5 3 20 2 2 4 10 7 9 2 2 4 9 4 4 7 9 3 10 3 3 5 3 6 8 3 2 2 1 1 1 5 7 2 2 6 1 1 1 3 1 2 1 4 1 1 5 1 1 1 1 1 3 3 1 1

158

Number of features with clay pans

Percentage 71.4 67.4 66.7 66.7 60 57.9 57.1 57.1 55.6 50 44.4 40 38.5 37.5 33.9 33.3 33.3 33.3 31.25 29.1 29 28.6 28.6 28.6 28.1 25 22.2 21.9 21.4 21.4 20 20 20 20 20 18.8 18.6 16.7 15.4 14.3 12.5 12.5 12.5 11.1 11.1 11.1 10 9.8 9.1 8.3 8.3 8.1 6.7 5 5 4.9 4.8 4.5 4.2 3.8 3.7 2.6 2.4 2.4 1.9 1.6 0.8 0.6

Social Identity on the Platter

Table 2: Clay pans within assemblages from sixth to seventh century settlement sites. Assemblage Bobshiv 7 Botoşana 13 Botoşana 30 Cernat 3 Ciceu 1 Cucorăni 2 Davideni 8 Davideni 19 Davideni 24 Davideni 25 Davideni 28 Davideni 31 Davideni 35 Davideni 41 Davideni 42 Davideni 43 Davideni 61 Davideni 63 Davideni 64 Davideni 74 Dulceanca 3 Dulceanca, oven 2 Dulceanca 3/11 Gropşani 10 Hlyboka 4 Hlyboka 19 Hlyboka 21 Hlyboka 23 Hlyboka 24 Horecha 21 Horoshova 7 Ivancea, pit 1 Izvoare 27 Izvoare 30 Kavetchina 2 Khyttsi XI Kochubiivka 1 Kodin I/2 Kodin I/19 Kodin I/23 Kodin II/12 Lazuri 52 Levkyn Buhor Nezvys’ka 11 Nitra O233 Nova Tabla SZ3 Nova Tabla SO18 Obukhiv 30 Iosypivka 4 Pidbirtsi Sukha Gomol’sha 5 Tselihov Buhor 2 Zanky A Zanky, pit 6 Bacău 7 Bacău 9 Bakota 2 Běchovice 55 Borşeni 1 Cucorăni 19 Davideni 30 Davideni 34 Davideni 50 Davideni 62

Number of published specimens

2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 At least 2 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3

Ornamented specimens Finger impressions

Finger impressions

Incised cross

Notches on the lip

159

Florin Curta Dulceanca 17 Forostovychi Gropşani 13 Izvoare 7 Izvoare 20 Kavetchina 29 Kodin 20 Lomnica 1/79 Lozna 17 Lozna 20 Lozna 24 Proscuriani Rashkiv 30 Sokil 19 Sokil 22 Bobshiv 50 Bucharest-Ciurel 1B Davideni 27 Davideni 40 Davideni 71 Davideni 75 Dulceanca 2 Dulceanca 9 Kodin 11 Oreavu Poian 22 Popina 49 Tselihov Buhor 3 Davideni 69 Davideni 33 Semenky, pit 6 Turulung-Vii 2 Davideni 37 Davideni 57 Bakota 1 Bucharest-Soldat Ghivan 13 Davideni 13 Davideni 36 Davideni 39 Dulceanca 3/1 Borşeni 10 Haloch 1 Semenky 1 Dănceni 11 Davideni 10 Selişte 13

3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 or 5 5 5 5 5 or 6 6 7 7

Finger impressions

Finger impressions Radial ornament

Notches on the lip

Finger impressions

7 8 9 9 10 10 10 11 12 Over 15

Notches on the lip

160

Social Identity on the Platter

Table 3: The position in which clay pans have been found on sixth and seventh century settlement sites. Feature

Biliaivka 3 Biliaivka 4 Borşeni 1 Borşeni 2 Borşeni 7 Borşeni 8 Davideni 33 Davideni 37 Gordineşti 1 Gropşani 6 Gropşani 7 Hlyboka 23 Hlyboka 24 Kavetchina 29 Khyttsi XII Khyttsi XIII Kodin I/2 Kodin II/19 Kolochin 2 Lăpuşel 1 Lazuri 52 Lozna 1 Lozna 6 Lozna 11 Lozna 21 Lozna 36 Nezvys’ka 13 Obukhiv 27 Obukhiv 30 Pariivka 1 Pen’kivka I/13 Pen’kivka I/18 Pen’kivka I/19 Pen’kivka II/1 Pen’kivka II/13 Pidbirtsi Poluzir’ia 1 Popina 11 Popina 31 Popina 49 Purkarec II/89 Sighişoara 3 Sokil 13 Sokil 17 Sokil 19 Skybyntsi 2 Sukha Gomol’sha 5 Tselihov Buhor 1 Zanky A Zanky B Bacău 5 Bacău 6 Kavetchina 2 Kodin 11 Kodin 13 Pen’kivka I/17 Pen’kivka I/24 Pen’kivka II/5 Pen’kivka II/7 Popina 1 Popina 10 Rashkiv 56 Filiaş 15 Moleşti 1 Samchyntsi 1 Davideni 31

Position

In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit In the filling of the house pit House floor House floor House floor House floor House floor House floor House floor House floor House floor House floor House floor House floor Near the oven Near the oven Near the oven On the hearth

161

Florin Curta Davideni 58 Bacău 9 Bobshiv 7 Borşeni 9 Bucharest-Băneasa 7 Bucharest-Băneasa 8 Davideni 22 Davideni 34 Davideni 35 Davideni 42 Davideni 45 Gropşani 15 Hlyboka 21 Insula Banului A Ivancea 1 Kodin I/11 Kodin II/6 Kodin II/12 Lazuri 1a Lozna 7 Lozna 8 Nezvys’ka 10 Pen’kivka 6 Poian 7 Semenky 2 Semenky 26 Vânători 2 Vlădiceni

On the hearth On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven On the hearth of the oven

162

Social Identity on the Platter Table 4: Animal bones in assemblages associated with clay pans (species by percentages). Assemblage

Cattle

Bucharest-Ciurel 7 Bucharest-Ciurel 8 Davideni 25

50

Sheep/Goat

Pig

Dog

Horse

Boar

Deer

Elk

Birds

50

66.7

6.7

20

66.7

8.3

16.7

Davideni 30

11.8

23.5

47

Davideni 31

18.2

63.6

9

Davideni 35

41.7

33.3

8.3

Davideni 36

56.5

14.5

21

Davideni 37

71.2

5.8

15.4

Davideni 69

63.6

8

24.7

Davideni 70

52.9

11.7

17.6

Davideni 71

79.3

17.2

3.4

Davideni, oven 7

100

Dulceanca II/3

100

Dulceanca II/9

100

Gutinaş 3

73.9

4.3

13

Horosheva 5

14

14

72

Kodin 19

100

Lazuri 1a

56.3

25

6.3

Lazuri 52

66.7

33.3

Vlădiceni

20

20

6.7 8.3 17.6 9 16.7 6.5

1.6

7.7 0.6 11.7

8.7

12.5

60

163

3 5.9

Florin Curta APPENDIX Early clay pans: a catalogue 1. 2. 3. 4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11. 12.

13.

14.

Angheluş, Covasna county (Romania), house 3; found together with handmade pottery; Székely 1992, 297; 296 fig. 33/B3.2. Bacău (Romania), house 5; found on the house’s floor together with handmade pottery; Mitrea/Artimon1971, 236; 243 fig. 14/3. Bacău (Romania), house 6; found on the floor of the house together with handmade pottery and a cast fibula with bent stem; Mitrea/Artimon1971, 236. Bacău (Romania), house 7; found on the floor of the house together with handmade pottery (one fragment of which has notches on the lip) and a bone needle; Mitrea/Artimon1971, 236 and 239. Bacău (Romania), house 9; fragments from 3 different specimens found on the hearth of the stone oven, together with handmade pottery (a fragment of which is decorated with a cross, while another has finger impressions on the lip); Mitrea/Artimon1971, 239; 243 fig. 14/1, 4, 6. Bakota, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, region of Khmel’nyts’kyi (Ukraine), house 1; fragments of 7 specimens (5 of which have finger impressions on the lip) found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and fragments of a tray; Prykhodniuk 1975, 84-85; 134 pl. XXIV/14-20. Bakota, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, region of Khmel’nyts’kyi (Ukraine), house 2; fragments of 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip), pottery thrown on a tournette, and a plowshare; Prykhodniuk 1975, 83-84; 132 pl. XXII/20-23. Bakota, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, region of Khmel’nyts’kyi (Ukraine), house 4; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with notches on the lip); Prykhodniuk 1975, 83; 133 pl. XXIII/7. Bakota, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, region of Khmel’nyts’kyi (Ukraine), house 22; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and wheel-made pottery (Gray Ware); Vynokur/Gorishniy 1994, 115 fig. 45/6. Bakota, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, region of Khmel’nyts’kyi (Ukraine), house 23; a fragment with finger impressions on the rim, found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Vynokur 1980, 870; 871 fig. 4/6. Balatonlelle, Somogy county (Hungary), house 1; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Skriba/Sófalvi 2004, 122-123; 134 fig. 14/3. Band, Mureş county (Romania), grave 24 (possibly a horse burial); found together with Red Ware (Roman pottery?) and an iron buckle with rectangular plate; Kovács 1913, 405; 305 fig. 27/1. Běchovice, district of Praha-východ (Czech Republic), house O55; a whole specimen and fragments of 2 other specimens found together with handmade pottery (including 2 fragments with stamped decoration); Vencl 1973, 351-352; 354, 356, and 362; 57 fig. 12/7; 358 fig. 13/8, 12; 363 fig. 17/8. Bernashivka, near Mohyliv-Podil’s’kyi, Vinnytsia

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

23.

24. 25. 26. 27.

164

region (Ukraine), house 34; found together with handmade pottery and an awl; Vynokur 1997, 34; 36 fig. 5/2. Biliaivka, near Oleksandriia, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 3; found in the filling of the house pit together with handmade pottery; Prykhodniuk 1990, 86. Biliaivka, near Oleksandriia, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 4; found in the filling of the house pit together with handmade pottery; Prykhodniuk 1990, 86; 106 fig. 11/2. Bobshiv, near Halych, Ivano-Frankivs’ke region (Ukraine), house 7; fragments of 2 specimens (one of which has finger impressions on the lip) found inside the stone oven, together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip); Baran 1972, 150-152; 152 fig. 37/11, 12. Bobshiv, near Halych, Ivano-Frankivs’ke region (Ukraine), pit 50; fragments of 4 specimens (one of which has finger impressions on the lip) found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Baran 1972, 153; 154 fig. 38/4-7. Borşeni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 1; fragments from 3 specimens found in the filling of the house pit together with handmade pottery, a spindle whorl, and pottery thrown on a tournette; Mitrea/Dumitroaia/Ciubotaru 1997, 167 and 169; 176 fig. 29/6-8. Borşeni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 2; found in the filling of the house pit together with handmade pottery, a spindle whorl, and pottery thrown on a tournette; Mitrea/Dumitroaia/Ciubotaru 1997, 169; 176 fig. 29/10. Borşeni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 7; found in the filling of the pit together with hand- and wheelmade pottery; Mitrea/Dumitroaia/Ciubotaru 1997, 169 and 171; 178 fig. 30/17. Borşeni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 8; fragments from 10 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including pottery thrown on a tournette), a crucible, as well as two spindle whorls; Mitrea/Dumitroaia/Ciubotaru 1997, 171 and 173; 176 fig. 29/15; 178 fig. 30/14; 181 fig. 32/3-9; 183 fig. 33/12. Borşeni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 9; found inside the stone oven together with handmade pottery, fragment of a clay tray, and pottery thrown on a tournette; Mitrea/Dumitroaia/Ciubotaru 1997, 175; 180 fig. 31/13. Botoşana, Suceava county (Romania), house 6; found together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Teodor 1984a, 26-27. Botoşana, Suceava county (Romania), house 8; found together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Teodor 1984a, 28. Botoşana, Suceava county (Romania), house 12; found together with handmade pottery, 2 spindle whorls, and an awl; Teodor 1984a, 30-31. Botoşana, Suceava county (Romania), house 13; fragments from 2 different specimens found together with handmade pottery, a spindle whorl, an awl, and a

Social Identity on the Platter

28.

29. 30. 31. 32.

33.

34. 35.

36.

37.

38.

39.

40.

41.

42. 43. 44.

coin struck for Justinian in Constantinople, 527-538; Teodor 1984a, 31; 128 fig. 49/1, 3. Botoşana, Suceava county (Romania), house 15; found together with wheel-made pottery, a spindle whorl, a whetstone, and fragments of loom weights; Teodor 1984a, 32-33; 122 fig. 43/5. Botoşana, Suceava county (Romania), house 22; found together with handmade pottery, a spindle whorl, and 2 whetstones; Teodor 1984a, 37-38. Botoşana, Suceava county (Romania), house 26; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a whetstone; Teodor 1984a, 40. Botoşana, Suceava county (Romania), house 29; found together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Teodor 1984a, 42. Botoşana, Suceava county (Romania), house 30; fragments from 2 different specimens (one of which has a handle on the side) found together with wheelmade pottery, a knife, 2 whetstones, and loom weight; Teodor 1984a, 42-43; 128 fig. 49/2, 6. Bratei, Sibiu county (Romania), house 7a; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, fragments from 2 double-sided combs, and a lamp; Zaharia 1994-1995, 305; 348 fig. 12/21. Bratei, Sibiu county (Romania), pit 21; found together with wheel-made pottery (Gray Ware); Bârzu19941995, 268. Brăteştii de Sus, Dâmboviţa county (Romania), house; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, a knife, and a spindle whorl; Tudor/Chicideanu 1977, 136-137 and 146. Březno, district of Louny (Czech Republic), house 11; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 3 spindle whorls; Pleinerová 1975, 103 pl. 31/7. Bucharest-Băneasa (Romania), house 1 (which has been repaired, and has 2 clay ovens); found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pots thrown on a tournette), as well as clay rolls; Constantiniu 1965a, 89, 89-90, and 92. Bucharest-Băneasa (Romania), house 3 (which has been repaired); found together with hand- and wheelmade pottery (including an amphora handle), as well as clay rolls; Constantiniu 1965a, 79 and 90-91. Bucharest-Băneasa (Romania), house 5 (which has been repaired); found together with hand- and wheelmade pottery (including fragments of pots thrown on a tournette); Constantiniu 1965a, 79 and 92. Bucharest-Băneasa (Romania), house 7b (which has been repaired twice repaired); found inside one of the two clay ovens built during the first repair of the house, together with handmade pottery; Constantiniu 1965a, 79. Bucharest-Băneasa (Romania), house 8 (which has been repaired); found inside one of the two clay ovens, together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as clay rolls; Constantiniu 1965a, 79. Bucharest-Băneasa (Romania), house 11 (which has been repaired); found together with handmade pottery; Constantiniu 1965a, 79. Bucharest-Băneasa (Romania), house 12 (which has been repaired); found together with hand- and wheelmade pottery; Constantiniu 1965a, 79. Bucharest-Calea Victoriei (Romania), house 6; found together with handmade pottery; Teodor 2005a, 181182; pl. I/6.

45. Bucharest-Ciurel (Romania), house B1A; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette), a spindle whorl, and a fragment of a tray; Dolinescu-Ferche 1979, 185; 201-205; 187 fig. 2/9. 46. Bucharest-Ciurel (Romania), house B1B; fragments from 4 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip) and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette), a whetstone, and 2 clay rolls Dolinescu-Ferche 1979, 185-188, 207, 209; 193 fig. 8/5, 9, 12; 194 fig. 9/5. 47. Bucharest-Ciurel (Romania), house B2A; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip and with incised crosses) and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette), a spindle whorl, and 8 clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1979, 185, 206-207; 189 fig. 4/18. 48. Bucharest-Ciurel (Romania), house 4 (which has been repaired); found together with hand-and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette); Dolinescu-Ferche 1979, 194-196, 210211; 197 fig. 13/10. 49. Bucharest-Ciurel (Romania), house 7 (which has been repaired); found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip) and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette), as well as clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1979, 196-198, 212-213, 216; 202 fig. 18/8. 50. Bucharest-Ciurel (Romania), house 8 (which has been repaired); found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment of a chalice) and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette), 2 spindle whorls, a knife, an arrow head, and 5 clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1979, 198-200, 213-215, 216; 203 fig. 20/9. 51. Bucharest-Militari (Romania), house 3; found together with handmade pottery and clay rolls; Zirra/Cazimir 1963, 56 and 60. 52. Bucharest-Militari (Romania), house 24; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a whetstone; Negru 2002, 58-59 and 63-70; 67 fig. 6/3. 53. Bucharest-Soldat Ghivan Street (Romania), house 13; fragments from 7 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette, and a fragment of an amphora), as well as the fragment of a tray; Dolinescu-Ferche/Constantiniu 1981, 293, 297, 313, and 317; 315 fig. 13/8; 318 fig. 15/1-4, 6, 7. 54. Bucharest-Străuleşti-Măicăneşti (Romania), house 8; found together with handmade pottery (including a pot with an incised cross) and wheel-made pottery, as well as a fragment of a tray; Constantiniu 1965b, 174, 176, 184 and 187. 55. Budureasca, Prahova county (Romania), house 23; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (a fragment of an amphora); Teodorescu et al. 1999, 95. 56. Cernat, Covasna county (Romania), house 1; found together with handmade pottery and spindle whorl; Székely 1992, 281; 282 fig. 23/B1.2. 57. Cernat, Covasna county (Romania), house 3; fragments from 2 specimens found together with wheel-made pottery and a spindle whorl; Székely 1992, 281; 283 fig. 24/2, 3.

165

Florin Curta 58. Chornivka, near Novoselitsia, Chernivtsi region (Ukraine), house 5; found together with handmade pottery and a “Slavic” bow fibula; Timoshchuk/Rusanova/Mikhailina 1981, 91 and fig. 8/5. 59. Chwałków, near Wałbrzych, Lower Silesia (Poland), house O9; found together with handmade pottery; Lodowski 1981, 156-157; 154 fig. 5/j. 60. Ciorteşti, Iaşi county (Romania), complex; whole specimen found together with handmade pottery (including a pot with notches on the lip); Iconomu 1991, 109-110; 111 fig. 2/6; 112 fig. 3/6. 61. Corpaci, Ediniţa district (Republic of Moldova), house; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette; Tel'nov 1985, 104-105. 62. Cristuru Secuiesc, Harghita county (Romania), house 1; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette; Székely 1988, 178; fig. 19/4. 63. Cucorăni, Botoşani county (Romania), house 2; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip); Teodor 1975, 151, 154; 200 fig. 61/46; 201 fig. 62/6. 64. Cucorăni, Botoşani county (Romania), house 17; found together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Teodor 1975, 151; 201 fig. 62/7. 65. Cucorăni, Botoşani county (Romania), house 19; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip), 3 spindle whorls, a glass bead, and a crucible; Teodor 1975, 151-152; 199 fig. 60/8, 11, and 14. 66. Cucorăni, Botoşani county (Romania), house 20; found together with handmade pottery (including fragment with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and 2 spindle whorls; Teodor 1975, 152; 199 fig. 60/15. 67. Dănceni, Ialoveni district (Republic of Moldova), house 1; fragments from 11 specimens found together with handmade pottery, a spindle whorl, a whetstone, 3 antler awls, a clay lump (“breadcake”), and a bone needle; Rafalovich/Gol'ceva 1981, 132. 68. Dănceni, Ialoveni district (Republic of Moldova), oven 1; found together with handmade pottery; Rafalovich/Gol'ceva 1981, 128-131. 69. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 1; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and with wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 2001, 37-38; 343 fig. 82/8. 70. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 2; found together with handmade pottery and with wheel-made pottery, as well as a knife; Mitrea 2001, 38-39; 343 fig. 82/9. 71. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 3; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with an incised cross) and with wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 2001, 39-40; 349 fig. 88/12. 72. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 4; found together with handmade pottery and with wheel-made pottery, 3 spindle whorls, and a knife; Mitrea 2001, 40-41. 73. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 5; found together with handmade pottery and with wheel-made

74. 75.

76.

77.

78.

79.

80.

81.

82. 83.

84.

85.

86.

87.

166

pottery, as well as a bone needle and a knife; Mitrea 2001, 41-42; 345 fig. 84/14. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 7; found together with handmade pottery and a loom weight; Mitrea 2001, 43-44. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 8; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, as well as a knife; Mitrea 1974-1976, 67, 70; fig. 5/5; fig. 12/6. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 9; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Mitrea 1974-1976, 67, 73-75, 77; fig. 11/11. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 10; fragments from 12 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and wheel-pottery with combed decoration, as well as 2 bone needles and a spindle whorl; Mitrea 2001, 46-48; 344 fig. 83/10-15; 345 fig. 84/10-11; 347 fig. 86/7-9, 12. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 13; fragments from 7 specimens (one of which has notches on the lip) found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, 2 bone needles, a spindle whorl, fragments of a tray, and a three-edged arrow head; Mitrea 1974-1976, 67, 70, 73-74; fig. 12/7; Mitrea 2001, 50-51; 344 fig. 83/14; 345 fig. 84/12, 13, 15; 351 fig. 90/15; 352 fig. 91/16. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 16; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, a knife, an iron fibula with bent stem, and a pectoral cross; Mitrea 2001, 53-54. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 18; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip); Mitrea 2001, 55; 354 fig. 93/14. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 19; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 2001, 55-57; 352 fig. 91/14; 354 fig. 93/16. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 21; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 2001, 58; 354 fig. 93/11. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 22; fragment of a specimen with finger impressions on the lip found inside the stone oven together with handmade pottery, 3 knives, and wheel-made pottery (in the filling of the pit house); Mitrea 2001, 58-59. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 23; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip), a fragment of a tray, and a bone needle; Mitrea 2001, 59-60. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 24; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery and the fragment of a tray; Mitrea 2001, 60-61; 354 fig. 93/13; 362 fig. 101/18. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 25; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a crucible; Mitrea 2001, 61-63; 359 fig. 98/5, 6. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 27; fragments from 4 specimens (one of which is decorated with a radial ornament) found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, 2 bone needles, a knife, and a fragment of a double-sided comb; Mitrea

Social Identity on the Platter

88.

89.

90.

91.

92.

93.

94.

95.

96. 97.

98.

99.

2001, 64-66; 360 fig. 99/5, 7; 363 fig. 102/9; 364 fig. 103/9. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 28; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a spindle whorl; Mitrea 1992, 211-212; fig. 12/10; Mitrea 2001, 66-67; 99/8. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 30; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, as well as a fragment of a tray; Mitrea 2001, 68-69 and 209. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 31; fragments from 2 specimens found on the hearth together with handmade pottery, 2 spindle whorls, and a bone needle; Mitrea 2001, 69-70 and 229. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 33; fragments from 5 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with hand- and wheel-made made pottery, 2 spindle whorls, a crucible, and mould for dress accessories; Mitrea 1994, 285, 287 şi 289; 304 fig. 13/14; Mitrea 2001, 71-72; 363 fig. 102/3, 5, 8; 364 fig. 103/10; 367 fig. 106/38. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 34; fragments from 3 specimens found inside the stone oven together with handmade pottery; Mitrea 1994, 289; 310 fig. 16/4; 318 fig. 20/7; Mitrea 2001, 72-73; 362 fig. 101/20. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 35; fragments from 2 specimens found inside the stone oven together with handmade pottery (including fragments with notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, as well as 2 knives; Mitrea 1994, 289; 310 fig. 16/4; 318 fig. 20/7; Mitrea 2001, 72-73; 362 fig. 101/20. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 36; fragments from 8 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, a spindle whorl, a crucible, and a mould for dress accessories; Mitrea 1994, 293 and 295; 304 fig. 13/4, 7, 18, 19, 25; 305 fig. 14/24, 25; 318 fig. 20/6; Mitrea 2001, 75-76; 368 fig. 107/8. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 37; fragments from 5 or 6 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 1994, 293 and 295; 304 fig. 13/2, 3, 6, 10, 16, 20, 24, 28; 310 fig. 16/9; 314 fig. 18/6; Mitrea 2001, 76-78; 367 fig. 106/24, 25; 368 fig. 107/14. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 38; found together with handmade pottery; Mitrea 2001, 78-79. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 39; fragments from 9 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, an arrow head, a knife, a spindle whorl, a crucible, and a flint steel; Mitrea 1994, 299, 301 şi 303; 304 fig. 13/3; 320 fig. 21/7; 321 fig. 22/5. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 40; fragments from 4 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 1994, 303 şi 305; 320 fig. 21/6; 321 fig. 22/6. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 41; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, a bone needle, a fragment of a double-sided comb, and a “Slavic” bow

fibula; Mitrea 1994, 305 şi 307; 321 fig. 22/7, 9. 100. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 42; fragments from 2 specimens found on the hearth of one of the two stone ovens, together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, as well as 2 spindle whorls; Mitrea 2001, 83-85; 375 fig. 114/9; 377 fig. 116/16. 101. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 43; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Mitrea 2001, 85-86; 375 fig. 114/8, 12. 102. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 45; fragment with notches on the lip found on the hearth of the clay oven together with handmade pottery; Mitrea 2001, 86-87; 371 fig. 110/15. 103. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 46; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and 2 spindle whorls; Mitrea 2001, 87-88; 375 fig. 114/6. 104. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 47; found together with hand-and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 2001, 88-89. 105. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 48; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, a knife, 4 spindle whorls, an earring, and a bronze button; Mitrea 2001, 89-91; 378 fig. 117/7. 106. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 50; fragments from 3 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a spindle whorl; Mitrea 2001, 91-92; 376 fig. 115/7-9. 107. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 51; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, a spindle whorl, and a cast fibula with bent stem; Mitrea 2001, 92-93; 378 fig. 117/14. 108. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 52; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a strainer; Mitrea 2001, 93-94; 378 fig. 117/5. 109. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 53; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 2001, 94-95. 110. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 57; fragments from 6 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as fragments from 2 double-sided combs and a spindle whorl; Mitrea 2001, 98-99; 379 fig. 118/14; 380 fig. 119/6, 7; 381 fig. 120/4, 10, 14. 111. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 58; found on the hearth together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (a fragment of an amphora) and a “Slavic” bow fibula; Mitrea 1994-1995, 446. 112. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 59; found together with handmade pottery; Mitrea 2001, 100101; 382 fig. 121/11. 113. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 60; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 2001, 101; 382 fig. 121/12. 114. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 61; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a fragment of a double-sided comb and 3 spindle whorls; Mitrea 2001, 101-103; 384 fig. 123/6. 115. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 62; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as an antler awl; Mitrea 2001, 172-173; 398 fig. 137/6; 399 fig. 138/6, 8. 116. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 63;

167

Florin Curta fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made (including a fragment thrown on a tournette); Mitrea 2001, 103-105; 384 fig. 123/78. 117. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 64; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Mitrea 2001, 105-106; 385 fig. 124/11; 386 fig. 125/17. 118. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 66; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of Gray Ware with burnished ornament), a knife, 2 spindle whorls, and 2 loom weights; Mitrea 2001, 107-109; 385 fig. 124/12. 119. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 67; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, a glass bracelet, a glass bead, and a knife; Mitrea 2001, 109111. 120. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 69; fragments from 4 or 5 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, as well as a knife, a bone awl, and a bone needle; Mitrea 2001, 111-113; 386 fig. 125/15; 387 fig. 126/6, 10, 11. 121. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 70; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 2001, 113-114. 122. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 71 (which has been repaired); fragments from 4 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, a fragment of a fibula and an antler awl; Mitrea 2001, 114-117; 388 fig. 127/8, 11; 391 fig. 130/11; 394 fig. 133/17. 123. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 72; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a knife and an iron fibula with bent stem; Mitrea 2001, 117-119. 124. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 73; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora), as well as 3 bone needles and 2 spindle whorls; Mitrea 2001, 119120; 392 fig. 131/13. 125. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 74; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a knife, 2 spindle whorls, and a fragment of a sickle; Mitrea 2001, 120-121; 392 fig. 131/14, 15. 126. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), house 75; fragments from 4 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a ladle and an iron fibula with bent stem; Mitrea 2001, 121-122; 389 fig. 128/13-14; 392 fig. 131/10, 16. 127. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), oven 1; found together with handmade pottery with notches on the lip and wheel-made pottery, as well as the fragment of a tray; Mitrea 2001, 122; 393 fig. 132/14. 128. Davideni, Neamţ county (Romania), oven 7; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea 2001, 124. 129. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), house 1; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, 40 clay rolls and a fragment of a tray; DolinescuFerche 1986b 123-124, 131-132; 134 fig. 7/5-8. 130. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), house 2; fragments from 4 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip and on the shoulder of the vessel) and wheel-made pottery, as well as clay rolls;

Dolinescu-Ferche 1986b, 124, 130-132; 135 fig. 8/1417. 131. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), house 3; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1986b, 124; 130-132; 136 fig. 9/6, 7. 132. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), house 9; fragments from 4 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and wheel-made pottery; Dolinescu-Ferche 1986b, 124; 130-132; 142 fig. 15/11-14. 133. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), house 17; fragments from 3 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a glass bead with eye-shaped inlays, a spindle whorl, 2 whestones, a fragment of a tray, and clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1986b, 128; 130-132; 148 fig. 21/9-11. 134. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), oven A; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1986b, 128; 130-131; 150 fig. 23/10, 15. 135. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), house 1 (which has been repaired); fragments from 9 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of amphorae), a whetstone, 2 knives, and a fragment of a sickle; Dolinescu-Ferche 1992, 128; 137 fig. 6/2-4, 6-7, 1014. 136. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), house 5; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora), 5 whetstones, and clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1992, 128 and 130; 142 fig. 11/4. 137. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), house 11; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (a fragment of an amphora), a knife, and a spindle whorl; DolinescuFerche 1992, 131; 144 fig. 13/16-17. 138. Dulceanca, Teleorman county (Romania), pit 2; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1992, 128; 140 fig. 9/7. 139. Filiaş, Harghita country (Romania), house 15; found near the stone oven, together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a bone awl; Székely 1974-1975, 38; pl. V/1. 140. Filiaş, Harghita country (Romania), house 34; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette); Székely 1974-1975, 41. 141. Forostovychi, near Novhorod-Sivers’kyi, Chernihiv region (Ukraine), house; fragments of 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip); Symonovich 1969, 88; 90 fig. 2. 142. Garvan, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 12; found together with handmade pottery, a bone awl, a whetstone, and a clay lump (“breadcake”); Văzharova 1986, 87 and 90; 89 fig. 73/5. 143. Garvan, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 13; found together with handmade pottery, a whetstone, a bone awl, a knife, a spindle whorl, a fragment of a quern, and a fishing net weight; Văzharova 1986, 90; 91 fig.

168

Social Identity on the Platter 76/8. 144. Garvan, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 17; found together with handmade pottery, a bone awl, and a spindle whorl; Văzharova 1986, 98-99; 99 fig. 86/7. 145. Garvan, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 50; found together with handmade pottery, 3 whetstones, 2 bone awls, a fishing net weight, a spindle whorl, and a clay lump (“breadcake”); Văzharova 1986, 123 and fig. 120/8. 146. Garvan, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 67; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip), and a bone awl; Văzharova 1986, 137-140; 141 fig. 143/6. 147. Gordineşti, Ediniţa district (Republic of Moldova), house 1; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette with burnished ornament, as well as bone awl; Tel'nov 1985, 94-95. 148. Gordineşti, Ediniţa district (Republic of Moldova), house 4; found together with handmade pottery, as well as 2 spindle whorls; Tel'nov 1985, 91-92. 149. Gordineşti, Ediniţa district (Republic of Moldova), house 5; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 2 spindle whorls; Tel'nov 1985, 96-97 and 99. 150. Gordineşti, Ediniţa district (Republic of Moldova), house 6; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a spindle whorl; Tel'nov 1985, 99-100; 102 fig. 7/2. 151. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 6; found in the filling of the pit together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including fragments of pottery thrown on a tournette), and fragments of knives and a glass bracelet; Popilian/Nica 1998, 19-20; 167 fig. 15/7. 152. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 7; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery and of pottery thrown on a tournette; Popilian/Nica 1998, 20-21. 153. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 8; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including pottery thrown on a tournette), a spindle whorl, and clay rolls; Popilian/Nica 1998, 21-22; 168 fig. 16/7. 154. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 10; fragments from 2 specimens found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora and pottery thrown on a tournette), a fragment of a loom weight and a clay roll; Popilian/Nica 1998, 23-25; 167 fig. 17/5, 7. 155. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 11; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including pottery thrown on a tournette), a fragment of a knife, and clay rolls; Popilian/Nica 1998, 25-26. 156. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 12; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including pottery thrown on a tournette), and clay rolls; Popilian/Nica 1998, 26-28. 157. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 13; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a ladle; Popilian/Nica 1998, 28-29; 158 fig. 6; 172 fig. 20/1-3. 158. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 14; found

together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including pottery thrown on a tournette); Popilian/Nica 1998, 29-30. 159. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 15; found on the hearth of the clay oven together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, a whetstone, 2 spindle whorls, and clay rolls; Popilian/Nica 1998, 30-31. 160. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 16; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as clay rolls; Popilian/Nica 1998, 31-32. 161. Gropşani, Olt county (Romania), house 17; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a spindle whorl, a plowshare, and clay rolls; Popilian/Nica 1998, 32-33. 162. Gutinaş, Bacău county (Romania), house 3; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a knife; Mitrea/Eminovici/Momanu 1986-1987, 222-223; 245 fig. 12/8. 163. Gutinaş, Bacău county (Romania), house 5; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Mitrea/Eminovici/Momanu 1986-1987, 224-225; 247 fig. 14/5. 164. Haloch, near Uzhhorod, Zakarpats’ka region (Ukraine), house 1; fragments from 10 specimens found together with handmade pottery, 2 spindle whorls, 2 whetstones, and a loom weight; Peniak 1986, 275-276; 276 fig. 1/4-6. 165. Hansca, district of Ialoveni (Republic of Moldova), house 11; a fragment of a specimen with finger impressions on the lip found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip), pottery thrown on a tournette, a clay figurine, a spindle whorl, and 2 bone awls; Tel'nov/Riaboi 1985, 114 and 117; 116 fig. 6/5. 166. Hansca, district of Ialoveni (Republic of Moldova), house 14; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora) and a “Slavic” bow fibula; Rafalovich 1968a, 97 and 100. 167. Hansca, Ialoveni district (Republic of Moldova), house 20; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impresssions and notches on the lip) and 2 equal-arm fibulae; Rafalovich 1972b, pp. 199-200. 168. Hlincea, Iaşi county (Romania), house 1; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip); no author 1953, 326-327; 324 fig. 11/5. 169. Hlyboka, Chernivtsi region (Ukraine), house 4; fragments of 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with notches on the lip); Vakulenko 1974, 242-243; 245 fig. 3/5, 6. 170. Hlyboka, Chernivtsi region (Ukraine), house 19; fragments of 2 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with notches on the lip), a knife and a spindle whorl; Vakulenko 1974, 244; 245 fig. 3/22, 23. 171. Hlyboka, Chernivtsi region (Ukraine), house 21; fragments of 2 specimens found on the hearth of the stone oven together with handmade pottery (wheelmade pottery was found inside the clay oven); Vakulenko 1974, 246; 247 fig. 4/6, 7. 172. Hlyboka, Chernivtsi region (Ukraine), house 23; fragments of 2 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery and 2 spindle whorls; Vakulenko 1974, 246 and 248; 245 fig. 3/32, 33.

169

Florin Curta 173. Hlyboka, Chernivtsi region (Ukraine), house 24; fragments of 2 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery; Vakulenko 1974, 248; 245 fig. 3/34. 174. Horecha, in Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 24; found together with handmade pottery; Timoshchuk 1976, 150; 20 fig. 7/6. 175. Horecha, in Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 25; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery; Timoshchuk 1976, 150; 20 fig. 7/7. 176. Horodok, Khmelnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house 2; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with notches on the lip), a knife and a spindle whorl; Vynokur/Prykhodniuk 1974, 236 fig. 5/6. 177. Horodok, Ryvne region (Ukraine), house 3; found together with handmade pottery and a knife; Baran 1972, 159; 161 fig. 42/3. 178. Horoshova, near Borshchyv, Ternopil region (Ukraine), house 5; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip); Baran/Pachkova 1975, 88-89. 179. Horoshova, near Borshchyv, Ternopil region (Ukraine), house 7; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery and a knife; Baran/Pachkova 1975, 88-89. 180. Iaşi (Romania), house; found together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Teodor 1971, 120; 128 fig. 4/4. 181. Iaşi (Romania), house 8; found together with handand wheel-made pottery; Ioniţă 1982, 567 and 569. 182. Iaşi (Romania), house 13; found together with handmade pottery; Ioniţă 1982, 567 and 569. 183. Iaşi (Romania), pit 3; found together with handmade pottery; Ioniţă 1982, 567 and 569. 184. Iaşi (Romania), pit 10; found together with handmade pottery; Ioniţă 1982, 567 and 569. 185. Iaşi (Romania), pit 11; found together with handmade pottery; Ioniţă 1982, 567 and 569. 186. Insula Banului, Dolj county (Romania), house A; fragment of a specimen with notches on the lip found on the hearth of the stone oven, together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a knife; Diaconu/Roman 1967, 3-5. 187. Iosypivka, near Mahdalynivka, Dnipropetrovs’ke region (Ukraine), house 4; fragments of 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Prykhodniuk 1990, 94; 101 fig. 6/13, 14. 188. Ivancea, Orhei district (Republic of Moldova), house 1; whole specimen found on the hearth of the stone oven, together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 3 bone awls; Vlasenko 1985, 146-147; 142 fig. 1/7. 189. Ivancea, Orhei district (Republic of Moldova), pit 1; fragments of 2 speciments found together with handmade pottery and a bone needle; Vlasenko 1985, 145. 190. Izvoare, Neamţ county (Romania), house 7; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, a knife, 2 spindle whorls; Mitrea 1998, 36-37; 39 fig. 23/6-8. 191. Izvoare, Neamţ county (Romania), house 20; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Mitrea, 1978, 207; 237 fig. 7/5; Mitrea 1998, 30-31;

137 fig. 21/5, 7. 192. Izvoare, Neamţ county (Romania), house 27; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a fragment of a tray; Mitrea 1998, 67-68; 155 fig. 39/10, 11 193. Izvoare, Neamţ county (Romania), house 29; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Mitrea 1998, 68-69; 157 fig. 41/9. 194. Izvoare, Neamţ county (Romania), house 30; whole specimen and fragment from another specimen found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip), a earring, a knife, 4 bone awls, and a fragment of a tray; Mitrea 1998, 69-70; 157 fig. 41/10; 160 fig. 44/7. 195. Izvoare, Neamţ county (Romania), house 32; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Mitrea 1998, 71; 158 fig. 42/10. 196. Izvoare, Neamţ county (Romania), hearth 2; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip); Mitrea 1998, 39. 197. Izvoare, Neamţ county (Romania), hearth 6; found together with handmade pottery; Mitrea 1998, 38. 198. Kadaň, district of Chomutov (Czech Republic), house 9; found together with handmade pottery; Bubeník 1972, 376; 377 fig. 3/1. 199. Kavetchina, near Kamianets’ Podil’s’kyi, Khmel’nitskyi region (Ukraine), house 2; fragments from 2 specimens found on the floor of the house together with handmade pottery and wheel-made pottery (in the filling of the house, including fragments of an amphora), as well as a knife and an antler awl; Vakulenko/Prykhodniuk 1984, 62 and 75; 46 fig. 21/26-27. 200. Kavetchina, near Kamianets’ Podil’s’kyi, Khmel’nitskyi region (Ukraine), house 29; fragments of 3 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery, as well as a knife, a bone awl, and a bone needle; Vakulenko/Prykhodniuk 1984, 82; 58 fig. 33/14. 201. Kavetchina, near Kamianets’ Podil’s’kyi, Khmel’nitskyi region (Ukraine), pit 20; found together with handmade pottery and a fragment of a sickle; Vakulenko/Prykhodniuk 1984, 85; 62 fig. 35/16. 202. Khyttsi, near Lubny, Poltava region (Ukraine), house IV; found together with handmade pottery; Goriunov 1981a, 117. 203. Khyttsi, near Lubny, Poltava region (Ukraine), house VI; found together with handmade pottery, a knife, a spindle whorl, 2 whetstones, and a bow reinforcement plate; Goriunov 1981a, 117-118; 120 fig. 43/7. 204. Khyttsi, near Lubny, Poltava region (Ukraine), house VIII; found together with handmade pottery (including a chalice) and a spindle whorl; Goriunov 1981a, 119; 122 fig. 46/15. 205. Khyttsi, near Lubny, Poltava region (Ukraine), house X; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip), a spindle whorl, a whetstone, a bone awl, a clay lump (“breadcake”), and clay rolls; Goriunov 1981a, 120; 124 fig. 48/2. 206. Khyttsi, near Lubny, Poltava region (Ukraine), house XI; fragments of 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery and a whetstone; Goriunov 1981a, 122; 125 fig. 49/1-2.

170

Social Identity on the Platter 207. Khyttsi, near Lubny, Poltava region (Ukraine), house XII; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip), 3 spindle whorls, a whetstone, and a fragment of a quern; Goriunov 1981a, pp. 122-123; 126 fig. 50/3. 208. Khyttsi, near Lubny, Poltava region (Ukraine), house XIII; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery, a spindle whorl and two bone awls; Goriunov 1981a, 123-124; 126 fig. 51/14. 209. Khyttsi, near Lubny, Poltava region (Ukraine), Gr. 118; found together with handmade pottery; Goriunov 1981a, 124; 130 fig. 55/2. 210. Khyttsi, near Lubny, Poltava region (Ukraine), Gr. 122; found together with handmade pottery; Goriunov 1981a, 124; 130 fig. 55/1. 211. Kiev (Ukraine), house 26; found together with handmade pottery, as well as clay rolls; Shovkoplias/Gavritukhin 1993, 54; 55 fig. 2/12. 212. Kochubiivka, near Uman’, Cherkasy region (Ukraine), house 1; fragments from 2 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, a knife, a sickle, a bone awl, and a fragment of a bronze chain; Prykhodniuk 1990, 89-90; 103 fig. 8/14. 213. Kochubiivka, near Uman’, Cherkasy region (Ukraine), house 3; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a knife, and the fragment of a quern; Prykhodniuk 1990, 90; 104 fig. 9/14, 16. 214. Kochubiivka, near Uman’, Cherkasy region (Ukraine), house 4; found together with handmade pottery, a spindle whorl, a bone awl, and a whetstone; Prykhodniuk 1990, 90-91; 104 fig. 9/15. 215. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 2; fragments from 2 specimens (one of which is decorated with finger-impressions on the lip) found in the filling of the pit, together with handmade pottery, and a fragment of a tray; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 46; 73 pl. 12/10. 216. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 11; fragments from 4 specimens found on the floor of the house and inside the stone oven together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, as well as 3 spindle whorls; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 29 and 48-49; 74 fig. 15/7-10. 217. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 13; found on the floor of the house together with handmade pottery (a fragment with finger impressions on the lip comes from the filling of the pit) and wheel-made pottery (in the filling of the pit), as well as 3 whetstones; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 49; 75 pl. 16/3. 218. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 17; found together with handmade pottery and wheel-made pottery (in the filling of the pit); Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 50; 75 pl. 17/11. 219. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 20; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery, and a whetstone; I Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 34 and 51; 76 pl. 18/5, 6, 9. 220. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 22; found together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 51; 76

pl. 19/4. 221. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 23; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 51-52; 76 pl. 19/9-10. 222. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 27; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip); Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 52-53; 77pl. 21/14. 223. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 1; found together with handmade pottery, a spindle whorl, and a fragment of a tray; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 53. 224. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 2; found together with handmade pottery, a spindle whorl, and a fragment of a tray; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 54; 78 pl. 22/7. 225. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 5; fragment with notches on the lip found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip), 3 spindle whorls, and a fragment of a tray; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 54; 78 pl. 23/10. 226. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 6; found inside the stone oven together with handmade pottery; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 5455. 227. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 12; fragments from 2 specimens found inside one of the two stone ovens together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora), as well as a spindle whorl; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 36 and 56; 80 pl. 26/7, 8. 228. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 18; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip); Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 50-51; 75 pl. 17/18. 229. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 19; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impression on the lip), as well a whetstone; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 40 and 58; 81 pl. 28/17, 18. 230. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 27; found in the filling of the house pit together with handmade pottery; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 59; 82 pl. 30/10. 231. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 31; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, as well as a spindle whorl and a loom weight; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 60; 83 pl. 32/10. 232. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 34; found together with handmade pottery; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 61; 82 pl. 31/13. 233. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 36; found together with handmade pottery (a fragment with notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 61; 83 pl. 33/7. 234. Kodin, near Hlyboka, region of Chernivtsi (Ukraine), house 45; found together with handmade pottery; Rusanova/Timoshchuk 1984, 30 and 62; 84 pl. 35/8. 235. Kolochin, near Rechytsa, Homyel’ region (Belarus),

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Florin Curta house 2; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery, together with a knife and a glass bead; Symonovich 1963,123; 114 fig. 15/4. 236. Kupyn, near Horodok, Khmiel’nyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip); Prykhodniuk 1975, 102; 137 pl. XXVII/16. 237. Lazuri, in Satu Mare (Romania), house 1a; found on the hearth of the oven togethwer with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, a spindle whorl, a ladle, 9 clay lumps (“breadcake”), a fragment of a tray, and clay rolls; Stanciu 2011, 333-334; 641 pl. 31/6. 238. Lazuri, in Satu Mare (Romania), house 52; fragments of 2 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, a loom weight, 3 clay lumps (“breads”), and 15 clay rolls; Stanciu 2011, 355-356; 724 pl. 114/2, 3. 239. Levkyn Buhor, near Novhorod-Sivers’kyi, Chernihiv region (Ukraine), house; fragments of 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Symonovich 1969, 88; 90 fig. 2. 240. Logăneşti, Hânceşti district (Republic of Moldova), house 1; found together with handmade pottery; Chebotarenko/Tel'nov 1983, 88-89. 241. Lomnica, in Vranov nad Topľou (Slovakia), house O1/79; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a spindle whorl; Budinský-Kričká 1990, 98; pl. XXII/24, 26. 242. Lomnica, in Vranov nad Topľou (Slovakia), hearth O3/79; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Budinský-Kričká 1990, 98-99; pl. XXIV/14. 243. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 1; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Teodor 2011, 15; 187 fig. 104/11. 244. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 5; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery, 2 knives, a bone awl, and 2 spindle whorls; Teodor 2011, 17; 188 fig. 105/10. 245. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 6; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including pottery with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, 3 knives, several crucibles, 2 bone awls, and 2 spindle whorls; Teodor 2011, 17-188; 189 fig. 106/5. 246. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 7; found in one of the 2 clay oven together with handmade pottery (including pottery with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as several knives, several crucibles, a ladle, a mould for dress accessories, 5 bone awls, and 19 spindle whorls; Teodor 2011, 18; 185 fig. 102/1; 161 fig. 78/3. 247. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 8; found on the hearth of the clay oven together with handmade pottery (including pottery with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a knife, 14 bone awl, a fragment of a bronze chain, a mould for dress accessories, several crucibles, and 4 spindle whorls; Teodor 2011, 19; 188 fig. 105/7. 248. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 9; found on the house floor together with handmade pottery

(including pottery with finger impressions on the lip), as well as a knife, a bone awl, and 3 spindle whorls; Teodor 2011, 19; 186 fig. 103/5. 249. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 11; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including pottery with finger impressions on the lip), as well as a fragment of a sickle, 3 knives, 5 bone awls, and 2 spindle whorls; Teodor 2011, 20; 187 fig. 104/3. 250. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 16; found together with handmade pottery, as well as a bone awl, 3 spindle whorls, and a whetstone; Teodor 2011, 23; 186 fig. 103/3. 251. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 17; fragments of 3 specimens (one of which has finger impressions on the lip) found together with handmade pottery (including pottery with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 2 knives, a spear head, a three-edged arrow head, 7 bone awls, 2 spindle whorls, and a crucible; Teodor 2011, 23; 186 fig. 103/6; 187 fig. 104/7, 10. 252. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 18; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 2 spindle whorls, and a clay figurine; Teodor 2011, 24; 187 fig. 104/4. 253. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 20; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 2 knives, 2 bone awls, and 3 spindle whorls; Teodor 2011, 25; 185 fig. 102/2; 187 fig. 104/3, 4. 254. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 21; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 3 knives, an arrow head, a glass bead, 2 bone awls, 3 spindle whorls, and 2 crucibles; Teodor 2011, 26; 185 fig. 102/4. 255. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 23; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 2 knives, 2 spindle whorls, and a spear head; Teodor 2011, 27; 187 fig. 104/9. 256. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 24; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 2 bone awls, 2 spindle whorls, a glass bead, and 2 clay figurines; Teodor 2011, 27; 187 fig. 104/2, 8, 12. 257. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 25; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 2 knives, an arrow head, 7 bone awls, 5 spindle whorls, and 2 whetstones; Teodor 2011, 28; 187 fig. 104/1. 258. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 26; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 3 bone awls, 2 spindle whorls, and a whetstone; Teodor 2011, 28; 164 fig. 81/5. 259. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 36; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 2

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Social Identity on the Platter knives, a spindle whorl, 2 clay figurines, a bone awl, and two clay lumps (“beadcake”); Teodor 2011, 33; 187 fig. 104/6. 260. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 37; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 3 knives, 4 moulds for dress accessories, a ladle, 3 crucibles, 4 spindle whorls, a bone awl, 4 clay lumps (“breadcake”), and a bracelet of twisted wire; Teodor 2011, 34; 187 fig. 104/5. 261. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 38; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, a knife, 2 bone awl, 3 spindle whorls, and 2 clay lumps (“breadcake”); Teodor 2011, 34; 186 fig. 103/1. 262. Lozna, Botoşani county (Romania), house 40; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip), as well as 5 bone awls and 2 spindle whorls; Teodor 2011, 35; 188 fig. 105/8. 263. Luka-Vrublivets’ka, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, Khmelnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), oven; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (Gray Ware, as well as a fragment of an amphora), and a bronze, trapeze-shaped pendant; Tikhanova 1971, 9-10. 264. Malá nad Hronom, district of Nové Zamky (Slovakia), house O2; found together with handmade pottery; Fusek 1994, 217; 342 pl. XXVIII/3. 265. Moleşti, Ialoveni district (Republic of Moldova), house 1; found at the gate of the stone oven, together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette with burnished ornament, as well as 2 spindle whorls and the fragment of a quern stone; Tentiuc 1998, 202; 204 fig. 2/1. 266. Murska Sobota (Slovenia), pit O21; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Kerman 2002, 19-20; 18 fig. 2/8, 9. 267. Mykhailivka, near Smila, Cherkasy region (Ukraine), house; found together with handmade pottery; Prykhodniuk 1979, 85; 86 fig. 3/10. 268. Nezvys’ko, near Horodenka, Ivano-Frankivs’ke region (Ukraine), house 4; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip); Smirnova 1960, 231. 269. Nezvys’ko, near Horodenka, Ivano-Frankivs’ke region (Ukraine), house 10; a fragment of a specimen with finger impressions on the lip found on the hearth of the stone oven together with handmade pottery with notches on the lip; Smirnova 1960, 225 and 237; 233 fig. 14/8. 270. Nezvys’ko, near Horodenka, Ivano-Frankivs’ke region (Ukraine), house 11; 2 whole specimens found together with handmade pottery; Smirnova 1960, 237; 233 fig. 14/1, 2. 271. Nezvys’ko, near Horodenka, Ivano-Frankivs’ke region (Ukraine), house 12; found together with handmade pottery and a bone awl; Smirnova 1960, 237-238; 234 fig. 15/7. 272. Nezvys’ko, near Horodenka, Ivano-Frankivs’ke region (Ukraine), house 13; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery; Smirnova 1960, 238. 273. Nezvys’ko, near Horodenka, Ivano-Frankivs’ke region (Ukraine), house 15; found together with handmade pottery; Smirnova 1960, 238. 274. Nezvys’ko, near Horodenka, Ivano-Frankivs’ke

region (Ukraine), pit 25; found together with handmade pottery with finger impressions; Smirnova 1960, 235 fig. 16/2. 275. Nezvys’ko, near Horodenka, Ivano-Frankivs’ke region (Ukraine), pit 27; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a spindle whorl; Smirnova 1960, 236 fig. 17/2. 276. Nitra (Slovakia), house O233; fragments of 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a crucible; Fusek 1991, 296; 321 pl. III/9, 10. 277. Nitra (Slovakia), pit O22; found together with handmade pottery; Fusek 1991, 295-296; 327 pl. IX/2. 278. Nitra (Slovakia), pit O22; found together with handmade pottery; Fusek 2002, 185. 279. Nitra (Slovakia), pit O199; fragments of 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery, a fragment of a tray, and a bone needle; Fusek 1991, 296; 324 pl. VI/12-13. 280. Nova Tabla, near Murska Sobota (Slovenia), house SZ1; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip); Guštin/Tiefengraber 2002, 48 fig. 4/1. 281. Nova Tabla, near Murska Sobota (Slovenia), house SZ3; fragments of 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Guštin/Tiefengraber 2002, 48 fig. 4/4, 5. 282. Nova Tabla, near Murska Sobota (Slovenia), feature SO 149A; found togethwer with hand- and wheelmade pottery (the latter of Roman age), as well as a glass bead; Pavlovič 2008, 49-50; 51 fig. 3. 283. Nova Tabla, near Murska Sobota (Slovenia), pit SO18; fragments of 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Guštin/ Tiefengraber 2002, 48 fig. 4/2, 3. 284. Nowa Huta, near Cracow (Poland), pit 32a/54; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Hachulska-Ledwos 1971, 44; 45 pl. XXIII/3. 285. Nowa Huta, near Cracow (Poland), pit 84; found together with handmade pottery; Parczewski 1993, 192 pl. XVIII/9. 286. Nowa Huta, near Cracow (Poland), pit 191/54; found together with handmade pottery; Hachulska-Ledwos 1971, 70; 77 pl. XLI/4. 287. Nowa Huta, near Cracow (Poland), pit 192/54; found together with pottery thrown on a tournette and an arrow head; Hachulska-Ledwos 1971, 70; 77 pl. XLI/6. 288. Obukhiv, Kiev region (Ukraine), house 27; found in the filling of the pit together with hand- and wheelmade pottery (a fragment of an amphora); Abashina 2004, 281; 280 fig. 2/7. 289. Obukhiv, Kiev region (Ukraine), house 28; found together with handmade pottery, a knife, a glass bead, and 5 spindle whorls; Abashina 2004, 281; 282 fig. 3/20. 290. Obukhiv, Kiev region (Ukraine), house 29; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip); Abashina 2004, 283, 285, and 288; 286 fig. 6/15. 291. Obukhiv, Kiev region (Ukraine), house 30; fragments of 2 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with

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Florin Curta finger impressions on the lip); Abashina 2004, 294; 296 fig. 13/13, 16. 292. Obukhiv, Kiev region (Ukraine), pit 8; found together with handmade pottery; Abashina 1986, 83. 293. Oreavu, Vrancea county (Romania), house 1; fragments from 4 specimens found together with wheel-made pottery (fine Gray Ware with combed decoration); Mitrea 1978, 45-46, 49-50; fig. 7/5-8. 294. Pariivka, near Ilintsi, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house 1; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery, a mould for dress accessories, and a die for belt mounts; Khavliuk 1988, 227-228. 295. Pariivka, near Ilintsi, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house 4; found together with handmade pottery; Khavliuk 1988, 229. 296. Pen’kivka, near Svitlovods’ke, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 1; found in the filling of the pit, together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora and pottery thrown on a tournette), as well as a knife; Berezovets’ 1963, 178. 297. Pen’kivka, near Svitlovods’ke, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 5; found on the floor of the house, together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora); Berezovets’ 1963, 179; fig. 16/8. 298. Pen’kivka, near Svitlovods’ke, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 6; fragment of a specimen decorated inside with a cross and found inside the stone oven, together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora and pottery thrown on a tournette); Linka/Shovkoplias 1963, 240; fig. 2/7. 299. Pen’kivka, near Svitlovods’ke, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 7; fragment of a specimen with finger impressions on the lip found on the floor of the house, together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a knife; Berezovets’ 1963, 180. 300. Pen’kivka, near Svitlovods’ke, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 13; found in the filling of the pit, together with a fragment of a disc, handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions or notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as 2 knives and a bone awl; Prykhodniuk 1980, 134 fig. 13/15. 301. Pen’kivka, near Svitlovods’ke, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 13 (Lug II); found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery; Berezovets’ 1963, 181-182. 302. Pen’kivka, near Svitlovods’ke, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 17; found on the floor of the house together with handmade pottery (including fragments with notches on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette; Prykhodniuk 1980, 63 fig. 40/6. 303. Pen’kivka, near Svitlovods’ke, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 18; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Prykhodniuk 1980, 35 fig. 14/9. 304. Pen’kivka, near Svitlovods’ke, Kirovohrad region (Ukraine), house 24; found on the floor of the house together with handmade pottery; Berezovets’ 1963, 169. 305. Peschanoe, near Ivnia, Belogorod region (Russia), house 2; found together with handmade pottery; Goriunov 1981b, 62-63; 63 fig. 2/15.

306. Pidbirtsi, near Pustomyty, L’viv region (Ukraine), house; fragments from 2 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery; Kozak 1984, 91-92; 92 fig. 3/8, 9. 307. Poian, Covasna county (Romania), house 7; found around the hearth, together with handmade pottery; Székely 1992, 259. 308. Poian, Covasna county (Romania), house 8; found together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Székely 1992, 259. 309. Poian, Covasna county (Romania), house 18; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a 4 spindle whorls and a bone needle; Székely 1992, 263; 265 fig. 14/15. 310. Poian, Covasna county (Romania), house 20; found together with handmade pottery, a knife, a spindle whorl, a single-sided comb, and a bronze fibula with bent stem; Székely 1992, 263. 311. Poian, Covasna county (Romania), house 21; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Székely 1992, 268. 312. Poian, Covasna county (Romania), house 22; fragments from 4 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Székely 1992, 268. 313. Poian, Covasna county (Romania), house 24; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a spindle whorl; Székely 1992, 271. 314. Poluzir’ia, near Novi Sanzhary, Poltava region (Ukraine), house 1; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery; Kazanski/Sereda 2001, 20; 23 fig. 4/2. 315. Poluzir’ia, near Novi Sanzhary, Poltava region (Ukraine), house 2; found in the filling of the pit together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (a fragment of a Gray Ware amphora); Kazanski/Sereda 2001, 20; 23 fig. 4/6. 316. Popava, near Lipovci (Slovenia), feature SE7/SE24; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a gold earring with grape-shaped pendant; Šavel 2008, 66-67; 68 fig. 12. 317. Popina, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 1; whole specimen found on the floor of the house together with handmade pottery, as well as 2 knives, a spindle whorl, a whetstone, and a bone awl; Văzharova 1965, 12-14; 13 fig. 3/4. 318. Popina, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 7; found together with handmade pottery; Văzharova 1965, 17. 319. Popina, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 10; found on the floor of the house together with handmade pottery, as well as a knife, a spindle whorl, 8 whetstones, and 8 bone awls; Văzharova 1965, 26. 320. Popina, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 11; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery, as well as a knife and a bone awl; Văzharova 1965, 26 and 29-30. 321. Popina, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 31; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery, as well as 2 spindle whorls, 3 bone awls, and a clay lump (“breadcake”); Văzharova 1965, 52. 322. Popina, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 49; fragments from 4 specimens (one of which has notches on the lip) found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery, as well as a spindle whorl, a fragment of a quern stone, a bone awl, and a whetstone; Văzharova 1965, 72; 73 fig. 45/2.

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Social Identity on the Platter 341. Selişte, district of Orhei (Republic of Moldova), house 7; found together with handmade pottery, 2 spindle whorls, and a ladle; Rafalovich 1972a, 139-140; 140 fig. 15/2. 342. Selişte, district of Orhei (Republic of Moldova), house 10; found together with handmade pottery and 2 bone needles; Rafalovich/Lapushnian 1973, 129-130. 343. Selişte, district of Orhei (Republic of Moldova), house 13; 129 fragments found together with handmade pottery (1039 fragments) and wheelmade pottery (2 fragments of an amphora), as well as a spindle whorl, and a fragment of a quern stone; Rafalovich/Lapushnian 1973, 133-134. 344. Selişte, district of Orhei (Republic of Moldova), house 15; fragment of a specimen decorated inside with a cross, found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, 3 spindle whorls, a whetstone, a bone needle, and a fragment of a clay figurine; Rafalovich/Lapushnian 1974, 130-131 and 133; 132 fig. 11/6. 345. Semenky, near Nemyriv, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house 1; fragments of 10 specimens found together with handmade pottery, as well as 2 spindle whorls; Khavliuk 1961, 188. 346. Semenky, near Nemyriv, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house 2; found together with handmade pottery; Khavliuk 1963, 322. 347. Semenky, near Nemyriv, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house 15; found next to the stone oven together with handmade pottery and a bone needle; Khavliuk 1974, 199. 348. Semenky, near Nemyriv, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house 26; found inside the stone oven together with hand-made pottery (found on the floor of the house); Khavliuk 1974, 205 and 207. 349. Semenky, near Nemyriv, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house II; found together with handmade pottery; Khavliuk 1963, 334. 350. Semenky, near Nemyriv, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house VIII; found together with handmade pottery and with pottery thrown on a tournette with burnished ornament, as well as a fragment of a “Slavic” bow fibula; Khavliuk 1974, 207. 351. Semenky, near Nemyriv, Vynnitsia region (Ukraine), pit 5; fragments from 5 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Khavliuk 1963, 339. 352. Semenky, near Nemyriv, Vynnitsia region (Ukraine), pit 6; fragments from 5 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Khavliuk 1963, 339. 353. Sfinţeşti, Teleorman county (Romania), house 1; found together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora), as well as clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1967, 127-131; 131 fig. 5/4. 354. Sighişoara, Mureş county (Romania), house 3; fragment of a wheel-made specimen found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery, as well as a whetstone; Harhoiu/Baltag 2007, 97-98; 407 pl. 192/1. 355. Sighişoara, Mureş county (Romania), house 4; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery (including Gray Ware with burnished ornament); Harhoiu/Baltag 2007, 13-14; 229 pl. 17/1. 356. Şimoneşti, Harghita county (Romania), house 20;

323. Popina, near Silistra (Bulgaria), house 59; found together with handmade pottery with finger impressions on the lip and pottery thrown on a tournette; Văzharova 1965, 83. 324. Proscuriani, Hânceşti district (Republic of Moldova), house; fragments from 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery; Hâncu/Titov 1974, 168-169; 169 fig. 9/1-3. 325. Prykhorodok, near Khotyn, Chernivtsi region (Ukraine), house; found together with handmade pottery; Prykhodniuk 1975, 104. 326. Purkarec, near České Budějovice, Southern Bohemia (Czech Republic), feature OII/89; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery; Břicháček 2007, 114; 126 fig. 8/15. 327. Raiky, near Berdychiv, Zhytomyr region (Ukraine), house 1; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Goncharov 1963, 290. 328. Rashkiv, near Khotyn, Chernvitsi region (Ukraine), house 6; found together with handmade pottery; Baran 1986, 106-107. 329. Rashkiv, near Khotyn, Chernvitsi region (Ukraine), house 30 (which was repaired); fragments of 3 specimens found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette; Baran 1983, 75-76; 77 fig. 3/10-12. 330. Rashkiv, near Khotyn, Chernvitsi region (Ukraine), house 50; found together with handmade pottery; Baran 1988, 104-105; 154 pl. XLIII/8. 331. Rashkiv, near Khotyn, Chernvitsi region (Ukraine), house 56; found on the house floor together with handmade pottery; Baran 1988, 107; 155 pl. XLVI/4. 332. Rashkiv, near Khotyn, Chernvitsi region (Ukraine), house 63; found together with handmade pottery; Baran 1988, 110; 155 pl. XLVIII/6. 333. Rashkiv, near Khotyn, Chernvitsi region (Ukraine), house 71; found together with handmade pottery, as well as a crucible and a ladle; Baran 1988, 113; 157 pl. LIV/10. 334. Rashkiv, near Khotyn, Chernvitsi region (Ukraine), house 72; found on the stone oven’s hearth, while handmade pottery has been found on the house floor; Baran 1988, 114; 157 pl. LIV/3. 335. Rashkiv, near Khotyn, Chernvitsi region (Ukraine), pit 46; found together with handmade pottery; Baran 1988, 117; 159 pl. LXII/7. 336. Ratkovo, near Aleksandrov, Vladimir region (Russia), grave 5; fragments of 4 specimens found together with 2 mould for dress accessories and bronze, trapeze-shaped pendants; Vishevskii/Kir’ianova/Dobrovol’skaia 2007, 91; 99 fig. 5/54-57. 337. Roztoky, district of Praha-západ (Czech Republic), house O664; found together with handmade pottery; Kuna/Profantová 2005, 31-32; 476 fig. 226/7. 338. Samchyntsi, near Nemyriv, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house 1; found near the stone oven together with handmade pottery; Khavliuk 1963, 342. 339. Samchyntsi, near Nemyriv, Vinnytsia region (Ukraine), house 12; found together with handmade pottery; Khavliuk 1963, 345. 340. Samchyntsi, near Nemyriv, Vynnitsia region (Ukraine), house 13; found together with handmade pottery, a whetstone, a spindle whorl, and an animalshaped mount; Khavliuk 1961, 197-198.

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Florin Curta found together with handmade pottery; Székely 1988, 176; fig. 17/8. 357. Skybyntsi, near Trostianets’, Vynnitsia region (Ukraine), house 2; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery and a bronze bracelet with widened ends; Khavliuk 1961, 192. 358. Skybyntsi, near Trostianets’, Vynnitsia region (Ukraine), house 4; found together with handmade pottery and a whetstone; Khavliuk 1961, 192. 359. Sliač, district of Zvolen (Slovakia), house O2/1979; found togethwer with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and a spindle whorl; Fusek 1994, 244; 370 pl. LVI/7. 360. Sokil, near Kamianets’ Podil’s’kyi, Khmelnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house 13; fragment of a specimen with finger impressions on the lip found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery; Vakulenko/Prykhodniuk 1984, 95. 361. Sokil, near Kamianets’ Podil’s’kyi, Khmielnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house 17; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip), as well as 4 bone awls; Vakulenko/Prykhodniuk 1984, 95-96. 362. Sokil, near Kamianets’ Podil’s’kyi, Khmelnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house 19; fragments from 3 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip), as well as 3 bone awls; Vakulenko/Prykhodniuk 1984, 96; 91 fig. 42/7-9. 363. Sokil, near Kamianets’ Podil’s’kyi, Khmelnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house 22; fragments from 3 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and a bone awl; Vakulenko/Prykhodniuk 1984, 97. 364. Stetsivka, near Chyhyryn, Cherkasy region (Ukraine), house 9; found together with wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora) and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a spindle whorl, a whetstone, and a quern stone; Petrov 1963, 216 and 218. 365. Studenytsia, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, Khmel’nyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house; found together with handmade pottery and a bone awl; Prykhodniuk 1975, 107; 139 pl. XXIX/9. 366. Suceava (Romania), house 16; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with notches on the lip) and wheel-made pottery; Teodor 2013, 21; 144 fig. 53/2. 367. Sukha Gomol’sha, near Zmiiv, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), house 2; found together with handmade pottery and 3 spindle whorls; Mikheev/Prykhodniuk 1986, 75-76; 77 fig. 3/3. 368. Sukha Gomol’sha, near Zmiiv, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), house 5; fragment from 5 specimens (one of which has inside an incised cross) found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip), as well as a whetstone and a spindle whorl; Mikheev/Prykhodniuk 1986, 77; 79 fig. 5/5-9. 369. Sukha Gomol’sha, near Zmiiv, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), pit 6; found together with handmade pottery; Mikheev/Prykhodniuk 1986, 78. 370. Şumuleu, in Miercurea Ciuc (Romania), house 17-19; fragments from 6 specimens found together with handmade pottery and a cast fibula with bent stem; personal information from Ioan Stanciu

(Archaeological Institute, Cluj-Napoca). 371. Šurany, district of Nové Zamky (Slovakia), house O47; found together with handmade pottery; Fusek 1994, 251; 375 pl. LXI/7. 372. Šurany, district of Nové Zamky (Slovakia), pit O8; found together with handmade pottery; Fusek 1994, 250; 376 pl. LXII/13. 373. Šurany, district of Nové Zamky (Slovakia), pit O9; found together with handmade pottery; Fusek 1994, 250. 374. Šurany, district of Nové Zamky (Slovakia), pit O132; found together with handmade pottery; Fusek 1994, 251; 375 pl. LXI/6. 375. Teterivka, Zhytomyr region (Ukraine), house 5; found together with handmade pottery; Rusanova 1973, 36; pl. 14/4. 376. Teterivka, Zhytomyr region (Ukraine), house 6; found together with handmade pottery (including fragments with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette; Rusanova 1973, 36; pl. 14/14. 377. Tselikov Buhor, near Novhorod Sivers’kyi, Chernihiv region (Ukraine), house 1; found in the filling of the pit together with handmade pottery (including fragments with notches on the lip) and a belt mount with open-work decoration; Goriunov 1972, 45-45; 43 fig. 13/1; 44 fig. 14/9. 378. Tselikov Buhor, near Novhorod Sivers’kyi, Chernihiv region (Ukraine), house 2; fragments from 2 specimens found in the filling of the pit together with hand- and wheel-made pottery (including a fragment of an amphora and pottery thrown on a tournette), as well as a knife; Goriunov 1972, 45-45; 44 fig. 14/8, 9. 379. Tselikov Buhor, near Novhorod Sivers’kyi, Chernihiv region (Ukraine), house 3; fragments from 4 specimens found together with handmade pottery and a knife; Goriunov 1972, 45-46. 380. Turulung-Vii, Satu Mare county (Romania), house 1; found together with handmade pottery (including a fragment with finger impressions on the lip) and pottery thrown on a tournette; Stanciu/Bader 2003, 136. 381. Turulung-Vii, Satu Mare county (Romania), house 2; fragments from 5 specimens found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a clay lump (“breadcake”); Stanciu/Bader 2003, 137; 147 pl. II/5-7, 9; 148 pl. III/3. 382. Tymchenki, near Zmiiv, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), pit 5; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a spindle whorl; Berestnev/Liubichev 1991, 33; 34 fig. 1/27. 383. Udeşti, Suceava county (Romania), house 2; whole specimen found together with handmade pottery; Matei/Rădulescu 1973, 272; 274 fig. 7/2. 384. Ustia, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, Khmelnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house 6; found together with handand wheel-made pottery; Prykhodniuk 1975, 108; 130 pl. XX/12. 385. Ustia, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, Khmelnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house 7; found together with handand wheel-made pottery; Prykhodniuk 1975, 108; 130 pl. XX/5. 386. Vânători-Neamţ, Neamţ county (Romania), house 1; found together with handmade pottery; Corman 1994, 301 and 303; 304 fig. 3/7. 387. Vânători-Neamţ, Neamţ county (Romania), house 2; found inside the stone oven together with handmade

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Social Identity on the Platter pottery (including fragments with finger impressions and notches on the lip) and 2 spindle whorls; Corman 1994, 302 and 307; 305 fig. 4/1. 388. Vedea, Teleorman county (Romania), house 1; found on the floor of the house together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a fragment of a tray and clay rolls; Dolinescu-Ferche 1986a, 202; 203 fig. 1. 389. Veľke Trakany, distrcit of Trebišov (Slovakia), house 3; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Budinský-Kričká 1990, 99; pl. XXVII/5. 390. Veľke Trakany, district of Trebišov (Slovakia), house 4; fragments from 9 specimens found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette; Budinský-Kričká 1990, 99-100; pl. XXVIII/17-25. 391. Veľky Cetín, district of Nitra (Slovakia), house 14; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as fragments of a tray; Cheben/Ruttkayová/Ruttkaj 1994, 205-206; 232 fig. 31/5. 392. Velika Sloboda, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, Khmelnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house 7; found together with handmade pottery and 2 spindle whorls; Kozak/Megei 1987, 63; 62 fig. 2/16. 393. Velika Sloboda, near Kamianets’-Podil’s’kyi, Khmelnyts’kyi region (Ukraine), house 11; found together with handmade pottery; Kozak/Megei 1987, 63; 65 fig. 4/10. 394. Vlădiceni, Neamţ county (Romania), house; found inside the stone oven, together with handmade pottery; Alexianu 1992, 243-246; fig. 2/2. 395. Zanky, near Zmiiv, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), house A; fragments from 2 specimens found in the filling of

the pit, together with hand- and wheel-made pottery, as well as a spindle whorl; D'iachenko/Prykhodniuk/Petrenko 1991, 26; 29 fig. 4/5, 7. 396. Zanky, near Zmiiv, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), house B; found in the filling of the pit, together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; D'iachenko/Prykhodniuk/Petrenko 1991, pp. 26-27; 31 fig. 6/5. 397. Zanky, near Zmiiv, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), pit 4; found together with handmade pottery; D'iachenko/Prykhodniuk/Petrenko 1991, 29-30; 32 fig. 8/2. 398. Zanky, near Zmiiv, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), pit 6; fragments from 2 specimens found together with handmade pottery; D'iachenko/Prykhodniuk/Petrenko 1991, 30; 32 fig. 8/10, 11. 399. Zanky, near Zmiiv, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), pit 7; found together with handmade pottery; D'iachenko/Prykhodniuk/Petrenko 1991, 30; 32 fig. 8/16. 400. Zelenyi Hai, near Zalishchyky, Ternopil region (Ukraine), house 8; found together with handmade pottery; Baran 1972, 180-181; 182 fig. 58/12. 401. Zniatseve, near Mukhachiv, Zakarpats’ka region (Ukraine), house; found together with handmade pottery and pottery thrown on a tournette, as well as a knife, 3 spindle whorls, a glass bead, and an arrow head; Peniak 1980, 22. 402. Zubivka, near Krasnokuts’ke, Kharkiv region (Ukraine), pit 25; found in the filling together with handmade pottery and a spindle whorl; Berestnev/Liubichev 1991, 36; 34 fig. 1/30.

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ETHNICITY ON THE MOVE New Evidence from Viking Winter Camps Dawn HADLEY

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Abstract: By focussing in on the evidence from the earliest phases of settlement – that from Viking winter camps – we can see that even in the 870s members of the Viking Great Army and their followers were adapting themselves to the local social, economic and political circumstances. It is the diversity of responses, and the immediate willingness of, at least some of, the settlers to adapt to Anglo-Saxon society that emerges from the evidence from the winter camps. This suggests that discrete ethnic identities rapidly gave way – among at least some of the settlers – to pragmatism and the adoption of new ways of behaving and expressing identity as responses to the circumstances of conquest and settlement. In continuing to explore the Scandinavian impact on England in the ninth and tenth centuries it is the diversity of experience and behaviour that should be the focus of our investigations, and these should prevail over disciplinary obsessions. Key Words: Winter Camps – Vikings – Ethnicity – Early Middle Ages

This paper highlights some of the key debates about the Scandinavian impact on England, highlighting the disciplinary differences that underlie the diverse perceptions evidence in the scholarly literature concerning the transformation of ethnic identities in the wake of conquest and settlement. It contends that diverse sources of evidence inform us about different aspects of society, and that it is not, as a consequence, so surprising that they appear to convey differing, and sometimes contradictory, impressions. This is an issue compounded by the differing levels of chronological resolution of the diverse forms of evidence. In order to move the debate on, the paper will then focus on one specific aspect of the archaeological evidence ─ from the winter camps of the Viking ‘Great Army’ of the 860s and 870s ─ in order to explore something of the processes of cultural integration during short periods of time at the very earliest moments of conquest and settlement.

* * *

In the last quarter of the ninth century, Scandinavian raiding and political conquest was followed by settlement in parts of northern and eastern England. Assessment of the scale, chronology, precise locations, and impact of this settlement has, however, proved a difficult task. The available evidence is skewed towards particular aspects of society, and often provides only limited insights or is difficult to date. For example, the written sources focus on raids, battles, and treaties, but provide little information on settlement. Meanwhile, archaeological evidence is more plentiful but cannot always be closely dated, and it is difficult to distinguish evidence for actual Scandinavian settlement from the broader dissemination of Scandinavian material culture through the processes of trade or social emulation, for example. It is, furthermore, problematic that the Scandinavian impact on language and names, extensive in some regions, is typically recorded in sources that post-date the period of settlement, in many cases by at least two centuries (for an overview see: Hadley 2006: 1-9). The issues are compounded by the fact that so much of the scholarship on the Scandinavian impact on England is focused on a single source of evidence, with genuinely interdisciplinary studies being rare. This diminishes our understanding, and, furthermore, much scholarship on Viking-Age England is arguably trapped in a decades old historiographical timewarp (for a review of the problem see Trafford 2001), with insufficient attention paid to the specific context of the various sources of evidence, which

Outline of the debate

Debates about early medieval ethnicity and ethnogenesis have had far less of an impact on the study of the Scandinavian settlements in England in the ninth and tenth centuries than in the study of any of the other periods and regions addressed elsewhere in this volume (for exceptions see: Hadley 1997; 2006: 298-341; 2011; Hadley and Richards 2000). There are many potential explanations for this discrepancy. In particular, the written record presents scholars with only limited opportunities to explore, for example, the ethnic labels applied in written sources to individuals and groups, which is a source of evidence that has been extensively examined with respect to continental migration in earlier centuries (e.g. Geary 1983; Amory 1993; 1994; Pohl and Reimitz 1998). Moreover, until very recently archaeological evidence has been rather limited (Richards 2000), especially the burial record (e.g. Richards 2002; Hadley 2006: 237-71), which has, again, been the focus of so much research on ethnicity in earlier centuries (e.g. Effros 2003; Halsall 1995). The study of Viking-Age England – unlike other regions and periods of early medieval migration – is also distinguished by being dominated by analysis of place names and linguistic evidence, which both reveal extensive Scandinavian influence; this has repeatedly been taken to negate any possibility of the cultural integration of the settlers (a situation summarized in Abrams and Parsons 2004).

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Ethnicity on the Move are chronologically diverse and relate to different aspects of society.

which had previously formed the basis for arguments that the Anglo-Saxon kingdom was riven by ethnic difference that could be codified objectively. For example, a lawcode issued on behalf of King Æthelred in 997 at Wantage (Berkshire) contains much Scandinavian terminology, in contrast to a broadly contemporary code issued at Woodstock (Oxfordshire), which was formulated as being ‘according to the laws of the English’. This clause had long been compared with a clause in a law-code by an earlier king, Edgar, of the 960s or 970s, which stipulated that ‘secular rights should be in force among the Danes according to such good laws as they best decide on’. Once regarded as demonstrating that the newcomers were living under separate legal provision (Stenton 1971: 370-1), Wormald (Wormald 1978: 61-2) interpreted these law-codes differently, arguing that the Wantage code was a product of regional pre-occupation, drawn up by men local to the north midlands, and an expression of regional interests, which placed limitations on tenth-century royal authority. In 1985, Susan Reynolds challenged the evidence on which earlier generations of scholars had maintained a belief in the distinctive nature of Danish communities and identity in the later Anglo-Saxon centuries. She pointed out that, in fact, ethnic difference was rarely articulated in tenthcentury written sources. When the ‘Danish’ identity of individuals or groups was mentioned, it was typically during periods of conflict, particularly towards the end of the tenth century when there were renewed attacks from Denmark. These ‘Danes’ were, thus, not the descendants of earlier generations of Scandinavian settlers but recent arrivals, ‘invaders and enemies, not subjects of the kingdom’ (Reynolds 1985: 409).

It is helpful to begin with a brief review of the historiographical framework within which research on the Scandinavian impact on England is placed. The earliest scholarship is best captured in the work of Sir Frank Stenton, who in the 1920s observed that ‘all lines of investigation ‒ linguistic, legal and economic ‒ point to the reality of the difference between Danes and English in the tenth century’ (Stenton 1928: 46). This was echoed in the 1970s by Henry Loyn, who wrote of the Scandinavians as ‘an important recognizable element’ in the population of tenth-century England and ‘a distinct community living under separate laws’ (Loyn 1977: 113). Both scholars believed in a large scale settlement of Scandinavians, a deduction informed by the weight of the place-name evidence. In contrast, Peter Sawyer in his book The Age of the Vikings published in 1962, considerably downplayed the scale of the Scandinavian settlement, doubting the reliability of written sources for the size of the armies and severity of the raids, and largely dismissing the linguistic evidence as being late. He maintained that ‘before long the settlers were assimilated into the native population’ (Sawyer 1962: 170), albeit that he did not explain how this might have happened. This provoked an immense backlash among place-name scholars. Kenneth Cameron, in particular, found it impossible to accept that anything other than settlement on a massive scale could account for the linguistic impact of the Scandinavians. Accordingly he suggested that if the armies really were much smaller than had been supposed then there must have been an undocumented ‘secondary migration’ following in the wake of the military conquest of northern and eastern England to account for the scale of linguistic change. He also pioneered the study of the topographical distribution of certain types of Scandinavian place-names as a guide to the chronology and density of Scandinavian settlement, which has long remained influential (Cameron 1965; 1970; 1971). Yet, Peter Sawyer (Sawyer 1971: 172-3) remained unbowed, reiterating his case in a revised edition of his book and concluding that ‘apart from their settlements and their influence on the terminology of law and administration, the Scandinavians do not seem to have made a distinctive mark on England’. This was a position reinforced by the limited archaeological evidence revealing Scandinavian influences that was available to scholars in the 1970s (Trafford 2001: 30).

Building on these insights by Wormald and Reynolds, in a paper published in 1997 I explicitly brought into the debate the wider critical reappraisal of ethnic groups among early medieval historians and more broadly among archaeologists. This paper suggested that the study of Viking-Age England had a great deal to learn from this broader scholarly context. I argued then that this research leaves us: “forced to reconsider the appropriateness of the questions we have hitherto asked of our evidence: we cannot continue to ask whether this or that site is ‘Scandinavian’ or ‘native’, or to use place-name evidence to plot the locations and movements of peoples, or to argue over whether this or that feature of the society and culture of the Danelaw is Scandinavian without reexamining the nature of ‘ethnicity’ and identities and adopting a more complex perspective on the ways in which peoples interacted” (Hadley 1997, 84).

In the 1970s and 1980s, historians of Anglo-Saxon England began questioning the meanings of the ethnic labels applied to Scandinavians in tenth- and eleventhcentury written sources. Notably, however, these discussions were unrelated to the broader study of the Scandinavian impact on England, and largely uninfluenced by emerging broader continental scholarship on ethnicity by historians. In a 1978 paper, Patrick Wormald examined the later tenth- and early eleventh-century legislation of King Æthelred, aspects of

A few years later, Simon Trafford (Trafford 2001) observed that a simplistic understanding of ‘identity’ was prohibiting new insights emerging, and he stated that as a direct consequence the study of the Scandinavian settlements in England had ‘effectively stalled’ on the issue of its scale, which has limited all subsequent debate. He further observed that:

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Dawn Hadley The implication seems to be that if the numbers of ‘Danes’ and ‘English’ could somehow be determined precisely, then all other pieces of the Danelaw jigsaw would instantly fall into place, and the baffling complexities of the linguistic, toponymic, and material evidence would resolve themselves into a comprehensible picture of the history of eastern England in the ninth to eleventh centuries (Trafford 2001: 19)

English and Norse published in 2002, Matthew Townend argued that: “one can easily distinguish the Old Norse and Old English speech communities in Viking Age England and it is for this reason that linguists have been more hesitant than, say, archaeologists and historians to embrace those contemporary ideas about “ethnicity” which substantially downplay the importance of linguistic factors in the creation and maintenance of group identities … as will become clear, one of the outcomes of this book will be to uphold broadly Stentonian perspectives on the reality of the English/Danish distinction in Viking Age England” (Townend 2002, 3).

Given that estimations of the scale of the settlement were based purely on assessment of the various forms of evidence for its impact, which are invariably indirect and/or late in date, then this debate was inevitably circular.

David Parsons and Lesley Abrams (Parsons-Abrams 2004) reinforced this position in a paper that maintained that it was within an entirely Scandinavian-speaking that many of the typically Scandinavian place-names were coined. In particular, that argued that those place-names formed with the characteristic -by ending, which were overwhelmingly formed with Old Norse rather than Old English first elements, probably emerged in the late ninth century among Scandinavian communities. The implication of their argument is that these names emerged before processes of integration and acculturation had commenced.

At the same time, other archaeologists began to recognise the possibilities of exploring the ways in which the Scandinavian impact may have been articulated locally. For example, Julian Richards (Richards 2000: 302-3) argued that it was not appropriate to ask whether particular rural settlements were ever occupied by Scandinavians, since even Scandinavian-style artifacts could have reached any given site through a variety of means, including trade. Instead, he suggested that it would be more insightful to explore the influence that Scandinavian settlement had on expressions of identity through material culture. For instance, there appears to have been continuity of occupation at Wharram Percy (Yorkshire) from the eighth through to the tenth centuries, but by the tenth century Scandinavian influences can be discerned on elite material culture, including a sword hilt-guard, a belt-slide and strap-end decorated in the Scandinavian Borre style (Richards 2001a: 274-5). Richards pointed out that we simply cannot know whether these items of material culture were possessed by a Scandinavian lord as opposed to reflecting the adoption of Scandinavian styles of lordly insignia by an Anglo-Saxon lord. The evidence betokens the new Scandinavian influence in local society, but does not reliably reveal the ethnic affiliations of the people who occupied the site (Richards 2001a: 276). At the same time, a growing corpus of metal jewellery and dressaccessories, much of it retrieved by metal-detector users, began to be the subject of a number of studies, and this highlighted the fact that much of it combined Scandinavian and English forms and decorative styles, suggesting significant cultural mixing in this medium. Purely Scandinavian artefacts ― such as the oval brooches characteristic of Scandinavian female costume ― were far less commonly found, and this was interpreted as evidence that the newcomers speedily adopted English styles of dress (Thomas 2000; Leahy and Paterson 2001).

More recently, there has been a recognition that we need to think not only about ethnic identity when analyzing the Scandinavian impact on England, but also about a range of other forms of identity. In a book published in 2006, I considered a range of identities, including lordship, kingship, gender, and religious affiliation, emphasizing the importance of not losing sight of ‘the multiplicity of identities that the settlers and the local populations possessed’ (Hadley 2006: 279). This approach echoed comments made by Janet L. Nelson (Nelson 2003: 28), in a study of the Viking impact on the continent, in which she had argued that ‘the ties that bound were not age-old inborn solidarities but man-made lordship and fidelity … differentiated levels of social power and of rank and status … partnerships of mutual interest’. The ways in which integration occurred – and it certainly did eventually occur – has begun to be addressed in this recent work. For example, some of the earliest articulations of kingship among Scandinavian rulers in late ninth-century England drew explicitly on AngloSaxon models of kingship. In 878 King Alfred stagemanaged the baptism of the leader of a defeated viking army, Guthrum, and they subsequently forged a peace treaty, which was essential to the integration of Guthrum and his followers into English society (Keynes and Lapidge 1983: 85, 171-2, 311-13; Kershaw 2000). Guthrum subsequently minted coins that were imitative of those of Alfred before minting coins in his new baptismal name of Æthelstan (Blackburn 2001: 127-30; the career of Guthrum is discussed in Hadley 2006: 2935). Coins minted in the names of Scandinavian kings in York in the 890s bear Latin inscriptions, incorporate liturgical phrases or the names of saints, and display diverse types of crosses. There was an active promotion

While there was, then, a growing awareness of the need to adopt a more complex theoretical position on identity formation, scholars focussing on linguistic evidence were unconvinced by the approach and the new interpretations. In a volume that focussed on the mutual intelligibility of

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Ethnicity on the Move of Christianity on this coinage (Blackburn 2004: 329-31). Meanwhile, in East Anglia by c.895 Scandinavian rulers were minting coins in the name of St Edmund, the East Anglian king murdered by a Viking army in 869 (Blackburn 2001: 135-6).

the initial period of settlement from the 870s), while the specific contexts in which notions of ‘Scandinavianness’ and ‘Englishness’ were adopted and adapted has been insufficiently addressed. Moreover, many aspects of integration, including the time scale and differences according to age, gender and social status, have been examined in very few studies. Rather than continuing to attempt to grapple with a wide array of evidence, and to explain the reasons for the apparently different insights that emerge from the differing sources of evidence, this paper explores the evidence from a very specific context: that of the winter camps occupied by the Viking ‘great army’ that raided England in the 860s and 870s. The winter camps represent the earliest traceable interactions between the Scandinavians and the indigenous populations in a settlement context, and they are the most closely datable archaeological sites that we have, which means that their broader context is more capable of identification and exploration.

The ways in which subsequent generations of Scandinavians responded to the circumstances of migration and settlements have scarcely been addressed, although a recent paper by Katie A. Hemer and me (Hadley and Hemer 2011) addressed the impact of the Scandinavian settlements on children and highlighted something of the complexity of settlement for child migrants and the offspring of migrants. Linguistic arguments predicated on the notion of separate speech communities (outlined above) seem to put off dealing with how integration occurred, and one issue addressed in this recent paper examined the circumstances of intermarriage between settlers and locals. While there are no clear insights into the linguistic implications of intermarriage in ninth- and tenth-century England, a later example suggests that mothers may have been significant in language acquisition. The early twelfth-century chronicler Orderic Vitalis was born in the English midlands in 1075 to a French father and English mother (Chibnall 1980: 2), and his writings reveal that he was not bilingual, speaking only the language of his mother. After he was sent aged ten years old to a monastery in Normandy he claims to have felt isolated because, amongst other factors, of his inability to speak French, despite his father’s origins: ‘Like Joseph in Egypt, I heard a language which I did not understand’ (Chibnall 1972: 555; discussed in Hadley and Hemer 2011: 69). The much more voluminous written record from the decades after the Norman Conquest provides explicit evidence for linguistic flexibility and a willingness to dissociate language from ethnic identity. For example, some continental settlers – such as the new archbishops, Lanfranc of Canterbury (1070-89) and Thomas of York (1070-1100) – quickly came to be described, and even to describe themselves, as English, and shortly after his arrival in England the monk Reginald of Canterbury wrote of the ‘gens Anglica nostra’ (Williams 1995: 179; Thomas 2003: 72-3). Moreover, it is also apparent that individuals might be regarded as having multiple ethnicities, determined by context: the chronicler Gerald of Wales (c.1146-1223) variously described himself as Welsh, English or Norman, while he was able to describe Robert Chesney, bishop of Lincoln from 1148, as ‘English by birth, but Norman by ancestry’ (Thomas 2003: 72-3; Hadley 2011 draws comparison between the Scandinavian and Norman conquests of England). So the presumed link between language and ethnic selfidentification was clearly not immutable in these later examples and we might pause to consider whether is also applicable to the Viking Age.

Viking winter camps: overview In the middle of the ninth century, the Viking impact on England intensified as the armies began to stay all year round. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, in 855 ‘heathen men for the first time stayed in Sheppey over the winter’, and from at least 865 this became an almost annual pattern, bar a few years when the continent was more alluring, and by the 870s the armies are recorded by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle as dividing up the three Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of Northumbria (876), Mercia (877), and East Anglia (880) and settling there (Whitelock 1961: 43-50). These winter camps offer up intriguing potential for exploring the initial processes of conquest and settlement, and how the newcomers began to mediate their interactions with local populations and rulers. However, the Chronicle sometimes gives the locations of the winter camps in only very broad terms, such as the 866 entry which states merely that the Viking ‘great army’ ─ seemingly larger than any that had previously raided England ─ ‘took up winter quarters in East Anglia’ (Whitelock 1961: 45), while in 874 part of the great army ‘took up winter quarters by the River Tyne’ (Whitelock 1961: 48). Even when more specific locations are cited, such as Thanet (865), Nottingham (868), Thetford (870) or London (871) (Whitelock 1961: 45-7), precisely where we should look for the winter camps, or what form they took, has long been unclear (a review of previous discussions about the locations of winter camps can be found in Stein forthcoming). Why particular locations were chosen by the Viking army to over-winter is not explicitly articulated in the written sources. Presumably, they were defensible locations, but the lure of existing political rivalries that were ripe for exploitation was almost certainly another factor. This is, indeed, reflected, most notably, in the events that took place following the Viking great army’s over-wintering at the site of the Mercian royal monastery at Repton (Derbyshire) on the River Trent in 873-4. The king of

Research on ethnic identities in Viking-Age England has been unsatisfactory in marshalling evidence from across a very broad period of time (up to two centuries following

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Dawn Hadley Mercia, Burgred, was driven out and replaced with one Ceolwulf (Whitelock 1961: 48). Despite being described by the Chronicle as a ‘foolish king’s thegn’, he is widely thought to have been a member of a rival Mercian royal dynasty to Burgred, perhaps related to the earlier ninthcentury Mercian kings Coenwulf (796-821) and Ceolwulf I (821-3) (Wormald 1982: 132-57). The army was probably exploiting internecine disputes, and perhaps was even invited into the situation; indeed, Viking armies could often prove useful, if often duplicitous, allies in internecine disputes as the Irish and Carolingian chronicles make more apparent (Nelson 1997; Ó Cróinín 1995). The great army had spent the previous two winters in Mercia, at London and then Torksey, and had each time ‘made peace’, and so must have been becoming increasingly familiar with Mercian politics (Whitelock 1961: 47).

assertion’ by the Vikings of their pagan religion (Biddle and Kjølbye-Biddle 2001: 85). In an alternative interpretation, Julian Richards suggested that this archaeological record could be interpreted as the Viking great army establishing their authority in England by investing it with ‘the authority of the past’ (Richards 2001b: 101). Yet, the undoubted importance of these insights in to military activities and political statements made at Repton by the Viking great army should not obscure the fact that the archaeological insights were of very limited scale. It is becoming increasingly apparent that Viking winter camps were considerably larger than has been envisioned at Repton and involved a much wider array of activities. Metal detecting activity and excavation at a site near York seems, more recently, to have identified the location of another Viking camp probably of the mid870s, based on the coins recovered, which spans some 30 hectares (Hall et al. forthcoming), while the winter camp site at Torksey in Lincolnshire, occupied the year before Repton, covers c.55 hectares (Hadley and Richards in press). Both are, thus, considerably larger than the enclosure of 1.46 hectares that has been associated with the Viking overwintering at Repton. As we shall see, what has also emerged from investigation of these sites is evidence for manufacturing, trade, and involvement in economic transactions, and traces of the processes by which the Viking armies made the transition from raiders to settlers.

Until recently, the principal archaeological evidence for winter camps came from Repton, following excavations conducted over thirty years ago by Martin Biddle and Birthe Kjølbye-Biddle (1992; 2001). An enclosure was identified on the basis of excavation of sections of a massive V-shaped ditch over 3 metres wide and deep, and by the results of a geophysical survey. It was deduced that the ditch formed a D-shaped enclosure, encompassing an area of 1.46 hectares, which is thought to have had an internal bank. This was interpreted as the winter camp defences, with the church envisioned as serving as a sort of gatehouse into the enclosure (Biddle and Kjølbye-Biddle 2001: 57-60). The most important additional insight came from excavation of several furnished graves thought to have been contemporary with the over-wintering. One tellingly contained silver pennies of the mid-870s. A notably lavish burial contained a sword, knives, a necklace including a Thor’s hammer pendant, and an apparently amuletic deposit of a boar’s tusk and the bone of a jackdaw placed in a bag or box between the legs of this 25-35 year old male (Biddle and Kjølbye-Biddle 2001: 60-65). The fact that he had died violently, presumably in battle, may have determined this more complex funerary provision than is otherwise found at Repton among furnished, and presumably Scandinavian, burials (Hadley 2008: 274). Excavation of a free-standing mausoleum revealed a mass funerary deposit of the disarticulated remains of over 260 individuals, among which fragments of weapons and coins of the mid-870s were recovered. The finds suggest that the deposit was created during the period of Viking over-wintering, although radiocarbon dating suggests that it also incorporated disturbed remains of much earlier date (Biddle and Kjølbye-Biddle 2001: 67-80). Evidence for burning on the church and broken fragments of stone sculpture incorporated in to a stone cairn covering two of the Scandinavian burials may reveal the destruction caused by the over-wintering (Biddle and Kjølbye-Biddle 2001: 60, 67). This burial complex and earthwork was apparently a dramatic statement of the Viking army’s occupation of a major Mercian royal and cult centre. This evidence was interpreted as demonstrating a ‘ruthless

The Viking winter camp at Torksey: emergent identities The remainder of this paper will focus mainly on the evidence from the Viking winter camp at Torksey, where I am conducting a field project jointly led with Julian Richards of the University of York. Torksey is located on the River Trent, the major water access from the Humber estuary in to midland England. In 872-3 according to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: ‘In this year the army went into Northumbria, and it took winter quarters [setl] at Torksey in Lindsey; and then the Mercians made peace with the army’ (Whitelock 1961: 47). This is the only documentary insight that we have on the over-wintering, but over the last 20 years important additions to our knowledge have emerged from metal detecting activity in the fields to the north of the modern village. Over 1000 items of metalwork have been recovered that date to the early medieval period, including over 250 coins. As far as we can tell, the latter are not the product of one or more coin hoards; their wide distribution suggests their use and casual loss across the site (Blackburn 2011: 235; Hadley and Richards in press). There are over 30 Anglo-Saxon silver pennies, mostly of the 860s or early 870s, principally the so-called Lunette issues, of Burgred of Mercia, or Alfred of Wessex (Blackburn 2011: 225). The silver content had become increasingly diminished in these mid-ninth-century pennies, and it is thought that they quickly ceased to circulate in the wake of a reform

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Ethnicity on the Move of the coinage to increase silver content in the mid-870s by Alfred and Burgred’s successor, the aforementioned Ceolwulf (Blackburn 2002: 135; 2002). This reinforces the association of the finds with the recorded Viking over-wintering of 872-3, as does the absence of any later ninth-century coins. Similarly, the absence of the nicking/pecking of the coins, as a means of ensuring silver content, which became increasingly common once the silver content of coinage increased from the mid-870s is another indication that the coin collection dates to no later than the mid-870s (Archibald 2012). These coins in particular are what really help us pin the finds very precisely to the over-wintering of the Viking Great Army.

evidence, as we shall see, for gold working on the site and even for the presence of gold-plated forgeries. Torksey has produced the largest concentration of Arabic dirhams from an insular site, with over 100 having now been reported (Blackburn 2011: 229-30). This is comparable to the number of dirhams from Scandinavian trading centres, such as Birka, Kaupang and Parviken on Gotland (Blackburn 2011: 230). The Torksey dirhams range in date from c.700 to the 860s, a profile that is typical of that of concentrations of dirhams from Scandinavia, which have been dated to the 860s or 870s, although most such sites also produce dirhams of later date (Blackburn 2011: 230). There are no dirhams datable to any later than the mid-860s at Torksey, and bearing in mind the time it would have taken for coins to make their way from the Middle East to England via the Baltic, then the dirhams provide another piece of evidence for dating the main activity on the site to the 870s. None of the dirhams is complete, most being cut into quarters or even smaller divisions, which is also true of the fifteen dirhams from the winter campsite near York, and also is typical of dirham finds from Scandinavia (Hall et al. forthcoming).

Over hundred Northumbrian copper-alloy stycas are now known from the site. Stycas are not thought to have circulated widely outside of Northumbria, and are accordingly usually only recovered in Lincolnshire as single finds (Blackburn 2011: 225). The number of stycas found at Torksey is similar to the figure from the winter camp site near York, where 90 have been found (Hall et al. forthcoming). It seems likely that the concentration of stycas reflects them having been brought directly to Torksey from Northumbria by the Great Army, rather than having ended up there as a result of being in wider local circulation (Blackburn 2011: 225). Indeed, the great army had retired from Northumbria to Torksey in 872 (Whitelock 1961: 47). It has long been thought that the stycas had ceased to be minted and used before the Viking conquest of York in 867, but these concentrations at the winter campsites may reflect their continued use (Hall et al. forthcoming). Indeed, examples of stycas with blundered legends may have been Viking imitations, as Gareth Williams (in Hall et al. forthcoming) has recently argued. The blundering of inscriptions is widely regarded as indicative of moneyers working in contexts where their work is not overseen by a literate ruler, and is accepted by numismatists as indicative of minting of coins in a Scandinavian context (Blackburn 2002: 138). In other words, the Scandinavians – from a culture where coins were, on the whole, not minted – were not only using coins (albeit perhaps as bullion) but were also apparently minting them.

That the coin finds are indicative of the operation of a bullion economy is suggested by the mixed profile and fragmentation of the coins (Blackburn 2002: 134-5). This deduction is reinforced by the recovery of over twenty silver ingots and over fifty pieces of hack-silver, mainly in the form of small cut pieces of ingots, although some of the fragmentary decorative Anglo-Saxon, Irish and Scandinavian metalwork may also have been used for monetary exchange (Blackburn 2011: 230-36). More unusual is the hack-gold from the site, of which thirteen pieces are currently known. Several pieces had been chisel cut from gold ingots, although one twisted piece may have been cut from a plaited arm- or neck-ring. Two cut gold solidi ─ one Frisian, the other Carolingian ─ may also have been bullion. There are even some pieces of fake hack-gold in the form of a fragment of a goldplated copper-alloy ingot and two fragments from worked square rods; this is the first time that fake hack-gold has been recognised before on a Viking site in the British isles (Blackburn 2011: 234).

The continental coins recovered from Torksey include a silver penny of mid-ninth-century date, and four gold solidi, of which two are gilt copper-alloy forgeries (Blackburn 2011: 228, 252). A strip of lead bearing the impression of dies for striking solidi of Louis the Pious (814-40) was also recovered (Blackburn 2011: 228, 252). This gives support to the notion that imitations of these solidi were being struck not only in Frisia, where many are known, but also in England, where a handful of such imitative solidi have been recovered. Given the date range of the other finds, and notwithstanding the date of the impressed solidus, the lead strip seems most likely to have arrived at Torksey in the wake of the Viking overwintering, rather than earlier. While no coins struck from these dies are currently known, there is certainly

A bullion economy required weights to allow for the weighing of the metal. And we have, indeed, recorded almost 140 examples. Around 50 of these are copperalloy polyhedral weights, there is a handful of spheroid copper-alloy weights, and over 50 lead weights, around half of which are inset with decorative elements. It is recognised that both of the copper-alloy types reflect contact with the Islamic world, as they imitate the design of copper-alloy Islamic weights, and, more debatably, their weight-standards (Blackburn 2011: 236-9). These weights appear in considerable numbers on Scandinavian sites in the third quarter of the ninth century, and there is evidence (e.g. from Birka (Sweden) and Gotland (Sweden)) that they were being manufactured there (Blackburn 2011: 238). These weights are increasingly

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Dawn Hadley being recognised from sites in Britain, including the York winter campsite, which has produced 28 polyhedral weights (Hall et al. forthcoming). The mixture of hacksilver, fragmentary dirhams, and polyhedral and spheroid weights is representative of developments in Scandinavia in the 860s and 870s, as hack-silver began to become a standard means of exchange, reflecting an increasingly widespread bullion economy in Scandinavia, which the great army evidently exported to England (Blackburn 2011: 247). Thus, immediately upon beginning the processes of conquest and settlement, the inhabitants of the winter camps were engaged in economic activities, not only through the operation of a metal-weight bullion economy but also, so it seems, through the minting of coins.

these should be associated with the Viking army. There is little in the way of items related to military activity, but this must to a very large degree be connected both to the vagaries of survival of ferrous metal and the tendency for metal-detectorists to be less interested in collecting such material (Hadley and Richards in press). We have undertaken one small-scale excavation at the southwestern edge of the site, after our field walking programme recovered human remains. Two radiocarbon dates were acquired, and these suggest that the burials date to the ninth century (Hadley and Richards in press). Radiocarbon dating does not permit the narrowing of burials to precise years, but we are provided with much food for thought in the light of the aforementioned discoveries at Repton. Unfortunately, modern ploughing had disturbed the site down to the underlying natural clay and we were not able to confirm the presence of graves although further fragments of human remains were recovered. Intriguingly, the human remains include not only an adult male, but also an adult female and two children (Hadley and Richards in press). Along with the evidence of the spindle whorls this serves as a reminder that winter camps included not just warriors, but also women and children. This should hardly come as a surprise if we look at the written record. The AngloSaxon Chronicle records that in 893 the English captured the viking fortress at Benfleet, Essex, and ‘seized everything inside it, both property and women and also children’, while the entry for 895 records that the Viking army ‘placed their women in safety in East Anglia’ (Whitelock 1961: 54-7). There are similar references in continental chronicles to the presence of women and children alongside the viking armies that raided Frankia. For example, Regino of Prüm, writing in the early tenth century, recounts the arrival of a Viking army at the deserted town of Angers in the Loire valley, where the raiders based themselves in 873 ‘with their wives and children’, while the late ninth-century Latin poem Bella Parisiacae Urbis, written by Abbo, a monk of StGermain-des-Prés, refers to the presence of women alongside the Viking army that besieged Paris in 885 and 887 (discussed in Hadley and Hemer 2011).

Further impressions of the winter camp emerge from evidence for metalworking, in the form of trial pieces for jewellery and lead impressions of coins, including a Burgred lunette (Blackburn 2011: 241-2). While not capable of being closely dated, melts of gold, silver and copper, may also be indicative of metalworking (Hadley and Richards in press). Thus, manufacture, as well as trade, appears to have characterized the winter camps. A similar picture emerges from the winter camp site near York, where, intriguingly, unfinished strap ends of English style have been recovered, presenting an interesting insight into the craftworkers present on the site and the market for their wares (Hall et al. forthcoming). There over 150 fragmentary copper-alloy artefacts from Torksey, almost exclusively Anglo-Saxon in origin, and these may have been intended to be melted down. However, it is also possible that they were being used as a form of low value bullion. Indeed, it is notable that there are a few copper-alloy ingots from Torksey, and this may hint at system of value where copper was of importance in exchange (Blackburn 2011: 235-6). It is unclear whether this accounts for the 100 or so copperalloy strap ends, overwhelmingly decorated in the late ninth-century English Trewhiddle style, and other AngloSaxon dress accessories, such as hooked tags. These contrast markedly with a very small number of diagnostically Scandinavian dress accessories. As at the winter camp site near York, this presents some interesting questions about the people who occupied the site. Had the dress accessories been acquired effectively as scrap metal, or was Anglo-Saxon material culture being acquired and worn by Scandinavians even before permanent settlement? Or were there Anglo-Saxons present at the winter campsite? We cannot say, but it is certainly apparent that the Great Army and its followers were fully acquainted with Anglo-Saxon material culture even at this early stage of settlement (Hadley and Richards in press).

There are hints in the written record that women and children might also play an important role in the processes of conquest and acculturation. This is, for example, apparent from a series of events recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle in the wake of the aforementioned encounter at Benfleet. The wife and two sons of the viking leader, Hæsten, were taken to the West Saxon king, Alfred, but were released because one of the sons was his godson and the other was the godson of Ealdorman Æthelred of the Mercians. The baptism of the sons had occurred at some unknown time prior to the arrival of the Viking army at Benfleet, when Hæsten ‘had given the king oaths and hostages, and the king had also made him generous gifts of money’. This had not, however, prevented him from subsequently ravaging Mercia, which was ruled by Ealdorman Æthelred.

Evidence for other activities comes in the form of spindle whorls, needles, punches and awls, fishing weights and gaming pieces (Blackburn 2011: 244). These are, on the whole, not closely datable, but given the date range of the other datable material from the site it seems likely that

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Ethnicity on the Move Nonetheless, doubtless motivated by the bonds of spiritual kinship he had established with Hæsten and his family, Alfred allowed his captives to go free and he apparently made another endowment when he ‘gave back the boy and the woman’ (Whitelock 1961: 154-7). These are unusually detailed entries in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which provide a rare insight into the roles of women and children in the processes of acculturation. Hæsten’s wife was not recorded as having been converted along with her sons and so she may already have been a Christian; perhaps he had acquired an English or Frankish wife during his raiding campaigns? If so, the significance of inter-marriage between Scandinavian men and local women may already have been felt at this early stage of conquest and settlement.

had been based. Sometimes, this appears to have taken the form of appointing a ruler from the local elite, or forging an alliance with such an individual. This is most clearly demonstrated in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle account of events at Repton the year after the army left Torksey, as we have seen. A similar scenario can be detected a few years earlier, in 867, when the sojourn of the army in York, following the driving out of King Osbert in favour of a rival, Ælla, saw the emergence of one Egbert as king. When Egbert was driven out of York along with Archbishop Wulfstan in 872, the Viking army returned briefly to York. While it failed, if that, indeed, was the intention to return Egbert to the throne, the course of events reinforces the notion that his appointment owed something to the activities of the Great Army (discussed in Hadley 2006: 37-40). In both cases the Great Army seems to have become involved in internecine disputes, and was perhaps partly attracted by such disputes and the potential they offered for the acquisition of allies. To these documented examples, we can add the evidence of coins minted in East Anglia after the death of King Edmund at the hands of a Viking army in 869; these were minted for two otherwise unknown kings – Æthelred and Oswald – who are also thought to have been Viking appointees. This is because, while they both used moneyers employed by King Edmund, the blundered inscriptions have, in the words of Mark Blackburn (Blackburn 2005), ‘all the hallmarks of a Viking coinage’. So do the continental influences, as some of the coins are modelled on the Italian issues of the Carolingian Temple design, minted from the 850s for Emperor Louis II. Beyond the fact that the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle notes that the Great Army made peace with the Mercians at Torksey, the local interactions of the great army are unrecorded. Yet if Carolingian potters arrived in the wake of the over-wintering it may suggest that the army put in place some measures to maintain control over a place that was of considerable strategic importance on the Trent (and presumably not just the potters themselves!). Despite the silence of the written sources, the flourishing of the pottery industry under continental influences, when set in the context of evidence from York, Repton and East Anglia, may suggest something of a lingering involvement in Torksey by the Great Army after the winter of 872-3. Behind the more typically brief Chronicle entries, we can, perhaps, begin to discern something of the processes by which settlement and conquest commenced.

Our work at Torksey has also focused on the evidence for at least 15 pottery kilns within and around the modern village that date from the late ninth to late eleventh century (Barley 1964; 1981). The Torksey pottery and kilns reveal a considerable transformation to pottery production in the region. Torksey ware is tempered with sand, formed on a fast wheel and fired in up-draft kilns to a reduced grey-black. As such, it contrasts sharply with earlier fabrics from the region, which were coil built, typically tempered with crushed fossil shell, rocks or organic matter, and fired on a bonfire. There was, thus, a wholesale transformation in acquisition of raw materials, preparation of the clay, forming of the vessels, application of decoration and method of firing, while new vessel forms also emerged (Perry forthcoming). The form and fabric, types of decoration, and the use of the fast wheel for the first time since the Roman period, have led to the influences being discerned of continental potters from the northern parts of the Carolingian realm, where such industries were well established (Barley 1980: 289). Torksey pottery has been pretty securely dated to the last decades of the ninth century in excavations at both Lincoln and York (Perry forthcoming). While the precise date at which the industry was founded is unclear, it is not at all implausible that it was founded in the immediate wake of the Viking over-wintering. While Scandinavia was, at this time, broadly aceramic, Viking kings fostered the minting of coinage from the late ninth century in England even though Scandinavia was not at this time, on the whole, engaged in the minting of coinage either. A further point of similarity is in the influence of continental craftworkers, whose influence on pottery production is mirrored on the coinage, where moneyers with continental names appear in the inscriptions. Moreover, continental prototypes, and even occasionally dies, lie behind the design of some issues minted for Viking kings in England (Blakcburn 2001; 2004; 2005).

Conclusions The ways in which Scandinavian settlers interacted with Anglo-Saxon communities, and how they eventually integrated themselves in to Anglo-Saxon society have proven difficult to identify and have been subject to intense, and sometimes vitriolic, debate. It is apparent that the various sources of evidence available to us illuminate varying aspects of society, and privileging one source over another is potentially misleading, while amalgamating diverse sources of evidence can be

It is evident from a variety of sources that the Great Army did not merely spend a few months in a locale and then simply move on, without a backwards glance. They sometimes – perhaps typically – put in place measures to maintain some level of control over places where they

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Dawn Hadley challenging without recognition of the variability of the evidence and of the insights it provides. The notion that Scandinavian and English communities lived side by side with minimal interaction for generations – something proposed by place-names scholars – makes little sense in the context of the information provided by other sources of evidence, and at the very least it suggests that there were differing responses among the Scandinavians to the circumstances of settlement. By focussing in on the evidence from the earliest phases of settlement – that from Viking winter camps – we can see that even in the 870s members of the Viking Great Army and their followers were adapting themselves to the local social, economic and political circumstances. Larger scale settlement undoubtedly followed in the wake of the activities of the Great Army and must, to a large extent, have been influenced by the manner in which the way was prepared for conquest, settlement and interaction. At the same time, the evidence for a bullion economy alongside a coin-based economy reveals that the earliest Scandinavian settlers adopted different strategies in the wake of settlement. It is the diversity of responses, and the immediate willingness of, at least some of, the settlers to adapt to Anglo-Saxon society that emerges from the evidence from the winter camps. This suggests that discrete ethnic identities rapidly gave way – among at least some of the settlers – to pragmatism and the adoption of new ways of behaving and expressing identity as responses to the circumstances of conquest and settlement. In continuing to explore the Scandinavian impact on England in the ninth and tenth centuries it is the diversity of experience and behaviour that should be the focus of our investigations, and these should prevail over disciplinary obsessions. In sum, the Scandinavian settlers in England seem to have been far more adaptable and flexible than have been modern scholars!

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Hadley, D. M. - Hemer, K. A. (2011): “Microcosms of migration: children and early medieval population movement”, Childhood in the Past 4, 63-78. Hadley, D. M. - Richards, J. D. (eds) (2000): Cultures in Contact: Scandinavian settlement in England in the ninth and tenth centuries, Turnhout. - (in press): “The Viking winter camp and Anglo-Scandinavian town at Torksey, Lincolnshire – the landscape context”, in: V. Turner (ed.), Proceedings of the Sixth Viking Congress, Lerwick, Shetland.

Barley, M.W. (1964): “The medieval borough of Torksey: excavations 1960-2”, Antiquaries Journal 44, 165-87. - (1981): “The medieval borough of Torksey: excavations 19638”, Antiquaries Journal 61, 264-91. Biddle, M. - Kjølbye-Biddle, B. (1992): “Repton and the Vikings”, Antiquity 66, 36-51.

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Ethnicity on the Move Hall, R. A. - Williams, G. - Ager, B. - Rogers, N. S. H. (forthcoming), A Riverine Site near York.

Scandinavian settlement in England in the ninth and tenth centuries, Turnhout, 295-309.

Halsall, G. (1995): Early Medieval Cemeteries: an introduction to burial archaeology in the post-Roman West, Glasgow.

Reynolds, S. (1985): “What do we mean by ‘Anglo-Saxon’ and ‘Anglo-Saxons’?”, The Journal of British Studies 24 (4), 395414.

Kershaw, P. (2000): “The Alfred-Guthrum treaty: scripting accommodation and interaction in Viking Age England”, in: D. M. Hadley - J. D. Richards (eds), Cultures in Contact: Scandinavian settlement in England in the ninth and tenth centuries, Turnhout, 43-64.

Sawyer, P. H. (1962): The Age of the Vikings, London. - (1971): The Age of the Vikings (2nd ed.), London. Stein, S. (forthcoming): Understanding Torksey and the Viking winter camp of 872-3: a geoarchaeological and landscape approach to Viking overwintering camps (PhD thesis, University of Sheffield).

Keynes, S. - Lapidge, M. (1983): Alfred the Great. Asser’s Life of King Alfred and other contemporary sources, Harmondsworth.

Stenton, F. M. (1928): The Danes in England, Oxford. - (1971): Anglo-Saxon England (3rd ed.), Oxford.

Leahy, K. - Paterson, C. (2001): “New light on the Viking presence in Lincolnshire: the artefactual evidence”, in: J. Graham-Campbell - R. A. Hall - J. Jesch- D. Parsons (eds): Vikings and the Danelaw: select papers from the proceedings of the Thirteenth Viking Congress Vikings and the Danelaw, Oxford, 181-202.

Thomas, G. (2000): “Anglo-Scandinavian metalwork form the Danelaw: exploring social and cultural interaction”, in: D. M. Hadley - J. D. Richards (eds): Cultures in Contact: Scandinavian settlement in England in the ninth and tenth centuries, Turnhout, 237-55. - (2003): The English and the Normans: ethnic hostility, assimilation and identity, 1066-c.1220, Oxford.

Loyn, H. R. (1977): The Vikings in Britain, London. Nelson, J. (2003): “England and the continent in the ninth century: II, Vikings and others”, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society (6th series) 13, 1-28.

Townend, M. (2002): Language and History in Viking-Age England. Linguistic relations between speakers of Old Norse and Old English, Turnhout.

Richards, J. D. (2001a): “Finding the Vikings: the hunt for Scandinavian rural settlement in the northern Danelaw”, in: J. Graham-Campbell - R. A. Hall - J. Jesch - D. N. Parsons (eds): Vikings and the Danelaw: select papers from the proceedings of the Thirteenth Viking Congress, Oxford, 269-77. - (2001b): “Boundaries and cult centres: Viking burial in Derbyshire”, in: J. Graham-Campbell - R. A. Hall - J. Jesch D. N. Parsons (eds): Vikings and the Danelaw: Select Papers from the Proceedings of the Thirteenth Viking Congress, Oxford, 97-104. - (2000): Identifying Anglo-Scandinavian settlements, in: D. M. Hadley and J. D. Richards (eds): Cultures in Contact:

Trafford, S. (2000): “Ethnicity, migration theory, and historiography”, in: D. M. Hadley - J. D. Richards (eds): Cultures in Contact: Scandinavian settlement in England in the ninth and tenth centuries, Turnhout, 17-39. Whitelock, D. (ed. and trans.) (1961): The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, London. Williams, A. (1995): The English and the Norman Conquest, Woodbridge.

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Dawn Hadley FIGURES

Fig. 1. A selection of metal artefacts recovered by metal detectorists from the site of the Viking winter camp at Torksey (Lincolnshire). The assemblage includes coins, weights (for use with scales), ingots, gaming pieces, spindle whorls, fishing weights, and dress accessories.

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OTHERNESS AND IDENTITY IN THE MEROVINGIAN CEMETERY Guy HALSALL

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Abstract: The processes involved in the creation of the early medieval western European cemetery exclude the notion of ‘alterity’. In this essay, I wish to ask whether it is possible to study the late antique or early medieval construction of ‘the other’ via the analysis of the archaeological remains of the period’s cemeteries and, if so, how. By viewing early medieval data, mostly but not exclusively from Merovingian northern Gaul, through the prism of modern philosophy, largely that of Jacques Derrida, I will attempt to show that otherness, unlike identity, is not visible in early medieval cemetery evidence. Key Words: Cemetery – Merovingian – Otherness – Identity

that are, or might be, naturally-occurring or visible regardless of categorisation (hair-, skin- or eye-colour for example; or differences in genitalia; or physiological stages of ageing), the choice to use them as categories, their precise definition, the way in which they are employed and therefore the ways in which the people of the categories so created experience their lives, depend upon their position in a historically- and sociallycontingent system of signs. As signs they function textually, within chains of presence and absence, of similarity and difference. The term ‘textually’ is used in its Derridean sense, following his argument that all signifying systems share the essential features of writing or, in his terms, ‘écriture’2. This point is one to which I will return. Because no concept can be understood separately from those signifying chains, comprehended apart from its relationship with other signs, there is always something of the ‘different’ within the ‘same’. Concepts of the ‘different’ and the ‘other’ therefore begin from analogous starting points.

* * * In this essay, I wish to ask whether it is possible to study the late antique or early medieval construction of ‘the other’ via the analysis of the archaeological remains of the period’s cemeteries and, if so, how. By viewing early medieval data, mostly but not exclusively from Merovingian northern Gaul, through the prism of modern philosophy, largely that of Jacques Derrida, I will attempt to show that – at least in the terms usually envisaged – otherness, unlike identity, is not visible in early medieval cemetery evidence. By their very nature, the processes involved in the creation of the early medieval western European cemetery, especially the classic communal Reihengräberfelder and their analogues, exclude the notion of ‘alterity’ from the range of issues overtly spoken about by that evidence.

However, at that point they start, crucially, to diverge. The ‘other’ is not simply the ‘unlike’; it is the very negation of the ‘same’. In a situation of difference, a particular category of the world, a dog for example, may be constituted within a socially-contingent sign-system by all the categories that are outside and relate to it, in our example all the ‘non-dog’ categories. We might, provisionally at least, like to think of this as a situation of taxonomy or classification. By contrast, in a situation of otherness, the ‘constitutive outside’ is concentrated in a single categorical term. So we arrive at something more like binary opposites. That, however, binds the opposed concepts more, not less, closely. Inside and outside, ‘same’ and ‘other’, function like the two sides of a single piece of paper. The ‘other’ is the supplement without which the ‘same’ cannot exist. Without adopting a rigidly structuralist position, these oppositions can nevertheless be seen as organising the whole system, acting as fixed points within it. Concepts of good and evil, law and freedom might be considered as examples, as, in a slightly different way, might light and dark or night and day.

At issue, fundamentally, appears to be some confusion between ‘otherness’ and ‘difference’ and the relationship between those two concepts and that of identity. To blame may be some fashionable but (at best) analytically vague, usually meaningless and largely euphemistic employment of the term ‘othering’1. Conceptual groundclearing is therefore necessary. Identity and difference are simultaneous creations. The establishment of an in-group always involves the definition of an out-group or groups. At the same time, however, the ‘inside’ – the identity – is itself constituted by the ‘outside’, by what it is not. These points are absolutely elementary but the fact that they are yet to make a significant impact upon discussions of archaeological cemetery data requires that they be spelt out. No social identity is immanent. All are imposed as means of organising the world, as categories. As such, social identities are constructed as signs or groups of signs. Even where those signs are based upon differences 1

These points are perhaps best illustrated, in a late antique context, by the Roman: barbarian dichotomy. This operated at a quite different level from the taxonomic ethnic difference between a Gaul and a Spaniard, between 2 The trio of basic Derridean works on this are: Derrida 1967a, 1967b, 19867c. Perhaps the most accessible discussions of the essential features by Derrida himself can be found in the interviews in Derrida 1972. By far the clearest introduction to Derrida’s philosophy is Glendinning 2010. See also: Howells 1998; Stocker 2006.

See, egregiously: Nelson 2003: 1- 28.

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Guy Halsall political legitimacy, the court, when the barbarian was the only legitimate role they could play (Kulikowski 2013: 77-83).

an inhabitant of Tours and a citizen of Bourges, between a Frank and an Alaman or even between a Roman citizen and a Vandal3. Obviously, in some circumstances (most famously the Roman state’s treatment of Stilicho after his downfall 4 ) the Roman: barbarian dichotomy could be mapped onto the difference between the Vandal and the Roman. In particular situations, however, it could equally be laid over the difference between the Gaul and the Spaniard, the Tourangeau and the Berruyard or even the Frank and the Alaman5.

In all this, unlike the dialogue between taxonomic identities (as above), the discourse of Roman/barbarian did not take place between actual Romans and barbarians, but within the Roman polity. It was not a dialogue between opposed identities: ‘we are like this and you are like that’. Instead it was a discourse around a single positive ideal: ‘we are (or should be) like this because they are like that; you are bad because you are like them; if you wish to bracket us with them, by excluding us (and breaking up the community of ‘the same’), then we will act like them’. In this regard, the discourse of barbarian and Roman was analogous to the classical discourse around gender, as revealed in recent studies (Cooper 1996). Indeed, the two often ran side by side9.

However, like many other oppositions of the type discussed, what is at stake in the antique opposition of Roman and barbarian is not a simple binary polarity. This scheme of ideas in fact has only a single pole: that of the Roman6. There is no separate, single pole of attraction represented by the barbarian as opposed to the Roman. Everything is judged by nearness to or distance from that ideal. In the corpus of Graeco-Roman ethnography positive comments about barbarians almost always revolve around Roman virtues that the citizens of the Empire have lost or run the risk of losing, through social or political corruption 7 . The barbarian who is freer or more civilised than the Roman is a cliché of Roman socio-political critique 8 . Even where, in late imperial politics, we find instances where barbarian tropes are actively employed to create a political identity, this is still done entirely within Roman politics and its traditional norms. Thus, as a means of creating an identity when the traditional discourse of civic Roman male identity became circumscribed within the imperial civil bureaucracy, the ‘barbarizing’ Roman army adopted and valorised a number of features ethnographically held to mark the non-Roman (whether barbarian or animal), above all wild ferocity (Halsall 2007: 101-110). But there can be no doubt that this performance was entirely ‘scripted’ by traditional ideals, or that civic Roman male identity remained the pole against which one was ultimately judged (Halsall 2002: 89-113, 99-102). Similarly, in fifth-century politics, when military leaders performed their non-Roman ethnic origins (or in some cases adopted the latter), this was when they found themselves cut off from the traditional pole of imperial

In the taxonomic situation, identity could be based around various objectively measurable markers: language, descent, place of birth, costume, ritual and social practices, and so on. Most of these things have, of course, been the staple of traditional attempts to locate difference within the archaeological record 10 . Classical and early medieval descriptions of peoples were far from uninterested in such matters 11 , but it is important to recognise that Graeco-Roman ethnography itself operated at a taxonomic level as well as dealing with the organising civilised: barbarian dichotomy12. Nonetheless, it is a basic mistake of primordialist views of ethnicity to view even these identities as immanent. They functioned in the imaginary as well as the symbolic registers. That is to say that there remained (as with all signifiers) a notion of the ideal member of the category. Normally that was structured by some of the aspects which helped define the category (social and ritual mores, etc.) to create concepts of the ideal member of a sub-group within it (young woman, male elder, etc.). This has two very important implications. The first is that social identities are constituted by performance and citation13. The second is, if anything, even more crucial: the performance of identity is itself a motion towards an ideal. The ideal can never be attained, because it never had a pure, originary existence. It is fundamental that, in order to have been capable of communicating any sort of information, any concept or category, even on the very first occasion it was ever used, had to be capable of iteration, that is to say it had to refer not simply and exclusively to that specific instance but rather had to have

I owe the description of this level as taxonomic to discussion with Prof. Michael Kulikowski. 4 See, e.g. Theodosian Code, 7.16.1: The Theodosian Code and Novels and the Sirmondian Constitutions (trans. C. Pharr, Princeton NJ, 1952); Rutilius Namatianus, De Reditu Suo bk II, lines 41-60: Minor Latin Poets, Volume II (ed. & trans. J. Wight Duff and A.M. Duff, London, 1934, 53-829, at p.827). 5 Cp. the discussion of Republican Roman application of the term ‘barbarian’ in Dench 1995. 6 On Roman ethnography, see, e.g.: Balsdon 1979; Geary (2002); Halsall 2007: 45-57; Heather 1999: 234-58; Jones 1971: 376-407; Ladner 1976:1-26. 7 Perhaps the most obvious example is Tacitus’ Germania: Tacitus, Germania (trans. J.B. Rives, Oxford, 1999). The same general strategy is found, translated into a Christian idiom, in Salvian’s Governance of God. The Writings of Salvian the Presbyter (trans. J.F. O’ Sullivan, New York, 1947). 8 The trope also appears in Orosius’ Seven Books of History Against the Pagans 7.41.7 Orose. Histoires (Contre les Païens). Vol. VII (ed. & trans. M.-P. Arnaud-Lindet, Paris, 1991). 3

The barbarian was often feminised. See, e.g.: Ferris 1994: 24-31. A convenient discussion can be found in: Jones 1997. 11 A good survey can be found in: Balsdon 1979; see also: Pohl 1998: 17-69. 12 For example, in Tacitus’ Germania, chapters 2-27 discuss the Germani at the binary, structural level, whereas chapters 28-46 deal with the taxonomic level. 13 Loxley 2007: 112-66. The classic text developing notions of citation and performance was Butler 1999. 9

10

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Otherness and Identity in the Merovingian Cemetery the capacity to be used in others too 14 . To that end it already had to relate to an ideal, which was (and is) never coextensive with that which instantiates it, and to its constitutive outside (all the things which, ideally, it was not). Thus –crucially– even the identity (the sameness) being performed by an individual is, to some extent, a difference from him or her 15 . In other terms, it is the ‘constitutive lack’ 16 . Once again, there is no simple distinction between identity and difference. There is a difference within the subject, and ‘identity’ lies outside. These points leave aside the fact that those ideals are always themselves changing in the course of social practice17. They can never be entirely recreated, not least because, as I have just mentioned, there was never anything there that was susceptible to pure recreation. It is thus critically mistaken to talk of the maintenance of a Gothic or Frankish identity by a particular class; no such thing had ever existed that was capable of maintenance in the first place. It may be argued that the only time when subject and identity are coextensive is in death: a point of considerable relevance to this paper.

register any person possesses a range of identities, based on age, gender, family, ethnicity (at various levels), profession, religion and so on. Many of these are visible in the archaeological evidence recovered from furnished inhumation cemeteries20. All are crucially ‘different’ from each other, not least in that all can be used situationally, strategically, in social interaction. People who may share a gender but be divided by familial connections, or who may have different ethnic identities but the same religion, can decide either to overcome potential difference by stressing the shared, or to negate what is held in common by emphasising that which differentiates 21 . In other words, within the taxonomic register, any particular role or identity can manifest either sameness or difference depending on the situation. This is not the case with alterity. The oppositions around which the truly ‘other’ is constructed represent the fixed points, the poles with reference to which other identities can be situationally evaluated. I further contend that alterity can never properly be performed, even to the extent that identity can (reiterating that the performance of identity is only ever a motion towards an ideal). Alterity cannot be performed without one of two things: reducing it to a metaphor in the taxonomic register (a particular barbarian identity, for example, to represent the barbarian 22 ), or through the inverse citation of the ideal (that is, performing the barbaric by enacting the bad Roman) (Halsall 2002). It is precisely this feature, this location in the sphere of the imaginary, which gives racism and antiSemitism their resilience in the face of empirical observation. The character of actual, known, individual black people or Jews can be talked down as exceptional, or can be incorporated within the negative stereotype (as an example of treachery or slipperiness) or, conversely, be used as a basis for the denial of racism (‘some of my best friends are black’)23. In a late antique context, these features can be seen in practice in some of the examples referred to earlier.

With a situation of alterity, all these points are even more significant. Here the concepts operate entirely within the register of the imaginary. The subject strives towards an ideal, as before, and imagines him or herself performing that identity in the gaze of, and judged by, others. The measure of any identity – even one stressing sameness and community – lies to some extent in an imagined other to which one addresses the performance. That other can be envisaged in several ways – as God, the Law, ‘society’, the Lacanian ‘Big Other’ (the symbolic order), the doxa in Bourdieu18 – but always plays fundamentally the same role. What importantly distinguishes the ‘other’ from the simply, taxonomically ‘different’, is that the ‘other’ is always central within the imagined audience in whose gaze identity is performed. Thus, Romanness is performed not only in the imagined gaze of the ideal Roman but of the barbarian – not members of specific gentes (those these may doubtless be encompassed within a specific action’s imagined social audience) but the stereotypical, idealised barbarian figure 19 . Similarly, masculinity is performed in the imagined gaze not just of ideal manhood but of ideal womanhood.

These points, taken cumulatively, make it clear that it is a serious category error to think of variations in the mortuary presentation of different social identities as representations or constructions of the ‘other’. The I have discussed many of these identities in: Halsall 1995; 2010. I first developed this way of seeing in: Halsall 1995: 21-25. It is developed in relationship to ethnicity in: Halsall 2007: 35-43. The current paper develops my theorisation of the issue. 22 This seems to be what, at best, is represented in the concept of ‘othering’. 23 This point has repeatedly been made by Slavoj Žižek, perhaps best in: Žižek 2008. An example can be found in a British local news story. A defendant charged with the racially-aggravated harassment of a Bangladeshi couple defended herself against the charge of racism by claiming to enjoy a curry and to have had an Asian grandparent! http://www.barkinganddagenhampost.co.uk/news/crimecourts/dagenham_couple_guilty_of_racist_campaign_against_neighbou rs_after_row_over_curry_1_3751858 (accessed 01/09/2014). At a possibly higher intellectual level, the point is amply illustrated by Niall Ferguson’s attempt to deny that some of his pronouncements have racist or homophobic implications by pointing out that he is married to a Dutch Somali and has gay friends: http://www.thecrimson.com/article/2013/5/7/Ferguson-ApologyKeynes/ 20

These points emphasise another crucial distinction between the ‘different’ and the ‘other’. In the taxonomic

21

This notion is fundamental to Derridean philosophy. See above, n.2. This ‘lack’ should not be confused with alienation: Skempton 2010. 16 I have taken this, loosely, from the psychoanalytical philosophy of Jacques Lacan. See: Fink 1995. On Lacan, good introductions include: Bailly 2009; Homer 2005. Indispensable is Evans 1996. 17 As for instance is core to the social theory of Pierre Bourdieu and Anthony Giddens. See, classically: Bourdieu 2000; Giddens 1987. Though emerging from very different scholarly traditions, it nevertheless seems to me that this point is assimilable with the Derridean philosophy upon which this paper draws. 18 See above, nn.16-17. 19 Examples of this can be found throughout the corpus of Roman panegyric: In Praise of Later Roman Emperors. The Panegyrici Latini. Introduction, Translation and Historical Commentary (trans. C.E.V. Nixon & B. Saylor Rodgers, Berkeley, 1994); Sidonius: Poems and Letters (ed. & trans. W.B. Anderson, vol.1, London 1936, 1-327). 14 15

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Guy Halsall empirical grounds for interpreting ethnic identity from difference in burial ritual – whether from the presence or absence of grave-goods, the forms of object deposited or the forms of costume in which the dead were buried – are mostly very weak indeed (Halsall 2010: 93-167; 2011: 15-27). There is little to be gained from repeating those arguments. More satisfactory, perhaps, would be to adopt an approach that could be followed independently of any subscription or opposition to the ethnic interpretation. It is in any case surely obvious that, even if one accepted (as I do not) that the observable distinctions in furnished burial in this period relate to incoming ethnic groups, not all of the incomers were interred in that fashion. They are too few, even for minimalist views of migration. From that fact one has to conclude that something other than the barest fact of an ethnic identity must have lain behind the decision to bury the deceased in a particular way. Some other sort of distinction was (at least) simultaneously being made manifest (Halsall 2011; 2008: 103-117). If that was the case, then we should consider what statements about the dead are being made within the funerary ritual. One must examine the issue of why the burial took that form.

argument can be underlined via a different route, which considers the processes by which the archaeological record of the early medieval cemetery was constructed. Especially when looking at the furnished inhumations of the late and post-imperial period in Western Europe it is of fundamental importance to remember that these displays of identity were – in an important sense – transient. Although Howard Williams has correctly drawn attention to the fact that the semiotic richness of a multi-sensory performance allowed important memories to be created (Williams 2003: 89-128; 2003:1-24; 2006), it obviously remains the case that, once the grave was filled in, the display of grave-goods was no longer visible. For the message created by the ritual to convey information about the deceased (and his or her family), therefore, an audience was required at the funeral and burial itself (Halsall 2010: 203-260). The furnished inhumation cemetery was, therefore, a communal cemetery, a shared ritual focus. Someone interred in a communal Reihengräberfeld, in a costume and accompanied by goods (and other archaeologicallyinvisible elements of the performance) that were intended to make clear their position or role within that community cannot possibly – because of that very fact – be considered as representing the ‘other’, according to the discussion above. Identity and difference are inherent in the process; otherness is not.

The obvious starting point is that the dead do not bury themselves. Those directly responsible for the interment were presumably the deceased’s family, although close study of later sixth-century northern Gallic Reihengräberfelder suggests that the broader community probably played a determinant role in governing appropriate and inappropriate forms of ritual expression. Both points underline that made earlier about the fact of inclusion inherent in burial in the communal cemetery. Although there were many means by which identity and difference could be manifested within the post-imperial furnished inhumation rite, it is important to remember that all were developed on the basis of a common ritual. All the inhumations within a Reihengräberfeld followed a shared, basic script, including the choice to inhume (rather than cremate), the orientation of the burial, the shared cemetery, the supine deposition of the corpse and a corpus of grave-goods that could be found in burials of all types. The number of types in this non-diagnostic, ‘neutral’ corpus might very well outnumber those used to mark difference 25 . Even the latter, however, operated within the community norms mentioned earlier. The community’s role in establishing the norms for inhumation of individuals of particular types – and there would have to be such norms for any communication of identity to succeed – means that subscription, however general, to those norms implied active inclusion within society.

If one were attempting to seek alterity, the ‘other’, properly conceived, in the early medieval burial record one would have to look outside the cemetery, at isolated burials removed from the community of the living or the dead. Andrew Reynolds’ discussions of execution burials in Anglo-Saxon England later in the first millennium might constitute an example of such an enquiry (Reynolds 2009). Studies of the topography of burial might also allow us to identify those regarded as somehow outside the community and thus perhaps more representative of a concept of otherness (Effros 1997: 123; 2002; Treffort 1996; Rebillard 2009). Obviously, however, there are different forms of removal from the main communal cemetery. The deliberate inhumations increasingly known from settlement sites, commonly with significant grave-goods, do not represent that sort of exclusion (Theuws 1999: 337-349; Hamerow 2006: 1-30; Loveluck 2013: 38, 62, 65). Similarly, the processes of Separierung attested around 600, which led to local élites being interred in their own burial-grounds or churches, away from the earlier communal cemeteries, cannot be regarded as a manifestation of the ‘other’, rather than an attempt to create difference24. Where we are certainly not on firm ground in looking for ideas of the ‘other’ is in alleged ‘ethnic’ differences in burial style. I have repeatedly argued in the past that the

There are instances where those rules may be breached or inverted but, again, the point being made by such

24 Strategies include the construction of mounds (perhaps most famously at Sutton Hoo in East Anglia) or the establishment of a burial group set slightly away from the main cemetery (for example at Hayange in Moselle)

25 For example, in the main sixth-century phase at Lavoye (Meuse), fifteen artefact-types were common to masculine and feminine burials, compared with eleven found only in masculine and eight only in feminine graves. Halsall 1995: 124.

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Otherness and Identity in the Merovingian Cemetery in the earlier years of marriage, before children had come of age), and mature adult males (dying before their sons had come of age) 30 . Therefore, what is at stake in the creation of the archaeological record of post-imperial burial is not to the attempt establish or reflect alterity or ‘otherness’, but the effort to maintain a form of community, although the latter obviously includes taxonomic difference31.

strategies can only be made by reference to the normal grammar of display. For example, when the family of the occupants of graves 70 and 71 in the cemetery of Ennery (Moselle) chose to demonstrate their distinction from the community by burying their dead accompanied by an entirely masculine assemblage of artefacts including two weapons, that point can only have been effective with reference to the communal norm (on that site, at that time) that the age-groups to which deceased belonged, a young boy and an old man, were not, or were only rarely, associated with weaponry and masculine artefacts (Simmer 1993; Halsall 1995: 92-93). The same point stands for their choice to orient the graves differently from those surrounding them. Here, the bereaved family demonstrated inclusion in the community, by playing with its rules, but simultaneously manifested a claim to be different from it. That claim, however, is most unlikely to have been based around any sort of alterity; quite the opposite. This point can be made for a number of ‘rule-breaking’ burials, especially in the phase of aristocratic Separierung, c.600, mentioned above, and in the seventh century26.

The argument can be pursued by a consideration of the artefacts employed within the burial ritual. A good example where what might be seen as a manifestation of ‘otherness’ in fact demonstrates the opposite may be found in the late fourth- and fifth-century ‘Föderatengräber’ of northern Gaul (Böhme 1974; Halsall 2010: 93-167). Whether or not these graves are those of incoming settlers from barbaricum is fortunately an issue that can, for now, be bracketed. What is at issue is the choice of object employed to represent the deceased’s status within society. In male burials these objects make statements about traditional sources of legitimate power and authority within Roman society. This is clearest with the items of metalwork (crossbow brooches, buckles and other appliqués from belt-sets, strap-ends and so on) which were associated with imperial service, whether in the army or in the civil service. The weapons deposited with the dead also made a claim to legitimate power and, probably, an association with the Roman military. Weapons like spears might also have referred to the characteristically aristocratic pastime of hunting, also depicted in some artefacts deposited in the grave (Halsall 2010: 125).

There are other unusual burials within cemeteries where the issue is more blurred: where the subject was supposedly immobilised, headless or prone. The data need close examination before the claim can stand; many alleged instances are very dubious27. Even with examples that are established beyond doubt, the fact that these individuals were nevertheless interred within the community’s grave-yard speaks heavily in favour of a certain level of inclusion28. So does the fact that gravegoods often accompanied such burials. We may, of course, have an instance of dialogue here, with a family making an argument, via the burial, for their continued inclusion within the community in spite of one of its members evidently being somewhat unusual or excluded in some way. A simple argument for ‘otherness’ cannot stand, unmodified, in such an instance. At best we have an occasion where an attempt, within a community, to place someone in a category of ‘otherness’ has been contested.

The glass, bronze and ceramic vessels placed with the dead were surely connected to the traditionally élite practice of banqueting and the distribution of food. These items were also deposited with female dead, otherwise more notable for the items of a more archaeologically-visible costume marked principally by brooches of various sorts, together with other items of jewellery. Whether or not this costume marked ethnic identity (I do not believe that it does, but that can as noted be left aside from the current argument), we can plausibly suggest that it was also intended to depict the deceased woman as a virtuous daughter or matron. Some of the items of jewellery were decorated in the same ‘chip-carved’ technique as was typical of the official beltsets and other metalwork and doubtless made the same reference (Böhme 1974). While I should reiterate my view that there is no prima facie evidence that these burials were of immigrants from Germania, that, as I have always argued, does not exclude the possibility that at least some of the dead were of non-Roman origin (Halsall 2010: 93-167). However, even if one believes that these graves were those of outsiders, the conclusion

The other point made earlier was that the act of burial is organised as a public act by the bereaved family. Inscription evidence makes clear that a family could be joined by that of the deceased’s spouse in commemorating the dead29. This supports the reading of furnished inhumation as an attempt to smooth over the tensions caused by a death within a community. Thus, as I have demonstrated before, the most lavish funerary displays tend to be those of people whose death would create the most tension: young adult women (betrothed or 26 Merovingian double burials include Ennery, graves 6 & 8 and Audunle-Tiche grave 103. Simmer 1988, 1993; Halsall 2010: 347-49, 357-60. 27 Many of the examples alleged by Simmer for the site at Audun-leTiche are clearly instances where the stratigraphy has been misunderstood. Halsall 1995: 160-62. 28 E.g. Audun-le-Tiche, grave 103, one of the best-furnished burials in that phase of that site 29 Halsall 2010: 228, referring to Gauthier 1975: nos.1.33 and 1.48.

30 Halsall 1995: 255-258; 2010: 289-411. The results of these studies are matched by those reached by Brather 2008: 237–73. 31 We need to rethink what we mean by community. My thinking here has been heavily influenced by the work of Jean-Luc Nancy. See especially: Nancy 1990; 2001; 2014); Nancy – Bailly 1991.

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Guy Halsall removes the possibility (discussed earlier) that the deceased’s family were trying to cover up any difference and stress consensual normality. On the other hand, however, it is very difficult to avoid the conclusion that the deposition of (in biological or osteological terms) a man or woman with items overwhelmingly associated with the opposite sex represents an inversion of one of the most important structuring norms in social organisation, one with which concepts of alterity were very strongly associated, as noted above.

cannot be avoided that the ritual display involved in their burial was intended to make clear their inclusion within traditional imperial power-structures. In other words, even if these burials are those of ‘barbarians’, their funerals were attempts to play down any possible ‘otherness’. An analogous point can be made for the overwhelming majority of post-imperial funerary displays involving the burial of grave-goods. For example, the distinction between younger adult males buried with weaponry and those buried without in sixth-century northern Gallic cemeteries makes reference to accepted roles and identities in that society. One may hypothesise that, because of the association of the Franks with the military at this time, the weapon-graves might be those of ‘Franks’32. Nevertheless, it must be stressed that at this point, although there were legal and other benefits associated with Frankish identity, the Roman and Frankish free population existed as parallel groups (Halsall: forthcoming). The display represents difference and some sorts of power relations but one cannot read it as manifesting any idea of ‘otherness’, not least because, in their funerary displays, both groups were essentially playing according to the same set of semantic rules. This leads us back to the point made earlier about the shared basic grammar according to which all funerary displays were made.

The first point to be made in confronting this conundrum is that we should not see the interment of biologically female subjects with masculine artefacts as analytically equivalent to the burial of biological males with feminine material culture. One of the detectable movements in Merovingian material culture in the sixth and seventh centuries is the adoption of some masculine artefacts by women. This is best seen in the case of plaque-buckles. These started out as strongly masculine items of apparel but seem gradually to have been adopted by women. This in turn led to a redrawing of this gender distinction, with decorated and larger examples being buried with males. The dynamic continued to operate, however, with women starting to wear decorated plaque-buckles and men investing more in the size and decoration of their belt-buckles34. This dynamic is of course well attested in many social contexts. The construction of masculinity and the boundary it erected against the feminine were therefore always under a certain degree of pressure, with a constant level of ‘background noise’ where women were adopting masculine items. This movement is in many ways to be expected in situations where women could be judged positively for the possession of at least some masculine qualities35.

There may be one category of burials about which we can say something a little different. This is constituted by burials which have grave-goods which generally seem to be inappropriate for people of the biological sex in question. A discussion of this group will lead me to my concluding points. It must first be conceded that this group of graves is very small; the vast majority of alleged cases may be questioned either on the basis of inadequate osteological data-survival or analysis or, more commonly, because of insufficient contextual examination of the normal gender-associations of objects on that site at that period33. Often, the artefact-classes of ‘weaponry’ or ‘jewellery’ are too loosely defined. Nonetheless, there are certainly some examples which appear to be genuine. How one analyses these within the problematic of alterity is a difficult issue. On the one hand the point must be reiterated that the bare fact of inclusion in the communal cemetery, as well as the evidence that the interment was conducted with appropriate ritual, care and attention by surviving relatives speak against seeing the occupant of such a grave as somehow ‘other’. The fact that a difference from the normal is made clear in the evidence, in the public deposition of artefacts and costume accessories, also

The handful of plausible cases of women interred with weapons needs particular care. It has been tempting, especially for non-academic readers, to leap to conclusions questioning the male dominance of warfare and even to refer to mythic concepts such as ‘shieldmaidens’36. This is especially significant for this paper as societies which contained armies of women (notably the Amazons) constituted one of the key manifestations of 34 At the sixth-century site of Ennery (Moselle), analyses showed the plaque-buckle as masculine, as was also shown by analysis of the sixthcentury phase of Dieue-sur-Meuse (Meuse). Analysis of the large sixthcentury phase at Lavoye (Meuse) showed that the plaque-buckles leaned heavily to the masculine end of the scale. On the other hand, such buckles were found close to the middle of the scale, in the ‘neutral’ group of artefact-types, at the seventh-century site of Audun-le-Tiche (Moselle) and in the seventh-century phase at Lavoye. Halsall 1995: 81, 124, 136, 145, 153. 35 See, as just one example, the discussion of Monegund in Gregory of Tours, Life of the Fathers 19, preface. Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores Rerum Merovingicarum 1.2 (ed. W. Krusch & W. Levison, Hanover, 1969, 661-744); Gregory of Tours. Life of the Fathers (trans. E. James, 2nd ed., Liverpool). 36 For a critical review of recent attempts in the online community to argue this case, see http://historicalacademy.co.uk/blog/2014/09/05/viking-warrior-women-ormisrepresenting-research/ (accessed 23 Oct., 2014).

32 Provided one accepts two caveats: that there is nothing inherently Frankish about the rite itself, of inhumation with weapons, and that by ‘Frank’ we mean those people adopting that identity in socio-political interaction; not simply a population of incoming settlers. Halsall 2003: 32-33, 47. 33 The issue is discussed at length in Halsall 2010: 325-42, with references.

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Otherness and Identity in the Merovingian Cemetery their point (Butler 1999). If such people were interred as men then clearly the community regarded them as men, not as women acting as men. The only transgression would be when women who lived their lives as women take part in what were regarded as exclusively masculine activities.

alterity in the Roman ethnographic imaginary (Pohl 2004: 23-43, esp. 24-36). Some caution is required. Heinrich Härke long ago drew attention to the fact that close study suggests that a strict, functionalist connection between weapons and an actual warrior role is highly questionable (Härke: 1989: 49-61; 1999: 22-43). Most obviously, there are small children buried with weapons – rarely in Merovingian Gaul; more commonly in Anglo-Saxon England and the Alamannic regions. We do not assume that this implies that children habitually went off to fight. That said, I have argued before that the symbolism of weaponry was more specific than merely a right to fight. The written sources in any case tell us of women involved in low-level violence. I have suggested that the level of violence referred to in the deposition of weaponry was that of the army, of warfare, and the right to take part in it.

Females buried with what we might call a mixed genderkit – weaponry alongside the usual female assemblage – nevertheless raise a crucial point, with which I will end. The female warrior was, as noted, a classic sign of alterity in the late antique imaginary. And yet, we do seem to have some actually-existing female subjects whose involvement in warfare was recognised as apt by the community – hence its recognition in the burial rite. This same seeming paradox may be attested in the interment of males with female artefacts. As I intimated earlier, these examples raise some different issues from those brought up by the females with masculine goods. First, there is no commensurate valorisation of the male adopting feminine attributes. Here we actually have a written text to help us, although it is not one without problems. Gregory of Tours does refer to a man dressed as a woman, during the tribunal at the end of the revolt of the nuns of Holy Cross, Poitiers38. The man justified his wearing of female garb in terms of his inability to perform ‘manly work’. Whatever this may have meant39, it was evidently not an unalloyed positive. As Nancy Partner has pointed out, moreover (Partner 1993), it is significant that this subject was described by Gregory and, evidently, the other participants in the episode as a man wearing woman’s clothes, not as a woman. It seems therefore that the episode shows us costume being employed an outward sign of some kind of falling away from ideal manliness, rather than a ‘biological male’ living life as a woman. It is also unlikely that we would encounter burials of the ‘mixed’ type just discussed with biological males. Someone recognised as a man, but buried in feminine costume would be unlikely also to receive the weaponry customary for someone of his (biological) sex, for the simple reason that a decision to live life as a woman would undermine the ability to participate in the masculine activities symbolised by weapons. It might, however, be the case that we might find men buried with masculine costume but with female artefacts appended – items evidently symbolic of female work such as weaving batons, loom-weights and so on, for example. This would require close examination because methods of determining the gender association of artefacts might simply render these objects ‘genderneutral’ and the fact that they are not items of bodily or costume adornment (jewellery) would make the anomaly less immediately obvious. Thus the known ‘transgressive’ burials of biological males seem to be those interred in female costume, like the Poitevin

There is no evidence that women had a right to participate in the activities of the army but there are nevertheless several ways in which weaponry could still appropriately be employed in the interments of females. One might be through the breach of norms to manifest a family’s distinction, as noted earlier; in other words a family might be suggesting that its right to participation in the military and political activities of the army inhered in, and could be passed through, its womenfolk. Similarly, the family into which such a woman had married might have been staking a claim to acquire that right, or the military obligations that came with particular lands, through that marriage. The written sources do tell us occasionally of women involved in some military activities. The Liber Historiae Francorum’s admittedly problematic account of Queen Fredegund accompanying the Neustrian army on campaign against the Austrasians is perhaps the best instance37. Weapons could represent the control of warriors. It is also well-attested that a female role in leading the defence of settlements was accepted in the early Middle Ages (Garver 2009: 182). Weapons in a female burial could represent recognition of such a role or achievement. There are therefore many interpretive options available before we appeal to shamanism, the historical existence of warrior maidens or a mass conspiracy on the part of male writers to conceal the existence of the latter. The points made in the preceding paragraph are, however, only valid where weapons accompany an otherwise feminine burial assemblage. Where a subject biologically sexed as female was interred with a masculine complement of grave-goods different issues arise. If what we might think of as a biological woman lived her/his life as a man, then there is no necessary transgression of the usual societal norms. This is where the more recent revision of the common idea that gender is a social construct on the basis of biological sex make

Gregory of Tours, Histories, 10.15. Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores Rerum Merovingicarum 1.1 (ed. B. Krusch & W. Levison, Hanover, 1951); Gregory of Tours. History of the Franks (trans. L. Thorpe, Harmondsworth, 1974). Discussion in: Partner 1993: 419–43; Halsall 2010: 323-325. 39 Impotence or inability to do a man’s work, in the fields for example. 38

37 Liber Historiae Francorum, 36. Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores Rerum Merovingicarum 2 (ed. B. Krusch, Hanover, 1888, 215-328; The Liber Historiae Francorum (trans. B.S. Bachrach, Laurence, Kansas 1973).

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Guy Halsall mentioned by Gregory40. The inclusion of these people within the communal cemetery, and the respect and recognition given to their identity in the public burial ritual, show that even though one might consider their life-style to have represented the very acme of ‘otherness’, as envisaged in writings about ideal behaviour, in practice room could be made for them within the early medieval community. This point would seem, as intimated earlier, to apply quite commonly within early medieval society, as it is manifested in the burial record.

the ground’, must be explored. Then as now, that gap shows us that ideological visions of alterity are constructs with little or no empirical grounding. It teaches us above all that, in the interests of freedom and humanity, our perspective must always be shifted to expose that discrepancy. Bibliography Bailly, L. (2009): Lacan, Oxford. Balsdon, J. P. V. D. (1979): Romans and Aliens, London.

This illustrates a vitally important element of alterity, which has been much discussed in modern philosophy, and returns us to our starting point. The social and political value of ‘otherness’ resides precisely in in the fact that it cannot be actualised; it can be confronted on the basis of the empirical only with difficulty, as was mentioned earlier. It is extremely difficult to illustrate the ideology of alterity via actually-existing communities. As Slavoj Žižek has repeatedly argued, the ideological function of otherness is to act, so to speak, as a peripheral ‘blot’ which draws the gaze away from tensions that might threaten the status quo 41 . When one attempts to view it constantly moves again. The only way to tackle it, argues Žižek, is to adopt a perspective different from that assumed by ideology. One might argue that such a move is made easier by returning to the points made earlier in this paper and remembering that any identity or categorisation, ascribed or adopted, is never coextensive with itself but only exists by virtue of a system of relations and differences. It contains within itself the resources for its deconstruction42. On the other hand, the tragedy of identity and alterity is that that ideology can be used to rupture communities that have long lived side-byside, as in the countless instances of nationalism and ethnic cleansing in the modern world. The variability that we can see within the post-imperial cemetery record may suggest, more happily, moments when such differences could be incorporated within everyday interaction.

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The study of early medieval cemetery archaeology and its confrontation with the images of society and its ideals given in the written sources therefore has extremely valuable things to teach us. It instructs us that while we should not assume that ‘ideology’ was something somehow different from ‘reality’ with no bearing on how ordinary people lived their everyday lives, statements of ideology should, as they still must, be closely interrogated. The gap opened up by the burial evidence, between articulated views of alterity and interactions ‘on

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Ennery (Moselle), grave 32. Halsall 2010: 342-343. The point is made endlessly in Žižek’s highly repetitive oeuvre, but is nonetheless important. See, especially: Žižek 1991. On Žižek, see, above all: Kay 2003. 42 I use deconstruction in its correct, Derridean sense, not, as is frequently done by historians, erroneously to mean simply a critical taking apart. There are important philosophical issues involved in bringing together the thought of Derrida and of Lacan (in Žižek’s iteration of the latter). Nonetheless the two are assimilable: Major 2001. Another route is via engagement with Levinasian ethics: Critchley 1999. 40 41

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ARCHÉOLOGIE FUNÉRAIRE ET ETHNICITÉ EN GAULE À L’ÉPOQUE MÉROVINGIENNE (Réponse a Guy Halsall) Michel KAZANSKI - Patrick PÉRIN

_____________________________________________________ Abstract : The sharp criticism towards us by Guy Halsall (GH), expressed in his article "Ethnicity and early medieval cemeteries," published in 2011 in Archaeology and ethnicity. Reassessing the "Visigothic necropolis”, is for us an opportunity not only to respond to our colleague, but to reaffirm our views on archaeological data and their historical interpretation regarding the archaeological evidences of the barbarian groups operating in the territory of the Western Roman Empire. We need to underline that our difference of view with GH is based primarily on a different approach to the ethnic concept in traditional societies. We consider these societies as heterogeneous structures, which under a political label grouped people of diverse origin. On the other hand, we must be conscious that the concept of an ethnic group, a people or tribe varies by time, space and historical context. It is also true in a way, as writes precisely GH, that ethnicity is a "state of mind", i.e. the willingness of an individual to identify with a human group. But a change of ethnic identity and therefore cultural is, in our view, a long and complex process. No individual can shed quickly and voluntarily the cultural baggage that he received from his childhood, from its original surroundings, as his way of behaving, thinking, reacting, eating, sleeping, dress, make war etc. All these cultural characteristics to an individual or to a human group leave material traces, which are the subject of the Ethnology in respect to ‘Modern traditional societies’ and of the Archaeology for the so-called "dead” societies. Key Words: Ethnicity – Funerary Archaeology – Gaul – Merovingian

nous avons eu recours aux méthodes qui ont fait leurs preuves dans l'étude des sociétés traditionnelles, notamment en ethnologie. La critique de GH à notre égard est plutôt un prétexte pour exposer son point de vue sur les données archéologiques concernant les traces archéologiques des Barbares sur le territoire de l'Empire romain d'Occident. Ses idées, qui en partie répètent les nôtres, méritent sans doute un examen approfondi, mais notre objectif est ici plus modeste : répondre à la critique, exprimée d'une façon assez agressive à notre égard 1. GH a mis en doute nos méthodes de recherche et leur logique même. En ce qui concerne la logique, il s'agit à notre avis plutôt de la lecture non attentive de nos travaux, car souvent il déforme nos propos et même nous attribue des idées que nous n'avons jamais exprimées, même d'une façon implicite (rigidité du costume romain, caractère presque éternel d'ethnicité des Goths) Quant au choix de méthodes de recherche, il nous semble que pour les évaluer, il faut avoir des connaissances "empiriques" assez larges en archéologie européenne. Et ce n’est visiblement pas toujours le cas pour GH, à en juger d'après ses remarques à propos R. Hachmann (Hachmann 1970) et l'archéologie de la région baltique 2 , ou sur l'absence prétendue des pratiques funéraires stables dans la civilisation de Černjahov/Sîntana-de-Mureş 3. Contrairement à ce qu'affirme GH, nous n'avons jamais eu l'intention de passer sous silence les travaux de nos collègues, qui expriment d'autres points de vue. A contraire, nous avons invité à nos colloques en France S. Brather, B. Effros, F. Theuws, Ph. von Rummel, qui ont pu ainsi largement exposer leurs hypothèses devant les chercheurs français et les discuter d'une façon détaillée. De même nous avons positivement répondu à toutes les invitations aux colloques émanant de ces collègues et ainsi exposé à leur jugement nos opinions. 2 Depuis longtemps l'ouvrage de R. Hachmann (Hachmann 1970) a été déjà l'objet de critiques parce qu'il n'a pas tenu rigoureusement compte de la méthode de purification régressive (par ex. Klein 1974). Dans l'annexe consacrée aux Goths, on ne parle pas du matériel archéologique scandinave et de son interprétation par R. Hachmann, contrairement à ce que affirme GH, mais des résultats de recherches archéologiques du grand chercheur polonais R. Wolagiewcz (Wolagiewcz 1986), qui a réussi trouver les preuves archéologiques d'une migration de la Scandinavie vers la côte sud de la Baltique et ainsi confirmer la véracité de la légende généalogique des Amals, racontée par Jordanès (voir également Kazanski 1991: 15-18). Les travaux de R. Wolagiewicz ont reçu la reconnaissance des autres grands spécialistes de l'archéologie gothique, tel M. Ščukin (Ščukin 2005: 25-38). 3 Le biritualisme, c'est a dire la combinaison des incinérations et des inhumations, est un trait stable des pratiques funéraires des civilisations de Wielbark et de Černjahov (voir Symonovič, Kravčenko 1983; Nikitina 1985), appartenant, selon l'avis commun, aux Germains orientaux, c'est à dire aux Goths, aux Gépides, ainsi qu'à leurs alliés germaniques et non germaniques. Ce biritualisme se manifeste à l'époque romaine également chez les voisins des Germains orientaux, qui étaient en contact avec les Goths et les Gépides, tels que les Baltes en Prusse orientale et la population scytho-sarmate de la Crimée du 1

* * * La vive critique à notre égard de Guy Halsall (GH), exprimée dans son article « Ethnicity and early medieval cemeteries », publié en 2011 dans Archaeology and ethnicity. Reassesing the « Visigoths necropolis”, est pour nous l’occasion, non seulement de répondre à notre collègue, mais d’exposer à nouveau notre point de vue sur les données archéologiques et leur interprétation historique concernant les témoins archéologiques des groupes barbares implantés dans le territoire de l'Empire romain d'Occident. Quelques remarques préliminaires s’imposent. Nos recherches, évoquées par GH, avaient un but très précis, en l’occurrence étudier de façon la plus objective possible les cas archéologiques concrets attestés en Gaule du Nord qui, à notre avis, peuvent témoigner de la présence de Barbares dans cette région. Pour identifier ce matériel,

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Michel Kazanski – Patrick Périn Une autre remarque préliminaire concerne les sources écrites, dont la vision qu’à GH nous semble stupéfiante. Il considère notre lecture des textes comme "démodée", or, nous, les archéologues, n'intervenons pas dans leur lecture. Visiblement GH n'a pas très bien compris le principe même de notre recherche, emprunté aux travaux de l'école allemande de H.-J. Eggers et R. Hachmann. L'étude du matériel archéologique est effectuée uniquement avec les méthodes et moyens propres à cette discipline et seulement après, au niveau de l'interprétation historique, viennent d'autres sources, en premier lieu les témoignages des sources écrites, étudiées préalablement par les historiens des textes et des philologues. Ainsi, il est communément admis, que les passages de Jordanès et de Grégoire de Tours, que nous évoquons pour l'interprétation de la diffusion des modes germaniques orientales, sont fiables. Personne ne doute de l'existence du prince ostrogothique Vidimer ou du général romain Syagrius, la discussion portant sur les faits précis de leur biographie. D'une façon curieuse GH, qui nous incrimine l'application de ces textes classiques et bien étudiés, nous reproche en même temps de ne pas avoir renforcé notre argumentation à propos des soldats germaniques orientaux en Gaule du Nord, par les témoignages des auteurs anciens! L'impression se dégage que les sources écrites sont vraiment gênantes pour GH, qui exprime presque le regret que ces sources existent, car elles confirment les hypothèses que celui-ci ne partage pas.

mode etc.) et que d'autre part même les traits culturels les plus traditionnels varient dans le temps, ce qui n'est pas une révélation pour quiconque. En effet, nous avons consacré un certain nombre de travaux à ces sujets et donc sommes donc absolument conscients de ces faits4. Après ces remarques préliminaires, il convient d’examiner à présent les domaines choisis par GH pour sa critique, à savoir les pratiques funéraires, les armes et le costume féminin. Si l'on se penche plus spécialement sur le caractère traditionnel des pratiques funéraires, il est évident que celles-ci changent avec le temps, mais ce changement est plus long dans le temps que par rapport à d'autres domaines de la civilisation : il suffit de se rendre au cimetière le plus proche et de regarder les dates des enterrements pour vérifier cette affirmation. Cependant les larges parallèles, tirés par GH au hasard de toute la civilisation européenne, sont à notre avis stériles. Hors contexte historique et culturel précis leur valeur est très relative. Examinons plutôt la situation réelle en Gaule à la fin de l'Antiquité et au début du Moyen Age. On sait parfaitement d'après sources écrites, détestées par GH, que l'installation de colons et d’auxiliaires germaniques de l’armée romaine en Gaule du Nord a été considérable à partir du IVe s. Il est donc légitime de chercher les traces archéologiques de ces événements. Ces traces se manifestent notamment dans la diffusion d'architectures domestiques (Fig. 1), de la céramique germanique non tournée (Gonzalez et alii 2001; Böhme 2009: 137, 144, 145, Fig. 6, 11) et d'autres objets (par exemple des peignes du type Thomas I, des fibules du type Almgren 175-177, Meyer II et III etc., voir Kazanski 1992). Ces éléments sont caractéristiques de la Germania libera et quasi-absents en Occident romain, mais GH les passe sous silence, pour se concentrer sur les pratiques funéraires et le costume féminin pour classer ces indices comme "douteux"5.

Nous avons proposé une liste d’indices - les pratiques funéraires, les coutumes à caractère ethnographique, telle la déformation crânienne artificielle, les armes "ethniques", le costume féminin traditionnel, la céramique non tournée, le "style animalier germanique" qui, à notre avis sont plus significatives que le restant du matériel archéologique, pour l'étude du contexte ethnique et culturel en Gaule du Nord à la fin de l'Antiquité et au début du Moyen Age (Kazanski-Périn 1997; 2008; 2009; Périn-Kazanski 2006; 2011). De toute cette liste d’indices, établie sur la base de très nombreuses recherches paléo-ethnologiques, GH a choisi de n’en examiner que trois: les pratiques funéraires, les armes, où plutôt seulement un type – les « francisques » - et surtout le costume féminin. Nous ne savons pas, à le lire, si les autres indices lui paraissent tout à fait fiables, ou bien si notre collègue britannique ne maîtrise pas suffisamment le restant du matériel archéologique considéré pour en discuter sa valeur.

4 Le discours de GH sur le fait que l'objet isolé en soi-même n'a pas d'ethnicité ne représente pas un scoop scientifique non plus. On sait bien et on a dit et redit à plusieurs occasions que chaque objet doit être étudié dans son contexte historique et culturel. Pour ainsi dire, depuis le début de notre carrière scientifique, nous avons suivi le conseil de GH ne pas décrire les objets comme francs, lombards, gépides etc. Si notre collègue britannique se donne la peine de consulter nos travaux, il verra que dans nos études consacrées aux matériels précis, on utilise soit les noms des types, connus de tous les spécialistes sérieux, soit même les n° des types et seulement par raccourci, quant l'objet est décrit d'une façon détaillée et quand son origine géographique est claire et irrévocable, on utilise l'appellation comme "plaque-boucle gépide" ou "fibule lombarde", pour préciser le milieu géographie et culturel de provenance. 5 GH nous incrimine l'attribution germanique des tombes à armes et celles féminines à parures germaniques (hypothèse qui a été formée bien avant nous par nos collègues allemands, en premier lieu J. Werner et H.W. Böhme) en déformant d'ailleurs nos propos, car sur la page citée (Kazanski-Périn 2008: 191), pas un mot n'est dit sur ces types d’inhumations, mais on parle des tombes à chevaux, à tumuli et des incinérations, comme éléments étrangers aux pratiques funéraires de la Gaule du Bas-Empire et de l'époque mérovingienne! On peut donc souhaiter à GH une lecture plus attentive des travaux qu'il critique.

Dans la plupart des cas, GH évite l'examen direct des cas archéologiques que nous avons étudiés. En revanche, il consacre une partie considérable de son texte à exposer des évidences, à savoir qu’à part la tradition culturelle et ethnique il y a d'autres facteurs qui interviennent dans la formation de ces traits culturels (structure sociale, âge, Sud-Ouest. Les inhumations et incinérations de la culture de Černjahov forment les types stables des sépultures et se répètent d'une nécropole à l'autre, à quelques exceptions près. Ainsi, on peut, au contraire, insister sur la stabilité et même la rigidité des rites funéraires de la civilisation de Černjahov.

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Archéologie Funéraire et Ethnicité Traditionnellement on attribue les tombes contenant les armes ou encore les parures venant du Barbaricum aux Germains installés avec leurs familles en Gaule au service de Rome6. Le statut social de ces personnes est à discuter, mais il est néanmoins clair, à en juger d'après la valeur de leur mobilier funéraire, qu’elles occupaient une position élevée, très probablement liée au service militaire, ce qui se manifeste par la présence symbolique d’équipements militaires. D'autre part, en Gaule du Nord, essentiellement sur la côte, apparaissent des incinérations (par ex. dans la nécropole de Vron: Seillier 1993), qui, de toute évidence, sont également liées au monde germanique.

suite que leur mobilier se distingue nettement de celui des sépultures identifiées par nos collègues allemands comme germaniques. Ces tombes romaines de Gaule, ainsi que celles de la Germanie romaine, à l'ouest du Rhin, contiennent des offrandes de vaisselle, des accessoires vestimentaires tels des colliers de perles, bracelets, boucles d'oreille, ceinturons, parfois des fibules masculines cruciformes dites de fonctionnaires. En revanche les armes et les fibules féminines y sont totalement absentes. L'apparition des tombes à armes et à fibules féminines dans le nord-est de la Gaule, et leur absence dans le restant de ce territoire au Bas-Empire ne peuvent pas être une manifestation de changements sociaux internes de la société gallo-romaine, telle la formation d'une nouvelle élite dirigeante, car le phénomène est limité à la partie septentrionale du pays7.

Selon GH l'attribution germanique de ces tombes, qui nous paraît, avec d’autres (cf. en particulier: Böhme 1974, 1985, 2009) parfaitement justifiée, ne peut être prouvée par l'archéologie. Il allègue qu’aucune de ces pratiques funéraires n'est spécifiquement germanique. Il insiste sur le fait que les Barbares, dans la partie occidentale de la Germania libera, entre le Rhin d'une part et les côtes de la mer du Nord et de la Baltique d'autre part, pratiquaient les incinérations et que l'usage de l'inhumation y est adoptée par certains groupes de la population vers 400, sous l'influence romaine.

Les modes d’inhumation de la population gallo-romaine de la Gaule au Bas-Empire sont bien connus, grâce à des nombreuses publications et on se rend compte tout de

D'autre part, il est faux d'affirmer qu’avant 400 les inhumations sont totalement étrangères au monde germanique occidental. En effet, durant la phase B1-B2, c'est à dire au Ier-IIe s., en Germania libera entre la Weser et la Vistule. on connait déjà des tombes de "chefs" du type « Lübsow », où l'inhumation est bien présente, ce qui les distingue, à part un riche mobilier, des tombes à incinération "ordinaires" (voir par ex. Bemmann-Voss 2007: 154-158). Dans la phase C2, selon la chronologie du Barbaricum de l'époque romaine (pour les bases de cette chronologie voir en particulier Godlowski 1970), c’est-à-dire durant la deuxième moitié du III e s., une série d’inhumations "princières" dites de l’horizon « Hassleben-Leuna » (Fig. 3) apparaît chez les Germains du groupe de l'Elbe-Oder (en dernier lieu Bemmann-Voss 2007: 158-162). Ces inhumations se distinguent par un riche mobilier, en grande partie d'importation romaine, par la présence de signes du pouvoir militaire, tels des éperons et manifestent sans doute la formation d'une nouvelle élite sociale chez les Germains (voir par ex. Young 1981: 16-18). Selon J. Werner cette nouvelle élite militarisée des Germains de l'Oder-Elbe est issue des chefs de guerre germaniques, au service des usurpateurs gaulois du IIIe s. (Werner 1973; Périn-Feffer 1997: 400). En rentrant dans leur pays ils ont rapporté non seulement de riches butins de guerre, dont leur mobilier funéraire témoigne, mais aussi de nouvelles coutumes funéraires. Ces dernières, on le sait depuis longtemps, sont un moyen de manifestation de statut élevé dans les sociétés traditionnelles. On peut donc constater, que chez les Germains continentaux, dans la région délimitée par GH, l'inhumation, sans doute empruntée aux pratiques funéraires gallo-romaines, est bien présente à l'époque romaine en tant que signe du haut statut de certains inhumés privilégiés. Ainsi, l'idée que les élites militaires du Bas-Empire, bientôt suivies par leurs subordonnés, imitaient avant tout les rites

Les chercheurs ont souligné que ces tombes relatent seulement une partie de la communauté germanique, installée en Gaule au Bas-Empire (par ex. Young 1981: 15). A part ces élites militaires il y avait une masse de la population plus ordinaire, dont les traces sont attestées notamment dans les sites d'habitat (Gonzalez et alii 2001), sans parler d'une grande quantité d’esclaves, dont les traces ne sont pas aisément saisissables par l'archéologie.

Rappelons que selon les recherches d'archéologie rurale la pluspart de villae aristocratiques du Nord sont abandonnées au Bas-Empire (voir pour les détails Van Ossel 1992), tandis que dans la partie Sud elles fonctionnent toujours et la richesse de l'aristocratie méridionale est bien décrite par des auteurs latins de cette époque.

Il est absolument exact que ni l'incinération ni l'inhumation en elles-mêmes ne sont des pratiques spécialement germaniques. Mais ces rites doivent être replacés dans leur contexte historique et culturel précis. Ainsi, en ce qui concerne précisément l'incinération, largement pratiquée par les Gallo-Romains, elle disparait au cours du IIIe s. et n'apparait pratiquement plus jamais dans la majeure partie de la Gaule, sauf précisément dans le Nord (Fig. 2), territoire d'installation historique de migrants germaniques (Périn-Feffer 1997: 391). Il convient d’ajouter, pour ces sites à tombes à incinération du Bas-Empire et du début de l’époque mérovingienne, la présence de céramiques de tradition germanique, voire anglo-saxonne, façonnée à la main, de parures typiques de la Germanie du Nord et des îles britanniques (Vron, Neuville-sur-Escaut: Seillier 1993; Soulat 2009), de même que la parenté anthropologique des personnes inhumées avec des populations germaniques septentrionales du Haut Moyen Age (Blondiaux 1993: 242; Périn-Feffer 1997: 372-374). Nous avons donc toutes les raisons, comme beaucoup de chercheurs avant nous, d’attribuer ces caractères funéraires à des éléments étrangers très probablement d’origine germanique septentrionale.

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Michel Kazanski – Patrick Périn funéraires prestigieux du monde "princier" germanique, nous paraît tout à fait concevable.

Abordons maintenant la question du costume féminin germanique occidental, attesté dans les tombes du BasEmpire en Gaule du Nord. GH nous attribue l'idée, que nous n'avons pourtant jamais exprimée, que le costume féminin est l'indice ethnique le plus important. Il expose longuement l’évidence que ce costume est également un marqueur social et dépend de l’âge des inhumées, ainsi que d'autres facteurs. Bien entendu nous partageons ce point de vue et nous l'avons exprimé très souvent dans nos publications. Il faut tout de même souligner que dans les sociétés traditionnelles le costume féminin, à l'exception de quelques exemples "princiers", est plus stable et plus "régional" que le costume masculin qui, comme on le sait, imite très souvent la mode militaire en vigueur. Pour s'en persuader, il suffit de consulter de nombreux ouvrages avec les représentations de costumes ethnographiques des différentes régions d'Europe.

Comme cela arrive souvent, l'exemple "princier" est bientôt suivi par une partie de la population d’origine germanique, essentiellement par celle qu'on appellerait aujourd'hui "la classe moyenne". Au IVe s., une série de tombes à inhumation appartenant sûrement à des gens aisés, et non à des élites dirigeantes, apparait dans la partie occidentale de la Germania libera. Nous pensons aux tombes attribuées par H.-W. Böhme à sa Zeitstufe I, comme par exemple celles de Bremen-Mahndorf (t. 219), Sahlenburg (t. 1 et 21), Nimwegen-Grutberg (t. 405) (Böhme 1974: 157), aux relativement nombreuses tombes à inhumation alémaniques du IVe s. (Alamannen 1997: 79-102), ou encore aux inhumations germaniques de la région du Main contenant des épées : Lampertheim (t. III) et Stockstadt (t. 1 et 2) (Schulze Dörrlamm 1985, n° 4, 6). Il est à noter, que ces dernières, comme celles de la Gaule du Nord, contiennent des armes, ce qui a été déjà souligné par M. Schulze-Dörrlamm (Schulze-Dörrlamm 1985). Toutes ces inhumations sont beaucoup plus proches de celles de la Gaule du Nord, attribuées au Germains, que les sépultures majoritaires imputables à la population gallo-romaine du Bas-Empire.

Le costume féminin du Bas-Empire, identifié comme appartenant à la tradition germanique, contient notamment une paire des fibules en forme d'arbalète, circulaires ou en trompettes, portées en général par paires sur les épaules et la poitrine. Selon GH, l'attribution de ce costume à la population germanique occidentale n'est pas fondée car, selon lui, on connaît mal la manière dont les Germaines occidentales portaient leurs fibules. Pourtant, déjà en 1974, H.-W. Böhme avait donné la liste des inhumations féminines de la partie occidentale de la Germanie de l'époque romaine tardive et du début de celles des Grandes Migrations où les fibules concernées ont été précisément mises au jour sur aux épaules ou dans la partie supérieur de la poitrine des défuntes: BremenMahndorf (t. 64, 142, 149, 203, 208, 219, 249), Helle (t. 20), Sahlenburg (t. 1, 13, 18, 19, 21) ou encore Rhenen (t. 823), en Toxandrie, cimetière utilisé depuis le IVe siècle par les Francs (Böhme 1974: Abb. 53). Il faut y ajouter les inhumations alémaniques du IVe s., qui ont également livré le même costume avec des fibules portées aux épaules (Alamannen 1997: 92, Abb. 74).

Le discours de GH concernant l'origine romaine du mobilier de ces tombes reprend, en fait, les propos de J. Werner, de H.-W. Böhme et d'autres chercheurs. En effet, la plus grande partie du mobilier funéraire, venant de ces sépultures est produit en Gaule et ne se distingue en rien de celui de tombes gallo-romaines, souvent voisines dans les mêmes cimetières. Cependant il suffit de regarder les cartes de diffusion des objets concernés, publiées par H.W. Böhme et confirmées par les travaux ultérieurs (voir en particulier pour les ceinturons: Sommer 1984; Soupault 2003), pour comprendre que le tableau, décrit par GH est trop simpliste. Ainsi, la diffusion des parures féminines de tradition germanique (Böhme 1974, Karten 1-10; Böhme 2009: Fig. 4, 5), englobe uniquement la Gaule du Nord et une partie de la Germania libera (fig. 4). Les tombes de l'époque romaine tardive, contenant la panoplie typique - lance, hache, bouclier, plus rarement épée - sont attestées en Gaule du Nord et dans le Barbaricum germanique, mais sont très rares, voire absentes ailleurs sur le restant du territoire romain (Schulze-Dörrlamm 1985: Abb. 34, 39). En revanche les ceinturons "militaires" se diffusent avant tout le long du limes romain, en le débordant parfois aussi bien à l'intérieur de l'Empire que dans le Barbaricum. D'autre part les peignes triangulaires du type Thomas II se concentrent essentiellement sur le territoire de l'Empire et sont relativement rares chez les Barbares (Böhme 1974, Abb. 48). Tout ceci laisse à penser que la diffusion des objets n'est pas aussi homogène que le pense GH et obéit à certaines règles, qui sont le reflet d'une situation historique et culturelle dont la reconstitution fait partie des tâches de l'archéologue.

De plus, il est significatif que ces types de fibules, notamment en arbalète (Fig. 4:2) et en trompette (Fig. 4:1), sont presque exclusivement connues en Germania libera, en Gaule du Nord et dans les Îles Britanniques, c'est à dire dans les régions mêmes d'implantation des Germains occidentaux, comme nous le savons également d'après autres sources. En revanche, ces fibules sont absentes en Gaule centrale et méridionale, en Espagne, en Italie, dans les régions danubiennes, bref, sur tout le restant du territoire de l'Empire d'Occident, ce qui n’est sûrement pas un hasard. Le costume féminin romain du Bas-Empire, bien connu d'après les nombreuses sources archéologiques et iconographiques, a subit un changement important par rapport à celui de l'époque précédente. Il ne contient ni les fibules en arbalète (à leur propos voir par exemple Schulze-Dörrlamm 1986) à part quelques cas quand des fibules cruciformes masculines ont abouti dans des tombes féminines provinciales, ni celles en trompette.

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Archéologie Funéraire et Ethnicité Même les fibules circulaires, qui fixaient le peplum romain et sont connues d'après les données iconographiques, n'apparaissent pas dans les tombes gallo-romaines. Ce type de vêtement avec des fibules est seulement attesté à la fin de l’Empire romain par des images allégoriques (Schulze-Dörrlamm 1986: 687, Abb. 103, 104; von Rummel 2007: Abb. 34), ce qui met en doute la réalité de son existence au Bas-Empire. En revanche l'habit féminin (souvent une robe ajustée), avec une fibule ou une fermeture circulaire de la ceinture sur la poitrine, apparaît souvent dans l'iconographie des VeVIIe s. (voir des exemples pour la région méditerranéenne: Quast 1999: Abb; 6, 9; Mastykova 2005: Fig. 5-8). Au VIe s., ce costume se diffuse d'une façon large dans le monde mérovingien. On peut tout de même supposer que les petites fibules circulaires et animalières, connues au Haut-Empire faisaient partie, elles aussi, du costume romain tardif, car leurs dérivés sont bien connus à l'époque mérovingienne, mais de toutes évidence elles n'ont pas fait partie du mobilier funéraire des Romains (Martin 1988; Martin 1991; Martin 1994: 567-574; Marti 1990: 49-54). Nous n'avons donc aucune raison d’attribuer les tombes féminines avec des fibules de tradition germanique à la population de souche romaine.

GH s'étonne que dans notre étude nous ayons attribué, en suivant en cela beaucoup d'autres chercheurs, le costume féminin de l’époque mérovingienne à deux fibules sur les épaules aux Germains orientaux, alors que pour le BasEmpire le même costume est attribué aux Germains occidentaux. Notre collègue britannique, d’une part, n'a pas remarqué qu'il s'agit de différents types de fibules (en arbalète, en trompette et circulaires, pour les Germains occidentaux, et de fibules en tôle d'argent pour les Germains orientaux) et que, d'autre part, le costume féminin a eu tendance à évoluer avec le temps. Chez les Germains occidentaux à l'époque romaine, le costume à deux fibules portées aux épaules est attesté, nous l'avons vu, par des inhumations de la partie septentrionale et occidentale de la Germania. Or, à en juger par de nombreux exemples dans les nécropoles de l'époque mérovingienne situées à l'Est du Rhin, la position des fibules change à partir de la seconde moitié du Ve s. Les fibules digitées sont alors le plus souvent portées à la hauteur du bassin, voire des cuisses (Fig. 5:1), tandis que les petites fibules se trouvent sur la poitrine (Clauss 1987). Ce costume est bien attesté en Gaule, mais le nombre de tombes concernées est très limité par rapport aux autres sépultures (le plus souvent quelques cas à chaque génération, de même que les riches tombes masculines à armes). Ainsi, nous avons des raisons solides pour attribuer cette mode du début de l'époque mérovingienne à la tradition vestimentaire des Germains occidentaux.

Ainsi, pour l'époque romaine tardive en Gaule du Nord, les objections de GH n'ont pas de sens car elles ne prennent pas en compte le matériel archéologique réel. Ce n’est guère mieux pour l'époque mérovingienne. En ce qui concerne le costume féminin de cette époque, nous prenons bien évidemment en compte le fait, bien connu, que seule une partie des sépultures de la "classe moyenne" de la population inhumée a livré un mobilier susceptible d’être utilisé pour tenter de déterminer l’origine possible des inhumés. En effet, comme l’ont notamment démontré R. Christlein pour les Mérovingiens (Christlein 1973) et V. Bierbrauer pour les Germains orientaux (Bierbrauer 1989, 1989a), la grande partie, voire la majorité des tombes attribuables à la population "ordinaire" ne contient pas de parures, telles des fibules.

En ce qui concerne les Germains orientaux d'Europe centrale et orientale, le port des fibules ansées asymétriques sur la poitrine ou sur les épaules y est typique pour l'époque romaine et celle des Grandes Migrations (Fig. 5:2), de nombreux travaux ayant été consacrés à ce sujet (voir en particulier TempelmannMączyńska 1989; Gopkalo 2011). Les changements se manifestent essentiellement dans les types de fibules. Ce sont d'abord des fibules en arbalète, puis ansés asymétriques en tôle métallique, avec des imitations en alliage cuivreux moulé et, enfin, des fibules ansées asymétriques dont l’une des extrémités est digitée, qui disparaissent au cours du VIIe s., tout comme en Occident. Ce costume typique des femmes germaniques orientales apparaît en Occident à l'époque mérovingienne de façon notable et uniquement dans les régions où l’installation des Germains orientaux est attestée, c'est à dire l’Espagne wisigothique (Fig. 6: 1, 2, 5-7), l’Italie ostrogothique et dans une moindre mesure chez les Burgondes établis en 443 dans l’est de la Gaule. En Gaule du Nord et du Sud, ce costume est de toute évidence « exotique », ce qui nous permet de le rattacher à une tradition venant de l'extérieur, très probablement à la mode germanique orientale, d'autant plus que dans la majorité des cas, il comporte des fibules en tôle d'argent, indiscutablement liées à la tradition vestimentaire féminine des Germains orientaux.

Dans certains cas, d’autre part, les pratiques funéraires des élites dirigeantes barbares excluent le dépôt d’objets dans les tombes. Nous pensons en particulier à certaines inhumations effectuées dans les églises (bien que l’Eglise n’ai jamais condamné cette pratique qui revêtait un caractère social et non religieux) ou au fameux Edit de Théodoric, prescrivant aux Goths, certainement d’un statut social élevé, de se faire enterrer "à la romaine", sans mobilier funéraire. Tout cela explique en quelque sorte la rareté des tombes contenant les parures germaniques, notamment en Italie ostrogothique, ou en Aquitaine, ou encore chez les Vandales d'Afrique du Nord, où les Germains représentaient une petite minorité par rapport à la nombreuse population romaine. Notre étude sur le costume mérovingien en Gaule du Nord ne concerne ainsi qu’une partie de la population et se limite à des cas archéologiques réels, sans entrer dans des spéculations d'ordre général.

Ces fibules en tôle d'argent sont attribuées par GH, qui se réfère à l'étude de F. Gauss (Gauss 2009), à la tradition

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Michel Kazanski – Patrick Périn méditerranéenne. Une telle attribution ne peut venir que de l'ignorance délibérée de tout ce que nous connaissons de l'évolution de ces fibules. Leurs prototypes à tête semicirculaire et pied losangique, richement décorés, apparaissent déjà à l'époque romaine tardive, plus précisément dans le contexte "princier" des Germains orientaux et septentrionaux, au Danemark et en Pologne, notamment dans les célèbres découvertes de Sakrau/Zakrzów, Arslev et Sanderumgord. Au IVe siècle, durant la phase C3 selon la chronologie du Barbaricum d'Europe centrale, leurs imitations "démocratiques", en tôle métallique ou en alliage cuivreux moulé, apparaissent en grande quantité dans les tombes de la "classe moyenne" de la civilisation de Černjahov (Magomedov 2001: 75, 76; Mastykova 2007). Puis, à partir de ces fibules černjahoviennes se forment directement les grandes fibules en tôle d'argent qui deviennent caractéristiques des tombes des élites germaniques orientales du Danube et d'Europe orientale au Ve s. (Ambroz 1966). Il convient de préciser qu’avant le début des Grandes Migrations, c'est à dire avant 375, les fibules à pied losangique et tête semi-circulaire sont totalement absentes sur le territoire de l'Empire romain, qu’il s’agisse du matériel archéologique bien daté, de l'iconographie et des autres sources. Il faut donc avoir une imagination très fertile pour attribuer ces fibules à la tradition vestimentaire méditerranéenne. Bien sûr, il faut prendre en compte le fait que le phénomène de la mode vestimentaire lancée par l'aristocratie est bientôt adopté par le restant de la population. C'est ainsi que s'explique par exemple la large diffusion du costume à deux fibules en tôle d'argent en Espagne wisigothique (Périn 1993), qui concerne aussi bien les Goths que les HispanoRomains (Kazanski 1991: 101).

gothique et très probablement non gothique et est liée à d'autres événements historiques (Périn 1993). Il faut cependant noter que les tombes à fibules en tôle d'argent apparaissent de plus en plus dans les fouilles de ces dernières années (par ex. Cazes 2013) (Fig. 7). En Gaule du Nord les grandes fibules en tôle d'argent y sont très rares (Kazanski-Mastykova-Périn 2008: 152159) et n'ont pas de racines dans la tradition vestimentaire féminine locale, d'où notre conviction qu'elles sont liées à la présence de groupes étrangers d'origine germanique orientale. On peut proposer différents modes de diffusion de ces fibules en Gaule du Nord : la déportation des Wisigoths vaincus par Clovis en 507, comme le pense V. Bierbrauer (Bierbrauer 1997), ou bien, comme nous le pensons pour des raisons chronologiques, l'engagement de Germains orientaux dans l'armée romaine de Gaule durant la deuxième moitié du Ve s., pour faire face à l’avancée des Francs vers le sud (Kazanski-Périn 1997). La pratique du recrutement de Germains danubiens (Ostrogoths, Skires, Hérules, Ruges, Suèves, etc.) dans l'armée romaine d'Occident, sous Majorien, Anthemius, Jules Nepos ou Romulus Augustule est bien attestée par les sources écrites, et même si nous n'avons pas de témoignages directs de leur envoi, avec leurs familles, en Gaule de Nord, une telle hypothèse nous paraît cependant très plausible. Ajoutons que dans beaucoup de cas, et selon l’usage, ces troupes supplétives barbares étaient accompagnées par leur famille car la loi romaine interdisait les mariages entre Romains et Barbares. Evidemment, dans le cadre de l'armée romaine dont les Mérovingiens ont hérité, ces troupes supplétives barbares d’origines différentes formaient souvent des groupes hétérogènes. Cela explique, selon nous, le caractère hétéroclite des secteurs les plus anciens de certaines nécropoles mérovingiennes de la moitié nord de la Gaule où les tombes contiennent des parures féminines de différentes traditions vestimentaires : germanique orientale, anglo-saxonne, lombarde, danubienne etc. (Vallet 1993; Kazanski-Périn 2009: 161-163).

Comme nous l'avons dit, les grandes fibules en tôle d'argent se diffusent sur le territoire de l'Empire dans les régions d'installation des Germains orientaux (Danube, Balkans, Italie, Espagne), mais sont rares en Gaule du Sud (Lezoux: Vertet-Duterne 1999), y compris entre la Loire et les Pyrénées, ainsi que la Septimanie, où les Wisigoths s’établissent au Ve s. (en dernier lieu Pinar Gil 2010; Gourgoury 2013). La raison de cette exception aquitaine est très simple. Les Wisigoths, ou plutôt le ramassis de bandes armées itinérantes réunis sous ce nom, ont quitté le Danube et les Balkans vers 410, où ces fibules ne font pas encore partie de la mode prestigieuse (a propos de la datation des tombes privilégiées concernées et de leur chronologie sur le Danube, voir en dernier lieu Tejral 2011). Ainsi, ces Barbares, établis en Gaule au début du Ve s., y ont-ils amené des objets caractéristiques de la civilisation de Černjahov, tels que les peignes du type Thomas III ou les fibules en arbalète du type Almgren 162, ainsi que très probablement de petites fibules à tête semi-circulaire, réparties sur des sites différente et découvertes au hasard des fouilles (Kazanski 1993; 1999), mais pas les grandes fibules en tôle d'argent qui n'existaient pas encore avant 400 ou peu après. La diffusion postérieure de ces dernières dans le royaume wisigothique concerne alors la population

Il est, bien entendu, difficile de reconstituer l'histoire précise de ces groupes barbares en Gaule du Nord. Cependant, leur acculturation, comme en témoigne des exemples archéologiques précis, telle la tombe 300 de la nécropole de Saint-Martin-de-Fontenay (Calvados) (Pilet 1994: 100, 101, 372), nous paraît claire. Cette tombe (Fig. 8) a livré un squelette féminin offrant des traces nettes de déformation crânienne artificielle, coutume orientale, typique des peuples d'Europe centrale et orientale à l'époque des Grandes Migrations. La défunte était accompagnée de deux fibules du type dit de MainzBretzeinheim (Fig. 8:1,2), dérivé des fibules germaniques orientales en tôle d'argent mais attesté uniquement en Gaule du Nord et en Rhénanie et fabriqué sans aucune doute pour une clientèle ayant des traditions vestimentaires danubiennes. Or, ces fibules ont été déposées dans la tombe "à la mérovingienne", c'est à dire sur le bassin de la défunte, et non aux épaules. Ainsi, la défunte concernée a commencé sa vie dans une

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Archéologie Funéraire et Ethnicité communauté où on suivait les coutumes "orientales", telle la déformation crânienne, et finit ses jours au sein d’une communauté mérovingienne dont elle adopté le mode de port pour ses grandes fibules.

sociétés traditionnelles vivantes et de l'archéologie pour les sociétés « mortes ».

En ce qui concerne les armes mérovingiennes, pour mettre en doute les possibilités de leur identification ethnique, ou plutôt culturelle, GH se limite à un seul exemple, celui des haches de jet mérovingiennes, appelées parfois, surtout dans la littérature non archéologique, les francisques. Son excursus sur l'origine des haches de jet mérite d’être nuancé et complété, mais de toute façon il n'enlève rien à la coïncidence, de même que pour les angons, de leur répartition géographique avec la carte des premières conquêtes franques de la fin du Ve et début du VIe s. (Fig. 9:1) (Périn-Feffer 1997: 312). Si l'on ajoute le fait que la hache de jet est spécialement citée, de même que les angons (Fig. 9:2), par les auteurs de l'époque comme les armes franques (Sidoine Appolinaire, Carm.V, v. 238-253; Agathias, Hist. II.5,6, cf. Périn-Feffer 1997: 115, 341), il est clair que notre exemple contribue à établir le fait notoire que les différents peuples barbares de l’époque des Grandes Migrations disposaient d’armes différentes qui impliquaient des manières de combattre diversifiées 8. On peut ajouter que les haches et les angons ne sont pas les seuls exemples gaulois d’armes liées à un contexte culturel précis. Evoquons à titre indicatif les lances à ailerons des IVe-Ve s., dont la carte, publiée par H.-W. Böhme (Fig. 10) témoigne de façon éloquente de leur attribution romaine et non germanique (Böhme 1974: Abb. 40).

Alamannen (1997): Die Alamannen, Stuttgart.

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Vertet, H. – Duterne, Y. (1999) : « Tombes mérovingiennes du cimetière Saint-Jean de Lezoux (Puy-de-Dôme) », in: FizellierSauget, B. (dir.) : L’Auvergne de Sidoine Apollinaire à Grégoire de Tours. Histoire et archéologie. Clermont-Ferrand, 337-349.

Symonovič-Kravčenko (1983): Сымонович, Э.А. Кравченко, Н.М. (1983) : Погребальные обряды племен черняховской культуры (Свод Археологических Источников Д1-22), Москва.

Von Rummel, P. (2007) : Habitus barbarus. Kleidung und Repräsentation spätantiker Eliten im 4. und 5. Jahrhundert, Berlin - New York.

Tejral J. (2011) : Einheimische und Fremde. Das norddanubische Gebiet zur Zeit der Völkerwanderung, Brno.

Werner, J. (1973) : « Bemerkungen zur mitteldeutschen Skelettgräbergruppe Hassleben-Leuna. Zur Herkunft der «Ingentia Auxilia Germanorum» des gallischen Sonderreiches in der Jahren 259-274 nach Chr. », in: Festschrift für Walter Schlesinger I. (Mitteldeutsche Forschungen 74/1), Cologne, 130.

Tempelmann-Mączyńska, M. (1989) : Das Frauentrachtzubehör des mittel- und osteuropäischen Barbaricums in der römischen Kaiserzeit, Krakow. Vallet, F. (1993): « Parures féminines étrangères du début de l’époque mérovingienne trouvées dans le Soissonnais », in: Studien zur Sachsenforschung 8 (Beiträge vom 39. Sachsensymposium in Caen, Normandie, 12. Bis 16. September 1988), 109-121.

Wołągiewicz, R. (1986) : « Die Goten im Bereich der WielbarkKultur », in: Kmieciński, J. (Hrsg.) : Peregrinatio Gothica (Archaeologica Baltica 7), Lódź, 63-98. Young, B.K. (1981) : « Que sait-on des Germains et des Francs? », Histoire et archéologie. Les dossiers 56, 12-19.

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Michel Kazanski – Patrick Périn FIGURES

Fig. 1. L'habitat germanique de Saint-Ouest-du-Breuil, dép. Seine-Maritime (D'après : Böhme 2009).

Fig. 2. La diffusion des incinérations du IVe et du Ve s. en Gaule du Nord (D'après : Böhme 2009).

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Fig. 3. L'inhumation féminine "princière" à Hassleben (D'après : Alamannen 1997).

Fig. 4. La diffusion des fibules de tradition germaniques en Gaule (D'après : Böhme 2009).

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Fig. 5

Fig. 6

Le costume féminin du début de l'époque mérovingienne e tradition germanique occidentale (1) et germanique orientale (2) (D'après : Périn-Kazanski 2011)

Le costume féminin d'Espagne wisigothique (D'après : Gourgoury 2013)

Fig. 7. Les découvertes dans la nécropole de Pezens (Aude) (D'après: Cazes 2013).

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Fig. 8. La tombe 300 de la nécropole de Saint-Martin-de-Fontenay (D'après : Pilet 1994).

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Fig. 9. La diffusion des haches de jet (1) et des angons (2) en Gaule (D'après : Périn-Feffer 1997).

Fig. 10. La diffusion des lances à ailerons au Bas-Empire (D'après: Böhme 1974).

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GENDER, KINSHIP AND SOCIAL IDENTITY IN THE FUNERARY DIMENSIONS OF THE KINGDOM OF THE LOMBARDS (568-774) Annamaria PAZIENZA

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Abstract: The archaeological evidence for the Lombard kingdom draws quite a complex and variegated picture, where multiple funerary identities coexisted and where the affiliations among individuals and groups were fluid and changeable. Not surprisingly, the same picture is also confirmed by the written sources, which suggest how early medieval society was flexible and ever changing and how, case by case, the social identity of a person focused on the life-cycle, the family origin, the economic status and sometimes the religion belief and the professional activity. Key Words: Gender - Kinship - Social Identity – Lombards

newcomers (Gasparri-La Rocca 2012: 197-206). Indeed, all the citizens were divided up according to their land ownership, which determined their ability to fight in the army either as simple foot soldiers or as horse warriors (Azzara-Gasparri 2005). As demonstrated by both public and private documents, the organization of the military and administrative apparatus was, of course, a long-term process, during which different interests – arising both from the top and from the bottom of society – brought about new identity boundaries among individuals, groups and communities (Gasparri 2004).

Like all cultural categories, the representation of identity and otherness varies in time and in space, according to the socio-political framework of the period and the region taken into account. In the Early Middle Ages, from the fifth to the sixth-century, during the so-called Migration period, the Mediterranean world underwent considerable and substantial changes. Within the territories of the former Roman Empire, in a couple of centuries several barbarian kingdoms were created based on different ethnic, religious and cultural traditions, which shaped new political aggregations. The long-time interaction between Romans and Germans, well before the fall of the Empire in 476 AD., had, in fact, brought about new social models based on new values, like military skills and personal friendships, which had become central in regulating the relationships among the public power, the lay and the ecclesiastic aristocracies and the free population (Pohl 2000; Delogu-Gasparri 2010).

This flexible and changeable situation is reflected in the archaeological evidence at funerary sites which, from the sixth to the first half of the seventh century shows an increase of grave goods interred with the dead. Some of the most exceptional burials in Italy with many gold and silver ornaments, in fact, date back to this period (Brogiolo-Chavarría Arnau 2007). The Lombards did not bring these objects directly from their homeland; on the contrary, they were produced in Italy by specialized workshops, like the Crypta Balbi in Rome, which made luxury accessories for the emerging aristocracies (Ricci 1997). Far from being ethnic markers, weapons and jewels were therefore funerary exhibition symbols of the social and economic status of the dead (La Rocca 2009). The redistribution of land and wealth which occurred in these years, put the power connections constantly in discussion and therefore, after the death of an important family member, the position of his relatives within the community needed to be strongly affirmed also by means of the provision of grave goods (La Rocca 1997). Even if, in fact, from the mid-seventh century specific royal laws regulated the inheritance rights, the scarce use of written agreements and wills gave space to possible encroachments.

Even though there were many differences in the details, these phenomena involved western Europe as a whole and, of course, also the Italian peninsula, where the Lombards settled in the second half of the sixth century, giving life to an independent kingdom ruling Northern Italy, the Po valley, Tuscany and the Southern territories of Spoleto and Benevento (Gasparri 2012). As a consequence of the conquest, the creation of a new political balance had a strong influence on the Italian social structure at both a horizontal and vertical level. In the seventh century when the first written sources begin to appear, they reveal a State ruled by Catholic kings, who wrote in Latin laws valid for the entire country’s population, without any difference between locals and

Besides the grave goods, which actually are only in a small part of the excavated graves, the social and political instability of the period is also represented by the great variety of funerary practices simultaneously in use all over the Lombard kingdom, depending on the regional, sub-regional and local context. This variety in particular emerges in comparison with the previous and the following period, when there were more homogeneous customs like, for instance, the epitaphs and the funerary inscriptions of the Roman era and the graveyards next to churches of the Carolingian age. In any case, well before the Lombard settlement, at least from the beginning of the fifth century, the classical funerary ritual had already undergone several transformations, while some aspects of

* * * Introduction.

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Annamaria Pazienza the early medieval funerals had already appeared. In particular, the Roman ban on burying inside the cities had lost its validity, with the appearance of graves in urban spaces, and cremation had been totally abandoned in favour of inhumation, along with the custom of dressing the dead (Barbiera 2013). The introduction of both these changes depended on a different perception of the corpse developed by Christian beliefs, which had put the body at the heart of the religious consciousness (Rebillard 1999 and 2009). Except for this influence, however, the Church did not take part in this transitory phase. The clergy, in fact, became involved directly in the administration of funerals only some time later, namely during the first half of the eighth century when, finally, specific customs were established about who had to celebrate the funerals, where the dead had to be buried and how their memory had to be passed on. Only then, the provision of grave goods stopped and the parish graveyards started to be commonly used in all of the Italian territory (La Rocca 1998).

3) what was their meaning? To answer these questions, several different aspects of Italian burial sites will be taken into account: first the size of the cemetery; second, its internal spatial organization and third, its location in the landscape 1. An overview: size, topography and landscape. A systematic survey of the Lombard cemeteries in Italy has not yet been undertaken and, even if some regional syntheses are available, a reliable distribution map of the graves from the sixth to the eighth century is still missing. The quality of the archaeological reports, moreover, is very different from one area to another, given that only a handful of sites has been published according to modern scientific standards. The present study looks at a sample of cemeteries, which are documented at least by a drawing and a catalogue of the graves plus a study of the anthropological remains. Thanks to these criteria, 35 burial sites have been selected, which altogether total about 3,654 graves. They are scattered across the Italian regions which in the past belonged to the Lombard kingdom: Emilia (1), Friuli (4), Lazio (3), Lombardy (10), Marche (1), Molise (2), Piedmont (5), Tuscany (3), Umbria (1), Veneto (5). The number of sites for each region, of course, does not represent any real concentration rate of the archaeological finds, since it is, instead, a mirror of the quality of the documentation.

Given that there were no specific rules concerning the treatment of the dead until the beginning of the eighth century, for a long time the mourners themselves freely chose the most appropriate way to manage the funerals. These were public ceremonies organized by the family to commemorate the dead in front of a more or less large audience, during which specific tasks, like the provision of grave goods, the building of the tomb, the care for the body, the choice of the burial site were undertaken in order to create a memorable performance. Just the memory, in fact, was at the heart of the funerary practices. Because in the Early Middle Ages oral communication was prevalent, the kinship links within a family or a bigger village community were kept alive through the participation in collective rituals, which created a sense of belonging to a group of people and a territory (Härke 2001; Williams 2002). Thereafter, early medieval cemeteries and graves have become special observation points to study how identity and otherness were imagined, constructed and perceived, at least from a funerary perspective. On this subject, of course, much has already been written and some mile-stones have already been fixed, namely that the ethnic origins and the religious affiliations did not play a central role in defining the dead and that other factors, variable across time and space, such as gender, age, kinship, social status and local habits were, instead, more fundamental (Barbiera 2012).

As regards the size, the cemeteries under study vary from a minimum of four graves, at the site of Ferento Saggio I, to a maximum of 325 graves, at the site of Montichiari Monte San Zeno. Assuming that the extended early medieval household was made up of an average of seven members (Ring 1979), the collected sample has been classified in three main types: small cemeteries (with less than 45 graves), medium cemeteries (from 45 to 90 graves) and large cemeteries (more than 90 graves). Since, unfortunately, some sites have not been completely excavated due to several reasons, the abovementioned classification is, of course, not completely reliable. Among the eleven small cemeteries, six might, in fact, be bigger, namely Borso del Grappa Cassanego, Ferento Saggio I, Fiesole Via Riorbico, Montecchio Maggiore Ospedale and Trezzo Cascina San Martino and Via delle Rocche; among the seven medium-size cemeteries, four should be considered bigger, namely Calvisano Santi di Sopra, Casalmoro San Faustino, Cividale Santo Stefano and Treviso Via dei Mille; and among the seventeen large cemeteries, five are probably even larger, namely Campochiaro Vicenne, Guidizzolo San Martino, Leno-Porzano Campo Marchione, Romans d'Isonzo and Sacca di Goito Strada Calliera; one, Selvicciola Ischia di Castro, is made up of 200 graves but

Bearing this interpretation in mind, this study looks at some of the best-known Lombard cemeteries in Italy in the light of the binary concept of exclusion-inclusion and discrimination-integration, through which the old archaeological data can be further analysed. In order to study in depth the different cultural patterns existing in the cemeteries and to better grasp the models of identity and otherness occurring in them, these are some key questions to be asked: 1) what were the acts of exclusioninclusion performed in the funerary context?; 2) who practiced them and to whom were they addressed?; and

This viewpoint refers to the project L’exclusion dans les sociétés du haut Moyen Âge (VIe-XIIe siècle): formes, catégories et réactions, which belongs to the research programmes of the École Française de Rome for the years 2012-2016. I want to thank professor Cristina La Rocca, who is one of the scientific directors and who has suggested this perspective of study to me.

1

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Gender, Kinship and Social Identity with only 64 found intact, and another one, Sovizzo, is made up of 134 graves but with only 62 published till now (Table 1).

Isolated graves and multiple graves. The brief overview on the size, the topography and the landscape location of the Lombard cemeteries reveals how these three aspects are very variable and not applicable to repeatable schemes. Maybe due to the low number of sites taken into account, in fact, general trends do not emerge. Thereafter, in order to achieve some valid results, it is useful to approach the available data by looking at some specific and very special cases, where forms of distinction and integration within the funerary space appear quite clearly. This is the case, for instance, of the so-called isolated and multiple graves.

As regards the internal spatial organization, the cemeteries show a topography that is very different and often very complex, which does not match with a single model. Although for a few sites the poor quality of the data and the difficult archaeological stratigraphy do not allow one to establish which kind of grave distribution prevails, for others instead the picture is clearer. A distribution of the graves in rows is visible in Carignano Boatera, Guidizzolo San Martino, Sacca di Goito Strada Calliera and Strada Mussolina; in kinship groups it is visible in Calvisano Santi di Sopra, Cividale Santo Stefano, Leno-Porzano Campo Marchione and Nocera Umbra Portone; in gender and age groups it is visible in Centallo San Gervasio, Ferento Saggio I, Spilamberto, Trezzo Via delle Rocche. Single private family cemeteries are instead recognisable in Campione San Zeno, Mombello, Trezzo Cascina San Martino. Besides these sites, the remaining cemeteries show a more complex topography, where overlapping patterns coexist. Castel Trosino, Collegno and Montichiari Monte San Zeno, for example, are organized in rows in a first phase and in family groups in a second, showing, therefore, a spatial evolution from one generation to another; Buja, Romans d’Isonzo and Rivoli Perosa are clustered in family groups but in the first two cases with a sector for children and in the last one with a separation between males and females; Campochiaro Morrione and Vicenne, Casalmoro San Faustino and Grancia are ordered in rows but with special sectors, as the concentration of grave goods in well-defined areas seems to suggest (Table 2).

In the sample under study, only two cases of isolated graves are present. They come from Castel Trosino and Sacca di Goito and they are both part of a wider context, where bigger cemeteries are also documented. Castel Trosino is spread over several hills around the modern village and is made up of three main cemeteries, Santo Stefano with 220 graves, Contrada Fonte with sixteen graves and Contrada Campo with three graves, plus an isolated grave in Contrada Pedata. 289 early medieval graves have been dug up as a whole, dating back between the end of the sixth and the beginning of the eighth century (Paroli-Ricci 2007). The single grave in Contrada Pedata was carved in the rock and it contained a man with many precious ornaments. A gold saddle and some horse accessories qualify the dead man as a knight (Mengarelli 1902; Pazienza 2006). Sacca di Goito covers a flat surface of 2,200 square meters and it is made up of two main cemeteries, Strada Mussolina with 240 graves and Strada Calliera with 288 graves, dating back between the end of the sixth and the end of the seventh century. The cemetery of Strada Calliera, in particular, is situated beside a pre-existing ancient burial area of the late fourth century, from which it is separated by a ditch (Sannazaro 2011). Just beyond this limit, in the late Roman cemetery, an isolated early medieval grave is located. It is characterized by a large pit and probably by a wooden funerary chamber and, despite being robbed in ancient times, it contained a horse head with a bit, which qualifies the dead man again as a knight (Menotti 2005).

As regards their location in the landscape, the cemeteries have some recurring elements and, in fact, are generally placed in open spaces or close to ancient buildings or else inside and around churches. In general, these three options combine in different ways, making it rather difficult to point out some general trends. Among the samples, seventeen sites are located in open spaces often nearby rivers and roads and, in three cases, nearby Roman villas. With only two exceptions, these are cemeteries of new foundation and some of them have ditches, wooden and stone monuments to delimitate the burial area, like Campochiaro Morrione, Casalmoro San Faustino and Leno-Porzano Campo Marchione. Eleven cemeteries are located inside or close to ancient buildings and pre-existing funerary sites, like those in Fiesole Via Riorbico, Montecchio Maggiore Ospedale, Borso del Grappa Cassanego and Sacca di Goito Strada Calliera. Eight sites demonstrate the presence of a church or a chapel which, as is well known, can be built over a cemetery already in use, like for instance those in Arezzo Pionta, Castel Trosino, Selvicciola Ischia di Castro and Trezzo Cascina San Martino or they can be built on a new site, like in Buja, Centallo San Gervasio and Mombello (Table 3).

The two isolated graves of Castel Trosino and Sacca di Goito can be compared to the graves of the so-called ‘founding fathers’, which usually indicate the start of a cemetery, and were characterized by wooden chambers and rich outfits made up of precious artefacts and weapons, plus several elements related to horses (spurs, saddles, bridles and bits) (Provesi 2010). Graves of founding fathers have been excavated in Campochiaro Morrione and Vicenne, Cividale Santo Stefano, Collegno, Leno-Porzano Campo Marchione and Nocera Umbra Portone. They occupied the centre of the burial area or were scattered across the cemetery and in both cases they functioned as central points around which the cemetery was organized. This is particularly evident in Campochiaro Morrione, where the founding fathers, interred with their horses, are in the middle of the

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Annamaria Pazienza cemetery surrounded by empty spaces (Ceglia 2008). Although in the different context of the cemeteries developed around religious buildings, the tombs of the so-called ‘church founders’, which will be analysed in detail in the following paragraph 5, also present similar features, since they are located in privileged positions inside the churches and separated from the majority of the other burials, which are generally placed outside. This symbolic topography is the model also for the isolated graves of Castel Trosino and Sacca di Goito where, in any case, the separation of the founding fathers and the church founders reaches its highest level, up to a sort of segregation from the rest of the community of the dead. Even if located in separated positions, in fact, while the tombs of these individuals are well integrated with the surrounding burials, the isolated graves of Castel Trosino and Sacca di Goito are totally excluded and almost put in a timeless dimension, which transformed the dead into mythical ancestors (Figure 1).

The funerary practice of the three sites focuses quite clearly on the idea of spatial contiguity, which symbolised the blood connections among the dead through the use of a well-defined burial area and, above all, through the use of the multiple graves, which contained two or more family members inside the same pit. The sites of Campione San Zeno, Mombello and Trezzo Cascina San Martino can be interpreted as private family cemeteries of enlarged kinship groups belonging to the élites of the Lombard kingdom, as the precious grave goods and the funerary chapels indicate. For the site of Campione, moreover, some written documents confirm that the funerary church had belonged to rich merchants and landowners (Gasparri 2005), while for the site of Mombello, at about 200 meters from the necropolis, the archaeological excavations have localized the house of an aristocratic family, as the remains of a silver belt, found there, seem to suggest (Giostra 2007b). Gender and age groups.

In comparison with the isolated graves, a completely different concept of space is expressed by the multiple graves, which apparently emphasize the concept of physical inclusion, since they are characterized by more depositions, taking place either at the same time or during a longer period with several re-openings of the pit and manipulation of the bodies. Graves of this type are attested in at least ten sites of the sample, among which Campione San Zeno, Mombello and Trezzo Cascina San Martino are doubtless the most significant, because of the high percentage of multiple graves out of the total number of burials and for the numerous depositions in the same pit. All these cemeteries are small in size and developed around a church. In the site of Campione San Zeno, seven graves contained fifteen skeletons and, except for one, all the burials were multiple depositions. Grave number 11 in particular held five individuals: a young man and an adult male, a girl and two children. Grave number 18 instead contained a child and an old man, who had a genetic malformation also found in the skeleton of grave number 15, which suggests a possible kinship relation between the two (Blockley et alii 2005). In the site of Mombello, twenty-five/eight graves contained at least forty-five skeletons. There are nine multiple graves and among these the most crowded are grave number 8 with a man, a young boy, a woman and three adults of undetermined sex; grave number 13 with a child, an adult male, a young man, an old woman and an adult of undetermined sex; and number 23 with a child, two men and a woman (Giostra 2007a; Bedini-Bartoli 2007). In the site of Trezzo Cascina San Martino, twentyseven graves contained thirty-four skeletons. There are six multiple graves and in particular number 10 contained a man, a woman, a boy and a child, who are relatives according to DNA analysis, while grave number 15 contained a child and a man who, again according to DNA analysis, is a relative of the subject in grave 16 (Giostra 2012; Conzato et alii 2012; Caramelli 2012).

Apart from the private cemeteries of Campione San Zeno, Mombello and Trezzo Cascina San Martino, as already mentioned in paragraph 2, the kinship group is the basic organization unit also in many larger Lombard cemeteries, which were organized in different groupings, made up of men, women and children and therefore interpretable as households. In a few cases, however, sections of bigger cemeteries or small independent burial sites clustered the dead by gender or by age. This special funerary geography apparently demonstrates an alternative identity from the kinship affiliation, whose meaning of course is today not completely understandable, but the archaeological data allows one to make some speculation. Among the burial sites which show an organization focusing on gender and age, the site of Ferento Saggio I is the most interesting, given that it illustrates the funerary segregation of infants and children and introduces the issue of the under-representation of women in the Italian Lombard cemeteries. Ferento is a complex site, composed of two main burial areas, namely Ferento Saggio I and Ferento Saggio II, plus some other graves which, brought to light during old archaeological excavations, are therefore only partially documented (Maetzke et alii 2003). The small cemetery excavated in the area of Saggio I is made up of four burials. Six individuals have been found, whose five children are aged between one - three years and a baby few months old. They were buried inside an ancient Roman structure, where the walls were still standing (Varano 2008). Very interestingly, the ancient layers of earth, which contained the graves, were characterized by numerous coins datable to the fourth century (Williams 2008). The practice of burying young children in places separate from the rest of the funerary community dates back to the Roman era and is documented also in other early medieval Italian cemeteries like, for example, the sites of Buja and Romans d’Isonzo. If the reservation of special places for

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Gender, Kinship and Social Identity young children qualifies them as a group of excluded people, actually this says very little about the meaning of this exclusion. It is likely, however, that it held a supernatural and magical significance. Even in cemeteries where the children were buried together with the adults, indeed, they often received objects which probably functioned as amulets, like the child furnished with Roman coins in Collegno (Giostra 2004; Barello 2004) or the child protected through a prehistoric engraved stone in Montichiari Monte San Zeno (Poggiani KellerRuggiero 2007). In Ferento this aspect is well documented by the reusing of ancient Roman ruins and, above all, by the amount of coins mixed with the earth where the burials were inserted (Figure 2).

The gender identity, which is visible in Spilamberto, occurs also in two other sites of the sample under study, namely in Trezzo Via delle Rocche and Centallo San Gervasio. Five graves of men belong to the first site. Each of them was buried in a monumental tomb with many weapons and, in at least two cases, with golden signet rings, which qualify the dead as high status members of the Lombard society (Roffia-Sesino 1986). At least 114 skeletons, mostly men, belong to the second site (Bedini et alii 1997). A group of them, in particular, made up of mature individuals, was buried in stone sarcophagi of good quality inside of a room, which delimited a privileged burial area in front of a church (Pantò-Pejrani Baricco 2001). As was the case for the women of Spilamberto, it is difficult to ascertain the identity of the men of Trezzo Via delle Rocche and Centallo San Gervasio. According to some archaeologists, it seems possible to qualify them in terms of professional identity, namely in the first case as public officers and in the second as the senior heads of the community. Although interesting these hypotheses cannot be archaeologically proved. Moreover, as regards the site of Trezzo Via delle Rocche, the written sources deny the administrative function of the signet rings on which the identification of the dead has been mostly inferred (La Rocca 2004: 217-233; Lusuardi Siena 2007). Of course, the examined examples underline the fact that, sometimes, the gender factor was decisive in gathering together groups of dead people, but to go beyond this observation requires much caution and, in many cases, the meaning remains elusive and partially unknown.

In addition to the theme of burial areas for children, the anthropological and DNA analyses of the human remains of Ferento Saggio I also suggest interesting insights about a much debated issue in Italian archaeological literature, namely the problem known as ‘the missing women’, which regards the under-representation of women in the Lombard cemeteries. A recent study of a consistent sample of cemeteries, in fact, has shown how in Italy the sex-ratio between males and females is often totally unbalanced in favour of men. The explanation for this phenomenon has not yet been found, but one theory is that girls were discriminated against in their access to food and to health care and, therefore, they died at a young age, thereby being invisible in the archaeological evidence, due to the fragility of children’s bones (Barbiera 2008). Quite curiously, the data from Ferento fits perfectly with this hypothesis. The pathological studies of the skeletons in fact have shown several diseases linked to poor nutrition, while the DNA analyses, which were conducted on four out of six individuals, revealed that they were all females and that they did not have any blood relations (Usai-Gabbianelli 2008).

Churches and ancient buildings. The site of Centallo San Gervasio offers the opportunity to introduce the last important issue, which deserves attention, namely the spatial hierarchy inside and outside of the churches. This theme has been much studied by Italian archaeologists and therefore very little can be added. Nonetheless, it is pertinent with the idea of exclusion-inclusion and discrimination-integration and so it cannot be ignored here. The construction of funerary churches in the Early Middle Ages had, among others, the function of making graves visible in the landscape by means of a monument which kept the memory of the dead alive for many generations. As will be described later on, also the reuse of ancient buildings for funerary purposes worked for the same aim. The construction of churches on one hand and the reuse of ancient buildings on the other, in any case, had a slightly different meaning, if only because the church generally came after the reuse of the ancient monument in the sites where both practices are documented (Chavarría Arnau 2007).

As regards ‘the missing women’, in any case some exceptions can be found. The cemetery of Spilamberto is one of these exceptions since among the 29 skeletons, which were excavated fourteen were buried with traditional female objects, only eight with male objects and seven with neutral objects. This high percentage of female graves goes against the general trend documented in the Italian Lombard cemeteries but fits perfectly with the central funerary role of graves number 60, 62, and 65, which are the most ancient and the richest burials of the cemetery and which belong, not surprisingly, to three young adults of female sex as indicated by the grave goods (Fiorin 2010). Moreover, at least two of them are associated with the deposition of a horse and with a ritual pit, filled in with vessel remains, animal bones and ashes (Farello 2010). The small size of the cemetery, the large number of female graves and the central role played by them in the funerary symbolism would suggest that Spilamberto was a burial area reserved to a special group of people, even if nothing more precise can be said about its nature and the identity of the interred women.

As already mentioned earlier, funerary churches could be built either over a pre-existing cemetery or in a new place. In both cases, the relationship between the church and the graves says much about the funerary practices of distinction and discrimination on the basis of the position of burials inside or outside the walls (Barbiera 2007).

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Annamaria Pazienza Although the picture might be more complex, the sample under study shows the existence of some special burial locations inside the churches. These were usually close to the apse under the altar, along the axis of the central nave or along the walls or near or under the facade (Chavarría Arnau 2009: 171-192). In the site of Campione San Zeno the most prominent grave, number 10, was located in the middle of the nave close to the threshold. It contained a 30-40 year old woman and a new-born. Some remains of a golden dress were also found, together with an amulet in the shape of a phallus and a silver coin, walled in the tomb structure. In the site of Castel Trosino the most prominent grave, number 49, was located in the northwest corner of the nave close to the perimeter walls. It contained an adult woman furnished with a silver buckle, a bone comb and a glass bottle. In the site of Centallo San Gervasio the most prominent grave, number 12, was located near the northern apse under the altar. It contained a 40-year-old man furnished with iron working tools. These graves are usually interpreted as those of the church founders, who had promoted the restoration or the construction of the building. Moreover, as Campione San Zeno and Castel Trosino show, the women are well represented. This data is not surprising: for the Lombard kingdom written sources, in fact, testify the central role of women in building private chapels, as well as in administrating them (La Rocca 2005).

a national level. This is a gap that needs to be filled, given that this practice is attested over the entire Italian territory. As shown by the cemeteries taken into account, the early medieval graves reused different types of buildings and sites like, for instance, a prehistoric cremation cemetery in Borso del Grappa Cassanego, an Etruscan temple in Fiesole Via Riorbico and a Roman house in Montecchio Maggiore Ospedale. Two opposing interpretations are generally suggested about this practice. Some scholars think that it was only a random or practical phenomenon, for obtaining building materials, while others think instead that it was a symbolic ritual, for answering cultural beliefs or political aims. In this last case, the abandoned settlements would be employed like burial areas to create myths of origin and links with ancestors in order to claim rights over land and people (Williams 1998). As a recent study underlines, the reuse of ancient buildings was particularly widespread in the early medieval period in Tuscany, where more than half of the burial sites show the reuse of ancient artefacts, building materials and older monuments. The common reuse of objects and monuments is then accompanied in the region by a low provision of grave goods and in particular of weapons. Combined together, these two aspects form a sort of regional funerary custom, which focuses on the memory of the past. It is likely indeed that the cultural geography of Tuscany, where many surviving remains of the Etruscan and Roman times are still standing even now, had developed a way to commemorate the dead which appears typical of this area (Pazienza 2014).

Besides the new graves of the founders, in many cases the funerary churches also had more ancient burials inside. This is, for instance, the case of Selvicciola Ischia di Castro where, close to a Roman villa, on a pre-existing burial area a chapel incorporated some older graves in the apse and in the main room, as well as new depositions along the perimeter walls; and the case of Arezzo Pionta where, in the context of a cemetery of the Late Antiquity, from the sixth to the eighth-century new inhumations took place, as well as the construction of a church (Molinari 2008). Situations like this are very frequent in the early medieval Italian cemeteries, even if the poor quality of the archaeological documentation does not allow one to look in detail at this phenomenon. In any case, from this point of view, the cemetery of Trezzo Cascina San Martino is, fortunately, a well-documented site. Archaeologists have found two main phases in the development of the cemetery. The first phase dates back between the end of the sixth century and the first half of the seventh century and sees the installation of graves near the ancient structures of a Roman villa. In particular, graves number 16 and 15 were located inside a small square room. According to the grave goods, these are the most ancient graves of the cemetery together with grave number 18. The second phase dates back to the end of the seventh century and sees the obliteration of the Roman walls and the building of a small chapel over the wealthiest graves, while those lacking weapons or other ornaments were excluded and left outside (Figure 3).

Conclusions. The Italian Lombard cemeteries may consist of hundreds of graves or smaller groups, they can be organized in rows or in groupings by gender, age and family connections of the dead, or they can be inserted in open spaces or close to monuments. The composition and combination of all these options identified individuals and categories of people who, case by case, assumed a privileged or neglected role within the funerary space. To be buried, in fact, in a large or small cemetery, in gendered groupings or in family sectors, around a church or near an ancient building made a big difference and had apparently a different meaning in terms of distinction, discrimination and integration inside the community of the dead. The graves of the founding fathers, for instance, are completely or partially excluded from the funerary community. A magical and almost supernatural dimension plays a central role in these cases. By means of the topographical segregation, these isolated graves become those of venerable ancestors. A magical component is visible also in the cemeteries dedicated only to children. On their meaning, in any case, only speculations can be drawn, even if it is undeniable that new-borns and young children received a special treatment. There are also some doubts about the

Unlike the churches, the reuse of ancient buildings for funerary purposes still lacks a detailed study, above all on

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Bedini, E. et alii (1997): “Paleobiologia del gruppo umano altomedievale della chiesa cimiteriale di Centallo (Cuneo)”, in: Paroli L. (ed.): L’Italia centro-settentrionale in età longobarda (Atti del Convegno, Ascoli Piceno 6-7 ottobre 1995), Firenze, 345-364.

The kinship affiliation, however, is one of the most important identities represented in the funerary context. The family is the basic organization unit in both large and small cemeteries and, in the context of private burial areas, the multiple graves in particular underline the blood relations, through the spatial contiguity among the members of a family. Also, the construction of funerary chapels is often related to the memory and the identity of a family. The church founders are usually buried inside the perimeter walls, while other less important family members occupy outside positions. Identities that are broader than the kinship group, instead, hardly emerge from archaeological data, but the case of Tuscany can be considered an exception. In this region, in fact, the reuse of ancient monuments for funerary purposes is rather widespread and seems to represent a cultural and territorial identity, which has a regional basis.

Blockley, P. et alii (2005): “Campione d'Italia. Scavi archeologici nella ex chiesa di San Zeno”, in: Gasparri, S. – La Rocca, C. (eds): Carte di famiglia. Strategie, rappresentazione e memoria del gruppo familiare di Totone di Campione (721877), Roma, 29-80. Brather, S. (2007): “Vestito, tomba e identità tra tardo antico e alto medioevo”, in: Brogiolo, G. P. –Chavarría Arnau, A. (eds): Archeologia e società tra tardo antico e alto medioevo (12° Seminario sul tardo antico e l’alto medioevo, Padova 29 settembre-1° ottobre 2005), Mantova, 299-310. Brogiolo, G. P. (2005): “La chiesa di San Zeno di Campione e la sua sequenza stratigrafica”, in: Gasparri, S. – La Rocca, C. (eds): Carte di famiglia. Strategie, rappresentazione e memoria del gruppo familiare di Totone di Campione (721-877), Roma, 81-106. Brogiolo, G. P. – Chavarría Arnau, A. (eds) (2007): I Longobardi. Dalla caduta dell'Impero all'alba dell'Italia, (Catalogo della Mostra, Torino 27 settembre 2007-6 gennaio 2008), Cinisello Balsamo.

In conclusion, the archaeological evidence for the Lombard kingdom draws quite a complex and variegated picture, where multiple funerary identities coexisted and where the affiliations among individuals and groups were fluid and changeable. Not surprisingly, the same picture is also confirmed by the written sources, which suggest how early medieval society was flexible and ever changing and how, case by case, the social identity of a person focused on the life-cycle, the family origin, the economic status and sometimes the religion belief and the professional activity (La Rocca 2007; Brather 2007).

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Usai, L. – Gabbianelli, F. (2008): “Sepolture altomedievali dall'area a ridosso della fortificazione: dati antropologici e analisi del DNA”, in: Metodologia, insediamenti urbani e produzioni. Il contributo di Gabriella Maetzke e le attuali prospettive delle ricerche (Convegno internazionale di studi sull'archeologia medievale in memoria di Gabriella Maetzke, Viterbo 25-27 novembre 2004), Viterbo, 199-218.

Williams, H. (1998): “Monuments and the past in early AngloSaxon England”, in: Bradley, R. – Williams, H. (eds): The past in the past: the reuse of ancient monuments (World Archaeology 30.1), London, 90-108. - (2002): “Cemeteries as Central Places-Place and Identity in Migration Period Eastern England”, in: Hårdh, B. – Larsson, L. (eds): Central places in the Migration and Merovingian Periods (Acta Archaeologica Lundensia 39), Stockholm, 341-362.

Varano, M. (2008) “Sepolture altomedievali dall’area a ridosso della fortificazione”, in: Metodologia, insediamenti urbani e produzioni. Il contributo di Gabriella Maetzke e le attuali prospettive delle ricerche (Convegno internazionale di studi

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TABLE 1

Size of the cemeteries

Arezzo Pionta (AR) Borso del Grappa Cassanego (TR) Buja (UD) Calvisano Santi di Sopra (BR) Campione San Zeno (CO) Campochiaro Morrione (CP) Campochiaro Vicenne (CP) Carignano Boatera (TO) Casalmoro San Faustino (MN) Castel Trosino (AP)

GRAVES/ SKELETO FURNISHED NS GRAVES 108 1 13 3 51 ? 87 28 7 /15/ 3 230 ? 167 ? 140 15? 59 23 289 168

AGE mid 5th-8th 6th-7th 6th-8th 7th-8th mid 7th-8th 6th-mid 7th 6th-mid 7th 6th-mid 7th 7th end 6th-8th

Centallo San Gervasio (CN) Cividale Santo Stefano (CV) Collegno (TO) Ferento Saggio I (VT) Ferento Saggio II (VT) Fiesole Via Riorbico (FI) Grancia (GR) Guidizzolo San Martino (MN) Leno-Porzano Campo Marchione (BS) Liariis (UD) Mombello (AL) Monselice Rocca (PD) Montecchio Maggiore Ospedale (VI) Montichiari Monte San Zeno (BR) Nocera Umbra Portone (NU)

end 6th-7th 6th-7th end 6th-8th 7th-8th 6th-8th end 6th-7th mid 7th 6th-7th

/162/ 43 157 4 /6/ /148/ 30 80 93

? 32 ? 0 0 8 29 26

end 6th-8th 6th-7th mid 7th-8th 7th 7th 6th-7th 6th-7th

247 53 25 /45/ 5 /7/ 15 325 165

156 41? 6 5 9 73 148

Rivoli Perosa (TO) Romans d'Isonzo (GO) Sacca di Goito Strada Calliera (MN) Sacca di Goito Strada Mussolina (MN) Selvicciola Ischia di Castro (VT)

7th mid 6th-7th end 6th-7th

36 /38/ 136 288

2 104 ?

7th mid 4th-7th

240 /246/ 64

103 ?

Sovizzo (VR) Spilamberto (MO) Treviso Via dei Mille (TR) Trezzo Cascina San Martino (MI) Trezzo Via delle Rocche (MI)

end 6th-7th end 6th-7th 6th-7th 6th-7th 6th-7th

62 28 /29/ 65 27 /34/ 5

31 ? 5 20 5

223

EDITION Molinari-Nespoli 2005 Rigoni-Possenti 1999 Menis 1982 De Marchi 1997 Brogiolo 2005 Ceglia 2010 Ceglia 2010 Lebole di Gangi 1988 Menotti 1999 Paroli 1997 Micheletto-Pejrani Baricco 1997 Barbiera 2005 Pejrani Baricco 2007 Varano 2008 Spina-Canci 2007 Von Hessen 1971 Citter 1997 Menotti 1999 Giostra 2011 Barbiera 2005 Micheletto 2007 De Marchi-Possenti 1998 Rigoni-Bruttomesso 2011 De Marchi 2007 Rupp 1997 Micheletto-Pejrani Baricco 1997 Barbiera 2005 Menotti 1998 Menotti 1994 Incitti 1997 Rigoni-Hudson-La Rocca 1988 De Vingo 2010 Rigoni-Possenti 1999 Lusuardi Siena 2012 Roffia-Sesino 1986

Annamaria Pazienza TABLE 2 Internal spatial organization

GROUPS ?

ROWS

Arezzo Pionta (AR) Borso del Grappa Cassanego (TR)

AGE AND GENDER

KINSHIP

FAMILY CEMETERY

? ?

Buja (UD) Calvisano Santi di Sopra (BR) Campione San Zeno (CO) Campochiaro Morrione (CP)

?

?

Campochiaro Vicenne (CP)

?

?

?

?

Carignano Boatera (TO) Casalmoro San Faustino (MN) Castel Trosino (AP) Centallo San Gervasio (CN) Cividale Santo Stefano (CV) Collegno (TO) Ferento Saggio I (VT) Ferento Saggio II (VT) Fiesole Via Riorbico (FI)

?

Grancia (GR)

?

?

?

?

?

?

Guidizzolo San Martino (MN) Leno-Porzano Campo Marchione (BS) Liariis (UD) Mombello (AL) Monselice Rocca (PD)

?

Montecchio Maggiore Ospedale (VI) Montichiari Monte San Zeno (BR) Nocera Umbra Portone (NU) Rivoli Perosa (TO) Romans d'Isonzo (GO) Sacca di Goito Strada Calliera (MN) Sacca di Goito Strada Mussolina (MN) Selvicciola Ischia di Castro (VT) Sovizzo (VR)

? ?

Spilamberto (MO) Treviso Via dei Mille (TR)

?

Trezzo Cascina San Martino (MI) Trezzo Via delle Rocche (MI)

224

Gender, Kinship and Social Identities TABLE 3 Landscape location

ANCIENT MONUMENT

OPEN SPACE

PRE-EXISTING CEMETERY

CHURCH

?

Arezzo Pionta (AR) Borso del Grappa Cassanego (TR) Buja (UD)

ex novo

Calvisano Santi di Sopra (BR) Campione San Zeno (CO) Campochiaro Morrione (CP) Campochiaro Vicenne (CP)

?

?

Carignano Boatera (TO) Casalmoro San Faustino (MN) Castel Trosino (AP) ex novo

Centallo San Gervasio (CN) Cividale Santo Stefano (CV) Collegno (TO)

?

?

Ferento Saggio I (VT) Ferento Saggio II (VT) Fiesole Via Riorbico (FI) ?

Grancia (GR) Guidizzolo San Martino (MN) Leno-Porzano Campo Marchione (BS) Liariis (UD)

ex novo

Mombello (AL) Monselice Rocca (PD) Montecchio Maggiore Ospedale (VI) Montichiari Monte San Zeno (BR) Nocera Umbra Portone (NU) Rivoli Perosa (TO) Romans d'Isonzo (GO) Sacca di Goito Strada Calliera (MN) Sacca di Goito Strada Mussolina (MN) Selvicciola Ischia di Castro (VT) Sovizzo (VR) Spilamberto (MO) Treviso Via dei Mille (TR)

?

?

Trezzo Cascina San Martino (MI) Trezzo Via delle Rocche (MI)

?

225

Annamaria Pazienza FIGURES

Figure 1. Castel Trosino: 1. Santo Stefano, 2. Contrada Fonte, 3. Contrada Campo, 4. Contrada Pedata. Distribution of the cemeteries and grave goods from Contrada Pedata (Adapted from Pazienza 2006 and Paroli - Ricci 2007).

Figure 2. Ferento Saggio I. Roman structures and early medieval graves (Adapted from: Varano 2008).

226

Gender, Kinship and Social Identities

Figure 3. Trezzo Cascina San Martino: I and II phase of the cemetery (Adapted from: Lusuardi Siena 1997).

227